"Seventy-five dollars; and your pa wouldn't let 'em go under ninety! Think of that," added Caleb, dropping his voice, and appearing to talk to the beech-wood fire, which was crackling in the big fireplace. "Think of that! Ninety dollars! Enough to buy a small farm! Just what I should have got in the logging-swamp, winter before last, if Dascom hadn't cheated me out of it."
"What did you say, Caleb?"
"O, I was just talking to myself," replied Caleb, rather bitterly. "It wasn't anything little boys should hear. I was only thinking how easy money comes to some folks, and how hard it comes to others. You see I worked a whole winter once, and never got a cent of pay; and I couldn't help feeling it when your pa put that ninety dollars away in his drawer."
"You didn't want my father's money—did you, Caleb Cushing?"
"No, child; only I knew if I'd had justice done me, I should have had ninety dollars myself. It was mine by good rights, and I hadn't ought to be cheated out of it."
Willy looked up astonished. What did Caleb mean by saying it was "his by good rights"?—his father's money. For he had not heard all Caleb's remarks, and what he had heard he had entirely misunderstood.
"Willy!" called his mother's voice from the sitting-room; but the little fellow, was too excited to hear.
"Do you mean my father's money, Caleb, that he keeps in his drawer?"
"Yes, yes, child; laid inside of a book," replied Caleb, carelessly.
"What! and you want it?—my father's money?"