In the meantime I've been talking to George. 'George,' I told
him, 'I'm going to talk to you, man to man, about a man's job I want you to
tackle.'"
"The farm? But, dearie! He's only a boy!"
"He's nearly seventeen," said Roger, "and a young moose for his age. And
old Dave Royce will still be there. It's the work George has been dreaming
about ever since he was a child. You should have seen how he was thrilled
by the scheme. I told him we'd spend the summer together up there laying
all our plans, investing our money carefully to make every dollar count."
"What money?" Deborah sharply asked. But her father was talking steadily
on:
"We already have a fine lot of cattle. We'll add to it and enlarge the barn
and put in some new equipment. In short, we'll put it in fine shape, make
it a first class dairy farm. 'And then, George,' I said to him, 'I'm going
to turn it over to you. I shall give the farm to your mother, and the rest
of the money I have I mean to invest in her name down here, so that she'll
have a small income until you can make your dairy pay.'"
"What money are you speaking of?" Deborah's voice was thick and hard, her
sensitive lips were parted and she was breathing quickly.
"I've sold the house," he told her. Convulsively she gripped his arms:
"Then tell me where _you_ mean to live!"
"I'm not going to live--I'm going to die--very soon--I have definite
knowledge."
Without speaking Deborah rose; her face went white.
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