He was getting
rich very fast, but something troubled him. Shall I tell you what it was?
Just next to Jack's farm was a perfect beauty of a little place, on which
lived the Widow Lundy. Her husband had bought the farm, and borrowed
money of Jack Grip to pay for it. It was about half paid for when poor
Lundy was killed by a falling tree. There was some money due him, and he
had a little property besides, so that the widow sent word to Mr. Grip
that if he would only wait till she could get her means together, she
would pay up the remainder. But times were hard, and Jack saw a chance to
make two thousand dollars by forcing the sale of the farm and buying it
himself. It just fitted on to his lower field. It went hard to turn the
widow out, but Jack Grip made up his mind that he would be rich. He tried
to make it seem right, but he couldn't. He had forced the sale; he had
bought the place for two thousand less than it was worth.
The widow was to move the next morning. She had little left, and it was a
sad night in the small brown house. Poor little Jane, only ten years old,
cried herself to sleep, to think she must leave her home, and Harry was
to go to live with an aunt until his mother found some way of making a
living.
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