"Wait till the end of the year. You'll find the town will have just as much to pay. What they save off the food they will put into their own pockets."
"What are you talking about?" asked Mrs. Fogson suspiciously.
Jed did not have to reply, for Percy took offense at what he rightly judged to be a piece of impertinence.
"Mrs. Fogson," he said, "what we are talking about is no concern of yours."
A bright red spot showed itself in either cheek of Mrs. Fogson, and she would have annihilated the speaker if she could; but she was politic, and remembered that Percy was the son of the overseer.
"I didn't mean any offense, Master Percy," she said. "It was simply a playful remark on my part."
"I'm glad to hear it," responded Percy. "You didn't look very playful."
Squire Dixon was conversing with Mr. Fogson, and didn't hear this little conversation.
"I am just digging my potatoes," said Fogson deferentially. "I have some excellent Jackson whites. I will send you round a bushel to try."