"Really, squire, this is too bad. You know Wire as well as any man in town, and—"
"Not another word, Mr. Nason! Have the boy ready to go to Jacob Wire's to-morrow!" and the overseer, not very well satisfied with the interview, hastened away to avoid further argument upon so delicate a topic.
Harry stood watching the retreating form of the great man of Redfield. The mandate he had spoken was the knell of hope to him. It made the future black and desolate. As he gazed the tears flooded his eyes, and his feelings completely overcame him.
"Don't cry, Harry," said the kind-hearted keeper, taking him by the hand.
"I can't help it," sobbed Harry. "He will whip me, and starve me to death. Don't let him put me there."
"I don't know as I can help it, Harry."
"I am willing to work, and work hard, too; but I don't want to be starved to death."
"I will do what I can for you; but the other overseers do pretty much as Squire Walker tells them to do."
"I can't go to Jacob Wire's," burst from Harry's lips, as he seated himself on a rock, and gave way to the violence of his emotions.
"I will see the other overseers; don't cry, Harry. Hope for the best."