things not taught in the lower schools, and of these, in his own quiet way, he was rather proud.
During the past year matters had been going gradually from bad to worse. Through the winter Caspar Potts was very sick, and this illness ate up almost every dollar the man had saved. When spring came he was too weak to work at plowing and planting, and consequently this fell to Dave's lot. The two lived alone, and there were times when Caspar Potts was certainly more than half out of his mind, acting childish, and begging Dave not to desert him.
"I am not going to desert you," had been Dave's answer. "You have done for me as long as you could, and now I am going to do for you."
"But they may put us out of this house, Dave."
"If they do, we'll have to find some other place to live."
"I cannot undertake to develop another farm, lad; I am too old and feeble."
"Oh, you mustn't talk that way, professor." Dave sometimes called him professor just to please him, and it suited the old man very well. "You are not so very old,—and you'll feel better before long."
"Do you think so, my boy?" questioned the old man, wistfully.
"I'm sure of it."
"It does me good to hear you say so, Dave.
