face the poor-house! Oh, my poor family—oh,—oh,—oh!"
He leaned backward, threw up his arms and fell over the rail of the porch to lie motionless on the soft sand beneath.
Jarrod laughed. After a minute or so of silence he said calmly:
"There's a red spider crawling up your left pant-leg."
Easton sat up and with a nervous motion shook the bottoms of his trousers. Then he glanced at his persecutor, who was just now gazing reflectively over the smooth waters of the lake, which showed between the foliage of the trees.
"Sir," said the old man, in a voice trembling with emotion, as he dusted the sand from his clothes and once more mounted the steps of the porch, "you are a cold-blooded brute!"
"I know," acknowledged Jarrod. "But I'm not as bad as I used to be. Ask my wife. She'll tell you I have
