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Updated: September 5, 2025
He 'ain't had any children; nobody but himself an' his wife, an' she contented with next to nothin'. Jest a roof an' bread for them jest that; an' he an able-bodied man, that's worked like a dog jest that; an' he's got to give it up. Look at him, he's a sight for wise men an' fools." Ozias laughed. "What on earth do you mean, Uncle Ozias?" "Simon Basset is goin' to foreclose to-morrow."
With a self-control which, at his years and with his temperament, was nothing less than marvelous, he civilly took off his hat, bowed, and returned to the inn by himself. Mr. Brock slept badly that night. The issue of the interview in the lane had made the problem of Ozias Midwinter a harder problem to solve than ever.
"Look at this town, an' look at Doctor Prescott, an' look at Simon Basset," Ozias went on, coming abruptly from illustration to object, with a vigor of personal spite. "Look at 'em. You can't see much of anything here but them two men. Much as ever you can see the meetin'-house steeple.
Simon Basset edged his chair away still farther; then he spoke. "Don't s'pose you expected folks to up an' pay Abel Edwards's mortgage for him," he said. "No, I didn't," returned Ozias Lamb, and the sardonic curves around his mouth deepened. "An' I don't s'pose you'd expect Doctor Prescott to make him a present of it," said Jake Noyes, suddenly, from the outskirts of the group.
"Doctor Prescott's a pretty good customer of yours, ain't he?" he inquired. There was a subdued titter. Cyrus Robinson colored, but kept his pleasant smile. "Everybody in town is a good customer," said he. "I haven't any bad customers." "P'r'aps 'cause you won't trust 'em," said Ozias Lamb. This time the titter was audible. Cyrus Robinson's business caution was well known.
When he rose, he staggered, and could scarcely see his way across the field. When he entered his uncle's shop, Ozias looked at him sharply. "If you're sick you'd better go home and go to bed," he said, in a voice of harsh concern. "I am not sick," said Jerome, and fell to work with a sort of fury.
Then, with the pitilessness of any dissenting spirit of reform, who will pour out truths, whether of good or evil, to the benefit or injury of mankind, who will force strong meat as well as milk on babies and sucklings, he kept on, while the boy stood staring, shrinking a little, yet with young eyes kindling, from the bitter frenzy of the other. "It's so," said Ozias Lamb.
"Hullo!" said he; "that you?" "Yes, sir," Jerome replied, deferentially. He had respect for his uncle Ozias. "Where you goin'?" "Home." "'Ain't you been to Robinson's for shoes?" "Yes, sir." "Where be they, then?" Jerome told him. "I ain't surprised. I knew what 'twould be when I heard you'd fit 'Lisha," said Ozias. "You hit my calf, you hit me.
Simon Basset had deprived Ozias Lamb, by shrewd management, of the old Lamb homestead; Doctor Prescott had been instrumental in hushing his voice in prayer and exhortation in prayer-meeting.
"Do me justice on my side, and believe that I am incapable of cruelly holding you responsible for your father's crime." The reply seemed to compose him. He bowed his head in silence, and took up the confession from the table. "Have you read this through?" he asked, quietly. "Every word of it, from first to last." "Have I dealt openly with you so far. Has Ozias Midwinter "
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