Jefferson smiled.
“I can content myself wherever I can make a good living,” he said. “Wouldn’t you like to go out and make me a visit?”
“No, Jefferson, I should feel that it was temptin’ Providence to go so far at my age.”
“You never were very far from Burton, Uncle Cyrus?”
“I went to Montpelier once,” answered the old man with evident pride. “It is a nice sizable place. I stopped at the tavern, and had a good time.”
It was the only journey the old man had ever made, and he would never forget it.
“Uncle Cyrus,” said Jefferson, “this is the young man who I thought might advance you money on a new mortgage. Suppose we invite him to go over the farm, and take a look at it so as to see what he thinks of the investment.”
“Sartain, Jefferson, sartain! I do hope Mr. Ropes you’ll look favorable on the investment. It is Jefferson’s idea, but it would be doin’ me a great favor.”
“Mr. Pettigrew will explain the advantages of the farm as we go along,” said Rodney.
So they walked from field to field, Jefferson expatiating to his young friend upon the merits of the investment, Rodney asking questions now and then to carry out his part of the shrewd and careful boy capitalist.