"Wal, I suppose y& want money," Brooke snapped, as the boy came to
the door. "How much?"
"One dollar and a half."
"Too much, too much; I won't pay it."
"That was the sum agreed upon."
"Don't care, ye hain't earned no dollar 'n a half. Here, take that
an' clear out;" having said which, Brooke tossed some money at the
boy and slammed the door in his face. Trove counted the money--it
was a dollar and a quarter. He was sorely tempted to open the door
and fling it back at him, but wisely kept his patience and walked
away. It was the day before Christmas. Trove had planned to walk
home that evening, but a storm had come, drifting the snow deep,
and he had to forego the visit. After supper he went to the Sign
of the Dial. The tinker was at home in his odd little shop and
gave him a hearty welcome. Trove sat by the fire, and told of the
sawing for Riley Brooke.
"God rest him!" said the tinker, thoughtfully puffing his pipe.
"What would happen, think ye, if a man like him were let into
heaven?"
"I cannot imagine," said the boy.
"Well, for one thing," said the tinker, "he'd begin to look for
chattels, an' I do fear me there'd soon be many without harps.
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