"Wall, now that's jest too bad, boys. I'd calkerlated to spend that hundred on doin' a good deed, an' ye make me go back home with the same hugged tight in my pocket. I'm sorry it cain't be did, I am, sure," muttered the farmer, shaking his head, and acting like a child that has been cheated out of some anticipated pleasure.
"That doesn't follow, Mr. Growdy," said Paul, in a low but thrilling voice; "if you have set your mind on using that hundred dollars to do a good work, perhaps I might give you a hint where it would fit in mighty well, and make your heart feel warm."
"Hey! wot's that, Paul? I don't understand," exclaimed the man.
"Down just beyond the outskirts of Stanhope there lives a poor widow woman who, I'm told, is in danger of being put out of her home any day now because she has been sick and unable to work so as to pay her rent. If you went to her right now, Mr. Growdy, and put that wad of money in her hand, I'm sure you'd never regret it, sir; and every boy here would thank you just as much as if you paid for his uniform. Isn't that so, fellows?"
A chorus of shouts testified to the fact that Paul had hit upon a popular idea for turning the sudden generosity of the hitherto miserly old farmer to account.
"Who is the woman?" asked Peleg Growdy uneasily.
"Mrs. Jenks, who has three little children to support. Her husband was killed in that blast some years ago, and she never recovered a cent from the mining company, for they burst like a bubble," returned Paul.
"By gum! wot d'ye know about that, now? I reckons as how she lives in one o' my own cottages, which the real estate man, Stebbins, takes keer of fur me. He was tellin' me about some tenant he'd have to put out; but I never noticed more'n that the name was Jenks."
"But now?" ventured Paul.
"It won't be did! No, sir, not by a jugful. I got my team outside, an' I'm goin' straight over to see the widder. I knowed her husband onct too, an' I'm some 'shamed thet I didn't look her up afore," and Peleg started for the door.