Farrington rose from the table, and going to the store went at once to the small office. Here he spent some time writing, and at the end of a half hour gave a chuckle of satisfaction, laid aside the pen, folded up the paper and put it into his pocket. Next he went into the stable, and ordered Pete to harness the horse and have it at the door in fifteen minutes. At the end of that time he came from the house, wrapped in his large fur coat, cap and mittens. Soon he was speeding over the road, leaving Mrs. Farrington, Eudora and Dick watching him from the window, and wondering what it all meant.
Farrington was forth upon important business, and he knew exactly at what houses to stop. There were the Fletchers, he was sure of them; the Marshalls, their kinsmen; the Burtons, and several families who owed fair-sized bills at the store, and would be unable to pay for some time.
The sun was dipping big and red far westward when Farrington turned his horse's head homeward. He was well pleased with his afternoon's work. No one had refused to sign the petition he carried, and over twenty names had been scrawled upon the paper.
As he moved along his eyes rested upon a little cottage away to the right, nestling near a grove of large maple trees. Old Henry Burchill, the wood-chopper, lived there. Farrington's brows knitted as he thought of him. Would he sign the paper? He knew that Henry was once opposed to the parson for introducing certain things into the church. But then that was long ago, and he wondered how the old man felt now. Anyway there was that unpaid bill at the store. It would have some weight, and it was no harm to try.
Mrs. Burchill was at home, and was surprised to see the storekeeper enter the house. She was a quiet, reserved woman, who mingled little with her neighbours. The lines of care upon her face, the bent back and the toil-worn hands told their own tale of a long, hard battle for life's bare necessities. Her heart beat fast as she shook hands with her visitor, for she, too, thought of that bill at the store, which she and her husband had been bravely striving to pay.
"Is yer husband at home, Mrs. Burchill?" asked Farrington, seating himself on a splint-bottomed chair.
"No, sir. He's in the woods chopping for Stephen. I'm afraid he won't be home to-night."
"Dear me! that's too bad," and Farrington brought forth the paper from his pocket. "I wanted 'im to do a little favour fer me--simply to put his name to this pertition. But, if you'll do it, 'twill be jist the same," and he handed over the paper.
Mrs. Burchill put on her glasses, and slowly and carefully read the words written there. Farrington watched her closely and noted the colour mounting to her faded cheeks, and the look of reproach in her eyes as she at length turned them upon his face.
"And you expect me to put my name to this?" she demanded.