"It will be hard, but if it is necessary I can do it."
"But I want to help, Sterling. I can get sewing to do."
"No, no; I won't consent to that."
"Then I won't consent to your working by the day."
"Well, we won't discuss it to-night. We will let the future take care of itself."
Just then the noise of wheels was heard, and a buggy stopped at the door.
"I do believe it's Andy!" exclaimed Mrs. Grant, joyfully.
It was Andy. A minute later, he was in the house.
"I am late," he said. "I lost the regular train, and had to get off at Stacy, six miles away; but I got a man from the stable to bring me over."
"I am glad to see you, Andy," said his mother.
"And so am I," added Sterling Grant, "though it is a sad time."
"Why a sad time, father?"
"The squire will foreclose to-morrow."
"No, he won't foreclose, father. I will stop it."
"But how can you prevent it, my son?"
"By paying the three thousand dollars, father."
"Have you got the money?" asked his father, incredulously.
"Yes."
"But how--?"
"Don't ask me any questions, father. Be satisfied with the knowledge that I have got it."
"Heaven be praised!" said the farmer, fervently.
"I don't think Squire Carter will say that."
CHAPTER XXXVII.
CONCLUSION.
A little before twelve o'clock on the following day, Squire Carter rang the bell at the farmhouse door. He was dressed with scrupulous neatness, and there was a smile of triumphant anticipation on his face.
Andy answered the bell.
"Walk in, squire," he said.
"Ha! So you are home, Andy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Ahem! Your father has been unfortunate."
"Then you intend to foreclose?"
"Yes; I need the money and must have it."
"Isn't that rather hard on an old neighbor?"
"You are a boy, Andy, and don't understand. Business is business."
"Well, come in."
Mr. and Mrs. Grant were sitting by the fireplace. They looked calm, not sorrowful, as the squire anticipated.
"Ahem! My friends, I am sorry for you!" said the squire, in a perfunctory way. "Life is full of disappointments, as we read in the Scriptures."
"What do you propose to do with the farm, squire?" asked the farmer, calmly.
"I may sell it, if I can find a purchaser. I haven't thought much about it."
"That is right, squire. It isn't well to count your chickens before they are hatched."
It was Andy who spoke.
"Andrew, you are very flippant," said the squire, displeased. "I apprehend that there is very little doubt as to my having the farm to sell."
"What do you suppose is going to become of my father?"
"That is not for me to say. If I run the farm I may hire him to work on it."
"He has made up his mind to work on it."
"With or without my permission?" said the squire, with a sneer.
"Exactly so."
"I don't understand you," said the squire, with dignified displeasure.