cheery answer. "I only wish Mr. Potts would get better."
There was a brief spell of silence, during which time both boys trudged along the road leading to the mountainside. Dave carried a tin kettle and a basket, which he hoped to fill with huckleberries before sundown. It was a warm summer day, with the sun shining brightly, and the birds singing merrily, just the day to make the heart of any boy glad. Yet Dave heaved a long sigh, which his companion could not help but notice.
"I suppose it makes you feel bad to have him sick," said Ben.
"It isn't only that, Ben, it's something else."
"Oh!"
"I don't know that I ought to say anything, but I feel as if I must tell somebody," continued Dave. "You know old Aaron Poole, from Dixonville."
"Of course I do, Diamond Poole they used to call him. He's got a son, Nat, a regular high-flyer, so they tell me."
"Aaron Poole holds a mortgage on our farm. Mr. Potts can't pay the interest this year, and Mr. Poole says he is going to foreclose."
"And sell the place?"
"I suppose so."
"How much is the mortgage?"
"Twelve hundred dollars."
"That's as much as the place is worth."
