“The delay is only a subterfuge on your part,” said the squire hotly.  “You would be no better prepared at the end of a week than you are now.”

“No, perhaps not,” said Mrs. Frost quietly.

“And yet you ask me to wait,” said the squire indignantly.  “Once for all, let me tell you that all entreaties are vain.  My mind is made up to foreclose, and foreclose I will.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” interrupted Frank, with a triumphant smile.

“Ha, young impudence!” exclaimed the squire, wheeling round.  “Who’s to prevent me, I should like to know?”

“I am,” said Frank boldly.

The squire fingered his cane nervously.  He was very strongly tempted to lay it on our hero’s back.  But he reflected that the power was in his hands, and that he was sure of his revenge.

“You won’t gain anything by your impudence,” he said loftily.  “I might have got you a place, out of pity to your mother, if you had behaved differently.  I need a boy to do odd jobs about the house, and I might have offered the place to you.”

“Thank you for your kind intentions,” said Frank, “but I fear the care of this farm will prevent my accepting your tempting offer.”

“The care of the farm!” repeated the squire angrily.  “Do you think I will delegate it to you?”

“I don’t see what you have to do about it,” said Frank.

“Then you’ll find out,” roared the squire.  “I shall take immediate possession, and require you to leave at once.”

“Then I suppose we had better pay the mortgage, mother,” said Frank.

“Pay the mortgage!  You can’t do it,” said the squire exultingly.

“Have you the document with you?” inquired Mrs. Frost.

“Yes, madam.”

“Name the amount due on it.”

“With interest eight hundred and twenty-four dollars.”

“Frank, call in Mr. Morton as a witness.”

Mr. Morton entered.

“Now, Frank, you may count out the money.”

“What!” stammered the squire, in dismay, “can you pay it.”

“We can.”

“Why didn’t you tell me so in the first place?” demanded Squire Haynes, his wrath excited by his bitter disappointment.

“I wished to ascertain whether your course was dictated by necessity or a desire to annoy and injure us.  I can have no further doubt about it.”

There was no help for it.  Squire Haynes was compelled to release his hold upon the Frost Farm, and pocket his money.  He had never been so sorry to receive money before.

This business over, he was about to beat a hurried retreat, when he was suddenly arrested by a question from Henry Morton.

“Can you spare me a few minutes, Squire Haynes?”

“I am in haste, sir.”

“My business is important, and has already been too long delayed.”

“Too long delayed?”

“Yes, it has waited twelve years.”