“Be kind to her—to Linda—that’s all the pay I want!” hastily interposed Apollos. “And you see, Paul, if you want any further help to get along, I conclude you are bound to come to me.”
Again Paul attempted to be heard.
“At least suffer me to explain my affairs to you, that you may know better the man upon whom your kindness has so liberally fallen.”
“I reckon I know you; you’re an honest, good lad—and—and Linda loves you—you need not say a word.”
And, indeed, had Paul been gifted with the eloquence of an Adams or a Webster, Apollos would not have listened to him, for no sooner did he see the money safe in the pocket of the young man, than he coolly arose, put on his hat, and taking his violin, walked out of the house; so Paul had no alternative than to do the same, yet leaving upon the table an acknowledgment of his gratitude, written with a pencil on the back of an old letter.
The next week three topics of interest were going the rounds of the village, and arousing the curiosity and wonder of its inhabitants.
The first was, that the son of Leonard Davis had become the sole proprietor of one of the largest printing offices in the city of New York—who would have thought it!
The second item was, that Apollos Dalrymple had offered his fine farm for sale—what could it mean?
The third and most wonderful was, that the said Apollos commenced building the identical narrow stone-house on the top of the hill—was the man bewitched, or going to be married!
In the course of the summer Paul again solicited the hand of Linda, which was no longer refused him—