Again there was a silence, broken only by the difficult breathing of the sick man.

He spoke again.

“There is one thing, Paul, that I want to tell you before I die.”

Paul drew closer to the bedside.

“It is something which has troubled me as I lay here.  I shall feel easier for speaking of it.  You remember that we lived at Cedarville before we came here.”

“Yes, father.”

“About two years before we left there, a promising speculation was brought to my notice.  An agent of a Lake Superior mine visited our village and represented the mine in so favorable a light that many of my neighbors bought shares, fully expecting to double their money in a year.  Among the rest I was attacked with the fever of speculation.  I had always been obliged to work hard for a moderate compensation, and had not been able to do much more than support my family.  This it seemed to me, afforded an excellent opportunity of laying up a little something which might render me secure in the event of a sudden attack of sickness.  I had but about two hundred dollars, however, and from so scanty an investment I could not, of course, expect a large return; accordingly I went to Squire Conant; you remember him, Paul?”

“Yes, father.”

’I went to him and asked a loan of five hundred dollars.  After some hesitation he agreed to lend it to me.  He was fond of his money and not much given to lending, but it so happened that he had invested in the same speculation, and had a high opinion of it, so he felt pretty safe in advancing me the money.  Well, this loan gave me seven hundred dollars, with which I purchased seven shares in the Lake Superior Grand Combination Mining Company.  For some months afterwards, I felt like a rich man.  I carefully put away my certificate of stock, looking upon it as the beginning of a competence.  But at the end of six months the bubble burst—­the stock proved to be utterly worthless,—­Squire Conant lost five thousand dollars.  I lost seven hundred, five hundred being borrowed money.  The Squire’s loss was much larger, but mine was the more serious, since I lost everything and was plunged into debt, while he had at least forty thousand dollars left.

“Two days after the explosion, Squire Conant came into my shop and asked abruptly when I could pay him the amount I had borrowed.  I told him that I could not fix a time.  I said that I had been overwhelmed by a result so contrary to my anticipations, but I told him I would not rest till I had done something to satisfy his claim.  He was always an unreasonable man, and reproached me bitterly for sinking his money in a useless speculation, as if I could foresee how it would end any better than he.”

“Have you ever been able to pay back any part of the five hundred dollars, father?”

“I have paid the interest regularly, and a year ago, just before I met with my accident, I had laid up a hundred and fifty dollars which I had intended to pay the Squire, but when my sickness came I felt obliged to retain it to defray our expenses, being cut off from earning anything.”