Part 12 (1/2)

”My father is very careful with his money,” she said. ”He may not realize how much work there has been in sawing and splitting the wood. He may not pay you what it is worth.”

Ben looked serious, for he knew that he needed all he had earned.

”What shall I do if he doesn't?” he asked.

”I don't want you to dispute about it. Take what he gives you, and then come to me. I will make up what is lacking in one way or another.”

”Thank you, Miss Nancy. You are very kind,” said Ben.

”I don't know about that,” said Nancy. ”I don't pretend to be very benevolent; but I want to be just, and in my opinion that is a good deal better. Now you may go in.”

Ben lifted the latch, and entered the sitting-room. He found that the deacon was not alone. A gentleman, of perhaps thirty-five, was with him.

”I hope I am not intruding,” said Ben politely, ”but I have finished with the wood.”

Though Deacon Sawyer was a very ”close” man, he was always prompt in his payments. So much must be said to his credit. He never thought, therefore, of putting Ben off.

”I suppose you want to be paid, Benjamin?” he said.

”Yes, sir, I should like it, if convenient to you.”

”Lemme see, Benjamin, how long has it taken you?”

”Two days and a half, sir.”

”Not quite. It's only four o'clock now. Have you just go through?”

”Yes, sir.”

”We didn't make no bargain, did we?”

”No, sir, I left it to you.”

”Quite right. So you did. Now, Benjamin,” continued the deacon, ”I want to do the fair thing by you. Two days and a half, at twenty-five cents a day, will make sixty-two cents; or we will say sixty-three. Will that do?”

Poor Ben! He had calculated on three times that sum, at least.

”That would only be a dollar and a half a week,” he said, looking very much disappointed.

”I used to work for that when I was young,” said the deacon.

”At the factory I was paid five dollars a week,” said Ben.

”n.o.body of your age can earn as much as that,” said the deacon sharply. ”No wonder manufacturin' don't pay, when such wages are paid. What do you say, Mr. Manning?” continued the deacon, appealing to the gentlemen with him.

Mr. Manning's face wore an amused smile. He lived in the city, and his ideas on the subject of money and compensation were much less contracted than the deacon's.

”Since you appeal to me,” he answered. ”I venture to suggest that prices have gone up a good deal since you were a boy, Deacon Sawyer, and twenty-five cents won't go as far now as it did then.”

”You are right,” said the deacon; ”it costs a sight for groceries nowadays. Well, Benjamin, I'll pay you a little more than I meant to.