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 that killed your boy, because you hadn't money enough to build a decent wharf. It's your poverty that makes your wife despise you. You want money—that's all! You're a failure because you tried to live without getting the means to live on."

Matt shook his head, humped over his knees. "What's the matter with things? Why 'm I—what you people think I am, when I tried to be—what I did? Why are you what you are when you used to be"—he choked up—"you used to be 'Benny'?"

That fond little name of their childhood came upon them from their past with a tender appeal that silenced them. They stared at each other, and Matt had a mist of tears in his eyes.

Ben glanced aside quickly at the green edge of Alder Point. "That's got nothing to do with it," he muttered.

The sunshine burst upon their silence with a sudden light that seemed to make their emotion public and improper. The Honorable Ben thrust his forefinger down between the back of his neck and his shirt-collar and made a pretense of easing the pinch of the linen. "Look here," he said, with a determined gruffness, "I came up here to say this: I'm looking for a bit of land to build on. The wife likes the country. I want a place for her to live—in case of trouble. We could get this land around here for a song, if you'd run the farm for us or see that the natives didn't steal the whole