He sat thus for, perhaps, fifteen minutes. Then, lighting a candle, he opened the precious wallet and proceeded to count its contents.
His face took on a look of wonder as he laid out, one by one, the various bills and noted their denomination. He had not counted upon such generosity, even though he had realized that the purse was crowded to its utmost capacity.
“Seven hundred and fifty-four dollars!” he exclaimed in astonishment, as he laid the last coin upon the table. “Surely I must be dreaming! But no, these crisp fives, tens, two twenties, three fifties, besides the gold and silver, tell their own story. But oh! it does seem too good to be true! And now my first act must be to put it where it will be safe. Give it to Squire Talford, indeed! Never! It would be the last I should ever see of it. I will take it to Professor Harding. He will advise me what to do with it.”
After replacing the money in an orderly manner in his wallet, he arose and proceeded to change his clothes, dressing himself with great care.
CHAPTER III.
PRETTY HEIRESS PLEADS FOR CLIFFORD.
Clifford Faxon was really a striking-looking young man when arrayed in his best, which is by no means saying very much for his clothes, which were of the cheapest material.
But with his gentlemanly bearing, his clear, honest brown eyes, and frank, genial face, he was one who always attracted a second look from those whom he met.
One might have taken him for a son and heir of the squire, rather than a menial in his employ, as he issued once more from the house.
“Well, sir, where are you going now?” demanded Squire Talford, who was still sitting upon the veranda, and whose musings regarding his relations with his bound boy had not been of the most soothing nature during the last half-hour.