“Yes, I’m sure,” he replied. “If you look through your old papers carefully, you may find some more of them. I tell you what we’ll do. As soon as you feel well enough I’ll drive you into town. We’ll go to the stamp dealer who buys these old stamps, and I’m sure he’ll be interested. He’ll most likely pay you a good price. What do you say?”
The old man sat holding the letter in his hands. He turned it around and around. He peered at the stamps closely. “Well, I’ll be jiggered,” he said.
Dad laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “That was just the tonic you needed,” he said. “You look much better already.”
Mr. Mott stood up. His clothes were dirty, but his shoulders squared back and he held his chin up. “The Motts aren’t licked yet,” he said. “Thanks to you, sir, the Motts still own land.”
As Dad started out the door he met the goat coming in. He looked astonished, and stepped to one side. “That’s Mirandy,” said Mr. Mott. “She won’t hurt ye none. You know,” he continued, as the goat ate crumbs from the floor, “you folks have been mighty kind to me, and I’m not going to forget it. No sir, I’m not. I’m going to give you a fine present.”
Dad looked a little flustered. “Why, no, Mr. Mott,” he said. “It wasn’t anything at all that you wouldn’t have done for a neighbor.”
“No sirree, you did me a good turn, and one of these days you’re going to get a present.”
Dad shook hands for good-by, and chuckled as he started off down the road for home. He was still chuckling when he talked to Mom about it. “The old gentleman perked right up. He even wanted to give me a present, although what he could spare, I can’t imagine.”
“Perhaps he’ll give you one of his old stamps,” said Billy.
Dad looked pleased, but he tried hard not to show it. “Here we go again,” he said, “getting romantic. I wouldn’t mind having some of the stuff he’s got. I’d like to go through that scrap heap of his more carefully.”