"Not much. My father was Judge and spent part of the time holding
court, and his work never lasted but a few hours a day, and when I
wanted to go fishing or shooting, or riding with the girls, Mr.
Larkin always let me off. And I had plenty of time to read--and
for that matter I do here, if I lock myself up in this room. That
low library over there is full of my father's books."
Again Peter's voice had a tinge of merriment in it.
"And who supported the family?" he asked in a lower voice.
"My father."
"And who supported him?"
The question brought Jack to a full stop. He had been running on,
pouring out his heart for the first time since his sojourn in New
York, and to a listener whom he knew he could trust.
"Why--his salary, of course," answered Jack in astonishment, after
a pause.
"Anything else?"
"Yes--the farm."
"And who worked that?"
"My father's negroes--some of them his former slaves."
"And have you any money of your own--anything your father left
you?"
"Only enough to pay taxes on some wild lands up in Cumberland
County, and which I'm going to hold on to for his sake.
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