"Perhaps you are right, Deacon Pitkin. In that case, my mind is made up."
"What will you do?" asked the deacon, showing some curiosity.
"I'll leave town."
"It's a resky thing, Benjamin. You ain't old enough to take care of yourself."
"I think I can do it. Deacon Pitkin. I am not afraid to try. Still, if you'll give me a hundred and fifty dollars and board—"
"You must think I'm crazy," said the deacon hastily. "I don't throw money away that way."
"Then I'm afraid we can't make a bargain, deacon. Here is the store, and I'll bid you good morning."
"If you think better of my offer, you can let me know, Benjamin. You can talk it over with your uncle."
"All right, sir. If you think better of mine, just let me know within a week, or I may be gone from Hampton."
"That's a cur'us boy," said the deacon meditatively. "He's got the most conceited idea of his vally to work of any boy I ever came across. A hundred and fifty dollars and board! What'll Mrs. Pitkin say when I tell her? She ain't much sot on the boy's comin' anyway. She thinks he's too hearty; but I don't mind that, so much. He's strong and good to work, an' he's the only boy in town that would suit me."