"My dear, he'll have what he can get," said the Squire, "but what that'll be, Miss Faith, he and I haven't just made up our minds."
"How much ought it to be, sir, do you think?"
"Nothing at all," said the Squire,—"not a cent."
"Do you think not, sir?" said Faith doubtfully.
"Not a cent!" the Squire repeated,—"and I told him so, and said he might throw the barn into the bargain and not hurt himself."
"Will he agree to that, Mr. Stoutenburgh?—I mean about the house. We can pay for it."
"My dear, I hope to make him agree to that, and more too. So just let the hay stand, and the house, and the barn, and everything else for the present. I'll tell you time enough—if quarter day must come. And by the way, talking of quarters, there's one of a lamb we killed yesterday,—I told Tim to leave it in the kitchen. How does your ice hold out?"
"Do you want some, sir?" said Faith, in whose eyes there shone a soft light the Squire could be at no loss to read.
"No my dear, I don't—though Mrs. Stoutenburgh does tell me sometimes to keep cool. But I thought maybe you did. Do you know, Miss Essie De Staff never sees me now if she can help it—what do you suppose is the reason?"
"I don't think there can be any, sir."