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“Poor Bacon! He’s a good sort of a man,” remarked the lawyer. “I can’t help feeling sorry for him. He’s his own worst enemy.”

“I want you to push this matter through in the quickest possible time,” said Dyer, in a sharp, firm voice.

“Very well. It shall be done. I know my business.”

“And I know mine,” returned the tavern-keeper.

On the next day, Mr. Bacon was formally notified that proceedings had been instituted for the satisfaction of the mortgage. This was bringing the threatened evil before his eyes in the most direct aspect. In considerable alarm and perturbation, he called over to see Dyer.

“You cannot mean to press this matter on to the utmost extremity,” said he, on meeting the tavern-keeper, the hard aspect of whose features gave him little room for hope.

“I certainly mean to get my three hundred dollars,” was replied.

“Can you not wait until after next harvest?”

“I have already told you that I want my money now,” said Dyer, with affected anger. “If you can pay me, well; if not, I will get my own by aid of the Sheriff.”

“That is a hard saying, Mr. Dyer,” returned the farmer, in a subdued voice.

“Nevertheless, it is a true one, friend Bacon, true as gospel.”

“I haven’t the money, nor can I borrow it, Mr. Dyer.”

“Your misfortune, not mine. Though I must say, it is a little strange.”

“What is strange?”

“That a man who has lived in this community as long as you have, can’t find a friend willing to loan him three hundred dollars to save his farm from the Sheriff. There’s something wrong.”

Yes, there was something wrong, and poor old Mr. Bacon felt it now more deeply than ever. Another feeble effort at remonstrance was made, when Mr. Dyer coldly referred him to Grant the lawyer, who had now entire control of the business. But he did not go to him. He felt that to do so would be utterly useless.

Regular proceedings were entered upon for the settlement of the mortgage, and hurried to an issue as speedily as possible. It was all in vain that Mr. Bacon sought to borrow three hundred dollars, or to find some person willing to take the mortgage on his farm, and let him continue to pay the interest. It was a season when few had money to spare, and those who could have advanced the sum required, hesitated about investing it where there was little hope of getting the amount back again except by execution and sale. For, Mr. Bacon, in consequence of his intemperance, was steadily running behindhand; and all his neighbours knew it.

The effect of this trouble on the mind of Mr. Bacon was to cause him to drink harder than before. His cheerful temper gave place to a silent moodiness, when in partial states of sobriety, which where now of rare occurrence, and he lost all interest in things around him. A greater part of his time was spent in wandering restlessly about his house or farm, but he put his hand to scarcely any work.

Deeply distressed were Mrs. Bacon and Mary. Each of them had called, at different times on Mr. Dyer, in the hope of moving him by persuasion to turn from his purpose.

But, only in one way would he agree to an amicable settlement, and that was, by taking the farm for the mortgage and three hundred dollars cash; by which means he would come into possession of property worth from twelve to fifteen hundred dollars. This offer he repeated to Mary, who was the last to call upon him in the hope of turning him from his purpose.

“No! Mr. Dyer,” said the young girl firmly, even while tears were in her eyes. “My father will not let the place go at a third of its real value.”

“He over-estimates its worth,” replied Dyer, with some impatience, “and he’ll find this out when it comes under the hammer.”

“You will not, I am sure you will not, sacrifice my father’s little place,–the home of his children,” said Mary, in an appealing voice.