couldn’t afford to go and do nothin’, so he has a wonderful inspiration—he’ll buy a little store in what he called a "rural community" and go into business. He advertises, "Country Store Wanted Cheap," or words to that effect. Abial Beasley’s widow had the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" on her hands. She answers the ad and they make a dicker. Said dicker took about all the cash Beanblossom had left. For a year he had been fightin’ along tryin’ to make both ends meet, but now they was so fur apart they was likely to meet on the back stretch. He owed 'most a thousand dollars, his trade was fallin’ off, he hadn’t a cent and nobody to turn to. What should he do? What should he do? That was another question I couldn’t answer off hand. It was plain enough why he was in the hole he was, but how to get him out was different. I set down on the edge of the counter, swung my legs and tried to think. 

"Hum," says I, "you don’t know much about keepin’ store, do you, Beanblossom? Didn’t know nothin’ about it when you started in?" 

He shook his head. "I’m afraid not, Cap’n Snow," he says. "Why should I? I never was obliged to labor. I was not interested in trade. I never supposed I should be brought to this. I am a man of family, Cap’n Snow." 

"Yes," I says, "so’m I. Number eight in a family of thirteen. But that never helped me none. My experience is that you can’t count much on your relations." 

Would I pardon him, but that was not the sense in which he had used the word "family." He meant that he came of the best blood in New England. His ancestors had made their marks and—"Made their marks!" I put in. "Why? Couldn’t they write their names?" 

He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The Beanblossoms and their gang were big-bugs, fine folks. He was terrible proud of his family. During the latter part of his life in Boston he had become interested in genealogy. He had begun a "family tree"—whatever that was—but he never finished it. The smash came and shook him out of the branches; that wa’n’t what he said, but ’twas the way I sensed it. And now he had come to this. His money was gone; he couldn’t pay his debts; he couldn’t have any more credit. He must fail; he was bankrupt. Oh, the disgrace! and likewise oh, the poorhouse! 

"But," says I, considerin’, "it can’t be so turrible bad. You don’t owe but a thousand dollars, this store’s the only one in town and Abial used to do pretty well with it. If your debts was paid, and you had a little cash to stock up with, seems to 

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