To own land, and to love it, is a wonderful thing, Mr.Pryor." She made me think of something.

Ever since I had added to my quill and arrow money, the great big lot at Easter, father had shared his chest till with me.

The chest stood in our room, and in it lay his wedding suit, his every Sunday clothes, his best hat with a red silk handkerchief in the crown, a bundle of precious newspapers he was saving on account of rare things in them he wanted for reference, and in the till was the wallet of ready money he kept in the house for unexpected expense, his deeds, insurance papers, all his particular private papers, the bunches of lead pencils, slate pencils, and the box of pens from which he supplied us for school.

Since I had grown so rich, he had gone partners with me, and I might lift the lid, open the till and take out my little purse that May bought from the huckster for my last birthday.

I wasn't to touch a thing, save my own, and I never did; but I knew precious well what was there.
If Mr.Pryor thought my father didn't amount to much because he lived on land; if it made him think more of him, to know that he could be in the legislature if he chose, maybe he'd think still more---- I lifted the papers, picked it up carefully, and slipping back quietly, I laid it on Mr.Pryor's knee.