They had been walking slowly. At a point in the road, the prospect widened out before them.
“That is where we live,” said the old man, pointing to a farmhouse, perhaps a quarter of a mile away. “We had better separate here, for it is not best that Mr. Brackett should suppose there is any understanding or acquaintance between us. You might come round in about an hour and apply for a place. Be prepared to accept fifty cents a week.”
“All right!”
And he sat down by the side of the road to rest, for he was really tired, while the old man bent his steps toward home.
CHAPTER XXX.
MR. JEREMIAH BRACKETT.
Mr. Brackett, a loose-jointed, shambling figure of a man, was leaning against the well curb, smoking a pipe, when his wife appeared at the back door and called out:
“Jeremiah!”
“What’s wanted?” asked Brackett, impatiently.
“I want some firewood, right off!”