Mr. Souders listened attentively to all he had to say, and then replied,—
"Treat was trying to swindle you. His cow isn't worth ten dollars, to say nothing of forty, an' he wasn't over an' above anxious to give you too much for your work. Let the matter drop a couple of days an' I'll see what can be done. We mustn't allow Aunt Nancy to suffer."
There was a world of encouragement in the gentleman's tones, and Jack felt as if half his troubles had already been removed.
"I'm willin' to do anything I can towards earnin' the money to buy one; but Louis an' I mustn't stay here till November, an' I don't want her to use her own money."
"That will be all right, my lad. Go home now, an' I'll see you later."
Jack's heart was quite light when he walked swiftly down the lane leading to the tiny house, but became heavy again when he saw the little woman's face.
It was evident Aunt Nancy was mourning deeply the loss of her pet, and the cripple felt that as yet he had nothing tangible to assuage her grief.
She looked up inquiringly as he approached, but he offered no explanation regarding his journey until the question had been asked directly, and then said hesitatingly,—
"I would rather not tell you, Aunt Nancy. I thought I might be able to do something, but it was a failure, an' the less we say about it the better."
"Jack dear," and the little woman was very grave, "when a boy can't tell his friends what he has been doing it looks as if there was something of which to be ashamed."