“Why, no,” said the squire, slowly. “I suppose it must have been somebody that had a grudge against me, and took this way to gratify it. But who it may be I haven’t an idea.”
“I reckon it was insured?” said Sam, interrogatively.
“Yes,” said the squire, cautiously; “it was insured.”
“I said it must be,” said one, who had spoken at an earlier stage in the conversation. “I knew squire, you was too keerful a man to neglect it.”
“It was insured when it came into my hands,” said Squire Turner; “and I have merely kept up the payments.”
“What was the figure?”
“I really can’t be quite certain till I have looked at the policy,” said the squire. “I’ve got all my houses insured, and I can’t, without looking, tell exactly how much there is on each.”
“That’s the advantage of owning only one house,” said Doctor Lamson, as he stepped in for a moment. “I’m not liable to make a mistake about my insurance. In what company was your house insured, Squire Turner?”
“In the Phœnix Mutual, I believe. By the way, Mr. Porter, you may send up a barrel of flour to my house. I believe we are nearly out.”