Ben never had the power of refusing to do what his cousin asked him, but he had little to tell that Clifton had not heard before. There was talk of forming a great manufacturing company in Gershom; but there had been talk of that since ever Clifton could remember. The only difference now was that a new dam was to be built further up the river at a place better suited for it, and with more room for the raising of large buildings than was the point where Mr Holt had built his first saw-mill in earlier times. It was supposed to be for this purpose that Jacob Holt was desirous to obtain possession of that part of the Fleming farm that lay on the Beaver River; for, though a company was to be formed, everybody knew that he would have the most to say and do about it. But Mr Fleming had refused to sell, “and folks had talked round considerable,” Ben said, and he went on to repeat a good deal that was anything but complimentary to Jacob.
“But I told our folks that you and Uncle Gershom would see Mr Fleming through, and Aunt Betsey, she said if you were worth your salt you’d stay at home and see to things for your father, and not let Jacob disgrace the name. But I said you’d put it all straight, and Aunt Betsey she said—”
“Well, what did Aunt Betsey say?” for Ben stopped suddenly.
“She told me to shut up,” said Ben, hanging his head.
Clifton laughed heartily.
“And she doesn’t think me worth my salt. Well, never mind. It is an even chance that she is right. But I think she is hard on Jacob.”
There was time for no more talk. They had skirted the little brook till they came to a grove of birch and wild cherry-trees that had been left to grow on a rocky knoll where the water fell over a low ledge on its way from the pasture above. The sound of voices made them pause before they set foot on the path that led upwards.
“It’s the Fleming children, I suppose,” said Ben. “They’ll be telling us, mayhap, that we’re breaking the Sabbath, and I expect so we be.”
