Ann looked at him with some faint light of comprehension through her wild impetus of resistance. “I'd ruther it would stay the way it was before,” said she. “My husband gave you the mortgage. He thought you were trustworthy. I'd jest as soon pay you interest money as Squire Merritt.”
Then Eliphalet Means spoke dryly, still with that utter patience of preparation and expectation: “If Doctor Prescott retains this mortgage he intends to foreclose.”
Ann looked at him, and then at Doctor Prescott. She gasped, “Foreclose!”
Doctor Prescott nodded.
“You mean to foreclose? You mean to take this place away from us?” Ann cried, shrilly. “You with all you've got, and we a widow and orphans! And you callin' yourself a good man an' a pillar of the sanctuary!”
Doctor Prescott's face hardened. “Your husband owed me for a half-year's interest,” he began, calmly.
“My husband didn't owe you any interest money. He paid you in work and wood.”
“That was for medical attendance,” proceeded the doctor, imperturbably. “He owed me half a year's interest. I considered it best for your interests, as well as mine, to foreclose, and should have done so had not Squire Merritt taken the matter out of my hands. I should advise him to a like measure, but he is his own best judge.”
“Squire Merritt will not foreclose,” said Eliphalet Means; “and he will be easy about the payments.”
“Well,” said Ann, with a strange, stony look, “I guess I understand. I'm satisfied.”