Mr. Spriggins had been at Mr. Lawson's office some days' before, and bore away some advice, written down, that he "might not forgit."
The barrister had received several visits from his client, and each time had treated the said client with considerable favor.
Mr. Lawson somewhat admired the honest-hearted young farmer, and really was interested in him, and felt a sympathy which was unaccountable.
"One good turn deserves another, Mr. Lawson, and I may throw something your way some day."
There really did appear to be little value in this remark; but strange to say, in it were bound up Phillip Lawson's hopes, happiness, yes, all that was dearer than life. The sturdy son of toil proved his truest friend, and to the hour of his death he will ever cherish the thought wholly sacred.
But of Mr. Spriggins' surprise!
He had opened the letter to read the advice on trespass (which sooner or later is the experience of every farmer), when to his dismay another letter dropped out. It bore the address of the Winnipeg solicitor, and evidently was some private correspondence of his respected counsellor, Mr. Lawson.
"Ginger, I must git to town soon, for it must be something important! Darned if I know whether to read it or not. P'raps I'd better not. I couldn't go and tell a lie and say I didn't when I did. It would make a feller feel kinder streaked when he thought on't."
Mr. Spriggins reasoned thus, and the upshot of it was that next morning, after he had got a man to take his place, set off to town, a distance of twenty-two miles.
A pallor overspread the countenance of Mr. Lawson as he glanced at the missive which Mr. Spriggins placed in his hand, with the impression that it was business.