He was very proud of his fine estate—his handsome mansion and broad acres, and kept them in first-class order; but, while he wanted every comfort for himself, he had dispensed with some luxuries and style after Mrs. Talford's demise, was close and mean with his help, and seemed to think of nothing save accumulating money.
"Though goodness knows what'll ever become of it when he's gone, for he ain't a kindred soul to leave it to, as far as I know," Mrs. Kimberly would sometimes remark in a confidential manner to her friends.
"Yes, I reckon I can trust you to keep a sharp eye out while I'm gone," the squire returned to Maria's observation, "though I'm not so sure about the loafing—you're a little inclined to be too soft-hearted with the boys. I want to find that pile of wood all sawed, split, and housed when I get back."
Maria sniffed audibly as she glanced through a window at the pile of wood referred to, and which comprised a good many cords of solid timber, and she had no idea of pushing "the boys" beyond a certain limit.
"Waal, maybe you will, and maybe you won't," she returned after a moment, with an independent toss of her head. "It'll depend a good deal on what kind o' weather we have. I suppose you know," she continued, with a sudden softening of her face and tone, "that Cliff is in Washington. I hear he's got a fine position, too. Do you imagine you'll feel any interest to look him up?"
"Not the slightest, Maria," returned Squire Talford, in a cold tone, and with a sudden stiffening of his angular figure. "Clifford Faxon is nothing to me, and I shall not concern myself in the least to learn anything about his movements."
"Oh!" returned his companion, with a peculiar inflection, while she screwed her lips into a resentful pucker, "I didn't know but you'd feel a kind o' curiosity to find out if he's workin' his way along up toward the top o' the heap in Washington, same's he did at college. You know you didn't prophecy anything very flatterin' to him when he started out for himself, but he got there, all the same."
The squire flushed hotly at this reminder.
"I think you'd better hurry up lunch, Maria," was all the reply he deigned her, and the woman vanished, but chuckling to herself as she went:
"He pretends he ain't curious, but he is, all the same, and I'd be willin' to bet my new black silk—which I ain't had on since that day at Cambridge, I'm goin' to keep it for Cliff's wedding—that he will find out about the boy," she muttered to herself, while dishing up the tempting meal which she had prepared for the master of the house.