When Barton left the house, his look of disappointment had given place to one of cunning.
“Come here, Abner!” he said, beckoning to his son and heir.
“What for?”
“Never you mind.”
“But I do mind. Do you want to catch hold of me?”
“No; it's only a little matter of business. It's for your good.”
Abner accompanied his father as far as the fence.
“Now, what do you want?” he asked, with his eyes warily fixed on his father.
“I want you to find out where your marm keeps that money,” said Barton, in a coaxing tone.
“What for?”