“Yes,” said Squire Turner, slowly; “the house was insured, to be sure, but they don’t insure to the full value.”
“Everybody says that the house was insured for more than its full value.”
“Quite a mistake. I would rather have the house than the money. In fact, it was quite a disappointment having the house burnt down.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Harry, sturdily. “All I know is, that I saw you setting the house on fire with my own eyes.”
Perspiration began to come out on the squire’s brow. He had never anticipated such an obstacle to the carrying out his plans, and it did seem a little provoking when everything had seemed so favorable hitherto. He would like to have pitched our hero out of the window, or kicked him out of the house; but neither course seemed quite expedient. So, though boiling over with inward wrath and vexation, he forced himself to be conciliatory.
“I have no doubt you think you are right,” he said; “but in the evening one is easily deceived about faces. I was fast asleep at the time, and, indeed, I knew nothing of the fire till my house-keeper came and knocked at my door when it was nearly over.”
This was partly true; but the squire didn’t say that it was just after he had crept stealthily into the house.
“Still, as I am a friend of your family, and interested in your welfare,” he continued, “I don’t mind giving you the hundred dollars, not, of course, as a reward, but to help you along. Of course it is on condition that you say nothing of this ridiculous story. It would only involve you in trouble. Come up to-morrow and I’ll give you the money.”
“Squire Turner,” said Harry, promptly, “I cannot accept your proposition, or money.”
“Why not?”