His father understood very well that this was not true. Still he had always been in the habit of humoring James in his whims, and now, instead of exerting his rightful authority as a parent to secure obedience, he condescended to conciliate him.
“If you have a headache,” he said, “the fresh air may do you good. Go as quick as you can, and when you come back I will give you a dollar.”
This argument, addressed to his son’s selfishness, prevailed. James had seen at the village store a new fishing-pole, which he desired to buy, and with the promised reward he could do so.
“Can’t you give me the money now?” he asked. “There’s something I want to buy at the store, on the way.”
“You’ll have to go there after you return,” said the squire, who at once saw that this was the best way of securing a prompt return.
James took his cap and started for the cottage of the Widow Raymond.
“The old man’s getting mighty obliging,” he muttered to himself, meaning, of course, his father, by the not very respectable term used. “I should be too proud, if I were he, to carry bundles to that pauper, Harry Raymond. Anyhow, I get a dollar by the operation, and that’s something.”
Arrived at the cottage, James knocked sharply at the outer door. It was opened almost immediately by Mrs. Raymond herself.
“Good-evening, James,” she said, courteously. “Won’t you walk in?”