"I don't know about that," said Strout. "That's for the trustees to decide, and I've got to decide whether I'll do two men's work for one man's pay."

"He would for you," Abner blurted out.

"If you think so much of him, why don't you come in and do his work for him?" said Strout.

"When you were going to buy this store, and Mr. Sawyer got ahead of yer, yer promised me a job here as pay for some special nosin' round I'd done fer yer--but when yer got in the saddle you forgot the feller who'd boosted yer up. When a man breaks his word to me onct he don't do it a second time. That's why," and Abner went out and slammed the door after him.

Mr. Strout was angry, and when in that state of mind he was often lacking in prudence in speech.

"That comes of turning a place of business into a resort for loafers.

If I owned this store outright there'd be a big sign up somewhere--'When you've transacted your business, think of Home Sweet Home.'"

"I reckon that's a hint," said Benoni Hill, as he arose and put on his hat. "You won't be troubled with me or my trade in futur'. There are stores in Cottonton jus' as good as this, and the proprietors are gentlemen."

He left the store, and one by one the "loafers" followed him as no one had the courage to break the silence that fell upon the company after old Mr. Hill's departure.

Mr. Strout, left alone to close up the store, was more angry than ever.

"What cussed fools. I was. .h.i.tting back at Abner and they thought the coat fit and put it on. They'll come round again. They won't enjoy tramping over to Cottonton for kerosene and mola.s.ses."

The store was lighted by kerosene lamps resting on brackets. It was Mr.

Strout's custom to take them down, blow them out, and replace them on the brackets. One was always left burning, as Mr. Strout said "so burglars could see their way round."

Mr. Strout's anger rose higher and higher and there was no one present upon whom he could expend it. He grasped one of the lamps, but his hold on the gla.s.s handle was insecure and it fell to the floor, the lamp breaking, while the burning oil was thrown in every direction. He wished then that some of the "loafers" were present to help him put the fire out. There was no water nearer than the pump in the back yard. He grabbed a pail and started to get some water. He forgot the back-steps and fell headlong. For some minutes he was so dazed that he could do nothing. The glare of the fire lighted up the yard, or he would have had difficulty in filling the pail. When he returned, he saw that the fire was beyond his control. He could not go through the store, so he climbed the back yard fence and made his way to the front of the store crying "Fire" at the top of his voice.

It seemed an age to him, before anyone responded. He felt then the need of friends, neighbours--even "loafers" would have been acceptable.

A bucket brigade formed, but their efforts were unavailing. As the other lamps were exploded by the heat new inflammable material was thrown about. In a quarter of an hour the whole interior was in flames, and in an hour only a grim, black skeleton, lighted up by occasional flashes of flame, remained of Strout and Maxwell's grocery store.

Next morning comment was rife. Mr. Strout had told how the fire was caused but there were unbelievers.

"I think the cuss set it on fire himself," said Abner Stiles to his employer, Mr. Ezekiel Pettingill.

"Be careful, Abner," was the caution given him. "It don't do to accuse a man of anything 'less you have proof, an' your thinkin' so ain't proof." Mr. Strout went to Boston to see the trustees. The insurance was adjusted and Mr. Strout was authorized to proceed with the re-building at once. During the interim orders were filled from the Montrose store.

Fortunately, the stable and wagon shed were some distance from the store, and had not been in danger.

The new store was larger than the old one, and many improvements, in Mr.

Strout's opinion, were incorporated in the new structure. He ordered the new sign. When it was put up, the whole town, including the "loafers"

were present. "I s'pose he fixed it with the trustees" said Benoni Hill to Abner Stiles.

"Danged if I think so," was the reply. "He's allers been meaner'n dirt to Hiram, an' has allers wanted to git him out. Burnin' up the store giv' him his chance."

"You mean the store burnin' up," corrected Benoni.

"I dunno. The Bible says G.o.d works in a mysterious way his wonders to perform, an' so do some individooals."

One noon after dinner, Mr. Strout said to his wife. "Bessie, put on your things an' come down to the new store. I want to show you somethin'."

"And leave the dishes?"

"You can bring 'em with you if you want to," her husband replied.

When they reached the store, upon which the painters were at work, he pointed to the new sign.

"See that? Read it out loud."

Mrs. Strout complied:

"O. STROUT. FINE GROCERIES."

"What did I tell yer?" was his only comment.

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE HOME COMING

Quincy desired to have his return to America unheralded by items in the newspapers of stories of his wonderful rescue, captivity, and final recovery of his reason, so when he booked for pa.s.sage on the _Gallia_ he gave the name of Mr. S. Adams, wife and son.

During the homeward voyage the father and son had an opportunity to become acquainted. The father told the story of his life at Mason's Corner; first going back to his college days. He told his son how he had opposed his father's wish that he would become a lawyer and sustain the reputation of the old firm of Sawyer, Crowninshield, and Lawrence; about his health breaking down and his visit to Mason's Corner; about the blind girl whom he had made his wife, and how he had secured medical a.s.sistance and her sight had been restored. Once again he lived over his life in the country town, and told about his friends and foes--Obadiah Strout and Bob Wood--who were enemies no longer, and honest, good-hearted 'Zeke Pettingill, and his sweet wife, little Huldah Mason.

And Hiram who stammered so and Mandy who didn't. Nearly all the people mentioned in their long talks were well known to young Quincy and after his father had finished his reminiscences the young man supplied the sequel.

"What do you think of Mr. Strout?" asked the father.

"Think? I know he's a dishonest man. You say that you parted friends. He is no friend of yours or mine."

Then he told of his encounter with young Bob Wood.

"I had some trouble with his father many years ago," said Quincy. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing to me. He insulted a young lady, and I took her part. Tom was going to help me but I arranged to handle him, in a very unscientific way though."

"It was a rough and tumble of the worst sort," interjected Tom. "I was afraid they'd bite each other before they got through."

"Quincy," said his father, "you must take boxing lessons. When occasion requires, it is the gentleman's weapon."

The mention of Mary Dana naturally led to a rehearsal of the Wood case, and all Mary had done in helping Quincy at the beginning of the search for his father.

"I think I see which way the wind blows," laughed his father, while Quincy blushed to the roots of his hair, "and I want to meet the young lady who did so much to bring us all together again."

Alice was proud of her son. He resembled her, having light hair and blue eyes; a decided contrast to his father whose skin had been darkened by Italian suns, who had dark eyes, dark hair frosted at the ends, and a heavy beard, cut in Van d.y.k.e fashion. Few, if any, would have recognized in him the young man who more than twenty-three years before had taken pa.s.sage on the _Altonia_, looking forward to a pleasant trip and an early return to his native land.

Alice explained to her son her apparent lack of affection for him in allowing him to be separated from her so long.

"I knew you were with your relatives and good friends, Quincy. In my nervous, depressed state I was poor company for a young, healthy boy.