"Sixty dollars'll set me on my feet again," he reflected. "Let me see. I'll go to Boston, and look round, and see if I can't pick up a job of some kind. There isn't anything to do here in this beastly hole. By the way, I wonder where the boy did get so much money. He must find boatin' more profitable than I had any idea of."
At this point Brandon entered the little path that led to his wife's cottage.
"Mrs. B. is sittin' up," he said, as he saw through the window the figure of his wife in a rocking-chair, apparently occupied with some kind of work. "I'll get her off to bed soon, so that I can have a clear field."
Mrs. Brandon looked up when her husband entered, and noticed, with a feeling of relief, that he was sober. That, however, was not owing to any intentional moderation on his part, but to his lack of funds.
"Sittin' up for me, Mrs. B.?" asked Brandon.
"I generally sit up till past this hour," she answered.
"I feel rather tired myself," said Brandon, succeeding in yawning.
"It isn't on account of having done any work," thought his wife.
"I've been walkin' round considerably, and got tired."