"Wall，Wegg he were diff'rent.He come here when I were a boy，bringin'a sad—faced young woman an'Ol'Hucks an'Nora.I s'pose Hucks were a sailor，too，though he never says nuthin''bout that.The Cap'n bought this no'count farm an'had this house built on it—a proceedin'that，ef I do say it，struck ev'rybody as cur'ous.""It was curious，"agreed Mr.Merrick.
"But the cur'ous'est thing was thet he didn't make no 'tempt at farmin'.Folks said he had money to burn，fer he loaded it into this fool house an'then sot down an'smoked all day an'looked glum.Ol'Hucks planted the berry patch an'looked arter the orchard an'the stock；but Cap'n Wegg on'y smoked an'sulked.People at Millville was glad to leave him alone，an'the on'y friend he ever had were crazy Will Thompson.""Crazy？""As a loon."The agent hitched uneasily on the lawnbench，where he was seated，and then continued，hastily："But thet ain't neither here ner therea.A baby was born arter a time，an'while he was young the sad—faced mother sickened an'died.Cap'n Wegg give her a decent fun'ral an'went right on smokin'his pipe an'sulkin'，same as ever.Then he—he—died，"rather lamely，"an'Joe—thet's the boy—bein'then about sixteen，dug out 'n'run away.We hain't seen him sense.""Nice boy？"asked Uncle John.
"Joe were pretty well liked here，though he had a bit o'his dad's sulkiness.He 'n'Ethel Thompson—crazy Will's gran'daughter—seemed like to make up together；but even she don't know what drav him off—'nless it were the Cap'n's suddint death—ner where he went to."Uncle John seemed thoughtful，but asked no more questions，and McNutt appeared to be relieved that he refrained.But the bill ought to be forthcoming now，and the agent gave a guilty start as his patron remarked：
"I want to settle with you for what you have done.I'm willing to pay a liberal price，you understand，but I won't submit to being robbed outrageously by you or any of your Millville people."This was said so sternly that it sent McNutt into an agueb of terror.He fumbled forc the smallest bill，tremblingly placed it in Mr.Merrick's hand，and then with a thrill of despairrealized he had presented the dreadful No.1！"It's—it's—a—'count of what I spent out，"he stammered.Uncle John ran his eye over the bill.
"What are Plymouth Rocks？"he demanded.
"He—hens，sir."
"Hens at a dollar apiecea？"
"Thoroughbreds，sir.Extry fine stock.I raised 'em myself.""H—m.You've charged them twice.""Eh？""Here's an item：'Twelve Plymouth Rocks，twelve dollars；'and farther down：'Twelve Plymouth Rocks，eighteen dollars.'""Oh，yes；o'course.Ye see，I sold you a dozen ？rst，of the dollar kind.Then I thought as how，bein'fine young birds，you'd be tempted fer to eat 'em，an'a dozen don't go fur on the table.So I up an'sold ye another dozen，extry ol'stock an'remarkable high—bred，fer a dollar—an'—a—half each.Which is dirt cheap because they's too old to eat an'jest right fer layers.""Are they here？""Every one of 'em.""Very good.I'm glad to have them.The cow seems reasonably priced，for a Jersey.""It is.Jest extror'nary！"exclaimed Peggy，reassured.