“It wouldn’t be any use,” said Gilbert boldly.  “My father has died within a year; there are four of us beside my mother, and there’s a cousin, too, who is dependent on us.  We have nothing but a small pension and the interest on five thousand dollars life insurance.  Mother says we must go away from all our friends, live cheaply, and do our own work until Nancy, Kitty, and I grow old enough to earn something.”

Colonel Wheeler and Mr. Harmon both liked Gilbert Carey at sight, and as he stood there uttering his boyish confidences with great friendliness and complete candor, both men would have been glad to meet him halfway.

“Well, Harmon, it seems to me we shall get some good neighbors if we can make terms with Mrs. Carey,” said the Colonel.  “If you’ll fix a reasonable figure I’ll undertake to write to Hamilton and interest him in the affair.”

“All right.  Now, Colonel, I’d like to make a proposition right on the spot, before you, and you can advise sonny, here.  You see Lem has got his taxes to pay,—­they’re small, of course, but they’re an expense,—­and he’d ought to carry a little insurance on his buildings, tho’ he ain’t had any up to now.  On the other hand, if he can get a tenant that’ll put on a few shingles and clapboards now and then, or a coat o’ paint ‘n’ a roll o’ wall paper, his premises won’t go to rack ‘n’ ruin same’s they’re in danger o’ doin’ at the present time.  Now, sonny, would your mother feel like keepin’ up things a little mite if we should say sixty dollars a year rent, payable monthly or quarterly as is convenient?”

Gilbert’s head swam and his eyes beheld such myriads of stars that he felt it must be night instead of day.  The rent of the Charlestown house was seven hundred dollars a year, and the last words of his mother had been to the effect that two hundred was the limit he must offer for the yellow house, as she did not see clearly at the moment how they could afford even that sum.

“What would be your advice, Colonel?” stammered the boy.

“I think sixty dollars is not exorbitant,” the Colonel answered calmly (he had seen Beulah real estate fall a peg a year for twenty successive years), “though naturally you cannot pay that sum and make any extravagant repairs.”

“Then I will take the house,” Gilbert remarked largely.  “My mother left the matter of rent to my judgment, and we will pay promptly in advance.  Shall I sign any papers?”

“Land o’ Goshen! the marks your little fist would make on a paper wouldn’t cut much of a figure in a court o’ law!” chuckled old Harmon.  “You jest let the Colonel fix up matters with your ma.”

“Can I walk back, Colonel?” asked Gilbert, trying to preserve some dignity under the storekeeper’s attacks.  “I’d like to take some measurements and make some sketches of the rooms for my mother.”

“All right,” the Colonel responded.  “Your train doesn’t go till two o’clock.  I’ll give you a bite of lunch and take you to the station.”