"We'll move right along," said Hammond abruptly. "We're late now."
A little core of heat began to glow in Jim's heart.
"Very well, but if we're late it's your fault," he said.
The tanned skin above Hammond's dark beared grayed for an instant, then reddened, and the close eyes narrowed, and the lips twisted. If ever a man looked like swearing and didn't, it was Amos Hammond at that moment. He turned in silence and stepped out into the sunshine.
Young Todhunter shook hands cordially with White, thanked him for the dinner and the entertainment, and followed the man from Millbrook to where a heavy wagon and a team of big grays stood beside the platform.
"Which is your belongin's?" asked Hammond harshly, pausing beside the imposing mound of baggage.
"All this stuff is mine," replied Jim casually.
"All yours?" cried Hammond, with a change of voice and eyes. "If they're filled with anything more valuable nor bricks, then they must be worth a power of money. You are blessed with a considerable share of this world's goods, James Todhunter—but a humble and a contrite heart is worth more than gold."
Jim felt embarrassed.
"I'm not rich, as you must know already, Mr. Hammond," he replied. "These trunks and things contain nothing but my personal belongings—clothing and that sort of things."