“I’m his nateral guardeen now,” old Arad declared slowly; “but I’m goin’ to be ’p’inted by the court.”
“What court?”
“The Court o’ Probate, o’ Scituate, R. I.,” responded the farmer pompously.
“Well, I think not,” said Adoniram, who was probably never more angry in his life than at that moment. “You have made a slight mistake, Mr. Tarr.”
“Hey?” returned the farmer, growing red in the face, and looking daggers at the little merchant.
“I say you have made a slight mistake. You will not be appointed guardian of Brandon, by any court in the land. Did it ever occur to you that Captain Horace Tarr might have made a will?”
“A will?” gasped the old man.
“Yes, sir, a will.”
“But he didn’t hev nothin’ ter will, ’ceptin——”
“Well, excepting what?” Mr. Pepper demanded, as the other hesitated.