Then this poor John Upham, uncouth, and scarcely quicker-witted than one of his own oxen, but as faithful, and living up wholly to his humble lights, turned pale through his blushes, and stared at the doctor as if he could not have heard aright. “Take—my land?” he faltered.
Doctor Prescott never smiled with his eyes, but only with a symmetrical curving and lengthening of his finely cut, thin lips. He smiled so then. “Yes, I am willing to take some land for the debt, since you have not the money,” said he.
“But—that was—father's land.”
“Yes, and your father was a good, thrifty man. He did not waste his substance.”
“It was grandfather's, too.”
“Yes, it was, I believe.”
“It has always been in our—family. It's the Upham—land. I can't part with it nohow.”
“I will take the money, then,” said Doctor Prescott.
“I'll raise it just as soon as I can, doctor,” cried John Upham, eagerly. “I've got a man's note for twenty dollars comin' due in three months; he's sure to pay. An'—there's some cedar ordered, an'—”
“I must have it next week,” said the doctor, “or—” He paused. “I shall dislike to proceed to extreme measures,” he added.