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Well, Jabez told his family it was a lawyer, come to see him about a legacy. But he knew who it was. He didn’t like the looks of the stranger, nor the way he smiled with his teeth. They were white teeth, and plentiful—some say they were filed to a point, but I wouldn’t vouch for that. And he didn’t like it when the dog took one look at the stranger and ran away howling, with his tail between his legs. But having passed his word, more or less, he stuck to it, and they went out behind the barn and made their bargain. Jabez Stone had to prick his finger to sign, and the stranger lent him a silver pin. The wound healed clean, but it left a little white scar.

After that, all of a sudden, things began to pick up and prosper for Jabez Stone. His cows got fat and his horses sleek, his crops were the envy of the neighborhood, and lightning might strike all over the valley, but it wouldn’t strike his barn. Pretty soon, he was one of the prosperous people of the county; they asked him to stand for selectman, and he stood for it; there began to be talk of running him for state senate. All in all, you might say the Stone family was as happy and contented as cats in a dairy. And so they were, except for Jabez Stone.

The stranger came up through the lower field, switching his boots with a cane—they were handsome black boots, but Jabez Stone never liked the look of them, particularly the toes. And after he’d passed the time of day, he said, “Well, Mr. Stone, you’re a hummer! It’s a very pretty property you’ve got here, Mr. Stone.”

“Well, some might favor it and others might not,” said Jabez Stone, for he was a New Hampshireman.

“Oh, no need to decry your industry!” said the stranger, very easy, showing his teeth in a smile. “After all, we know what’s been done, and it’s been according to contract and specifications. So when—ahem—the mortgage falls due next year, you shouldn’t have any regrets.”

“Speaking of that mortgage, mister,” said Jabez Stone, and he looked around for help to the earth and sky, “I’m beginning to have one or two doubts about it.”

“Doubts?” said the stranger, not quite so pleasantly.

“Why, yes,” said Jabez Stone. “This being the USA and me always having been a religious man.” He cleared his throat and got bolder. “Yes, sir,” he said, “I’m beginning to have considerable doubts as to that mortgage holding in court.”

“There’s courts and courts,” said the stranger, clicking his teeth. “Still, we might as well have a look at the original document.” And he hauled out a big black pocketbook, full of papers. “Sherwin, Slater, Stevens, Stone,” he muttered. “I, Jabez Stone, for a term of seven years—Oh, it’s quite in order, I think.”

But Jabez Stone wasn’t listening, for he saw something else flutter out of the black pocketbook. It was something that looked like a moth, but it wasn’t a moth. And as Jabez Stone stared at it, it seemed to speak to him in a small sort of piping voice, terrible small and thin, but terrible human. “Neighbor Stone!” it squeaked. “Neighbor Stone! Help me! For heaven’s sake, help me!”

But before Jabez Stone could stir hand or foot, the stranger whipped out a big bandanna handkerchief, caught the creature in it, just like a butterfly, and started tying up the ends of the bandanna.

“Sorry for the interruption,” he said, “As I was saying—”

But Jabez Stone was shaking all over like a scared horse.

“That’s Miser Stevens’ voice!” he said, in a croak. “And you’ve got him in your handkerchief!”

The stranger looked a little embarrassed.

“Yes, I really should have transferred him to the collecting box,” he said with a simper, “but there were some rather unusual specimens there and I didn’t want them crowded. Well, well, these little contretemps will occur.”

“I don’t know what you mean by contertan,” said Jabez Stone, “but that was Miser Stevens’ voice! And he ain’t dead! You can’t tell me he is! He was just as spry and mean as a woodchuck, Tuesday!”