“Where will you go?” asked the old lady, dropping her work in surprise.
“I don't know of any particular place, but I should be better off most anywhere than here.”
“But you are so young, Paul.”
“God will take care of me, Aunt Lucy,—mother used to tell me that. Besides, here I have no hope of learning anything or improving my condition. Then again, if I stay here, I can never do what father wished me to do.”
“What is that, Paul?”
Paul told the story of his father's indebtedness to Squire Conant, and the cruel letter which the Squire had written.
“I mean to pay that debt,” he concluded firmly. “I won't let anybody say that my father kept them out of their money. There is no chance here; somewhere else I may find work and money.”
“It is a great undertaking for a boy like you, Paul,” said Aunt Lucy, thoughtfully. “To whom is the money due?”
“Squire Conant of Cedarville.”
Aunt Lucy seemed surprised and agitated by the mention of this name.