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             Driven From Home by Horatio Alger




DRIVEN FROM HOME

OR

CARL CRAWFORD'S EXPERIENCE

BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.

Author of "Erie Train Boy," "Young Acrobat," "Only an Irish Boy,"
"Bound to Rise," "The Young Outlaw," "Hector's Inheritance," etc.

DRIVEN FROM HOME.

CHAPTER I

DRIVEN FROM HOME.

A boy of sixteen, with a small gripsack in
his hand, trudged along the country road.  He
was of good height for his age, strongly built,
and had a frank, attractive face.  He was
naturally of a cheerful temperament, but at present
his face was grave, and not without a shade
of anxiety.  This can hardly be a matter of
surprise when we consider that he was thrown
upon his own resources, and that his available
capital consisted of thirty-seven cents in
money, in addition to a good education and
a rather unusual amount of physical strength.
These last two items were certainly valuable,
but they cannot always be exchanged for the
necessaries and comforts of life.

For some time his steps had been lagging,
and from time to time he had to wipe the moisture
from his brow with a fine linen handkerchief,
which latter seemed hardly compatible
with his almost destitute condition.

I hasten to introduce my hero, for such he
is to be, as Carl Crawford, son of Dr. Paul
Crawford, of Edgewood Center.  Why he had
set out to conquer fortune single-handed will
soon appear.

A few rods ahead Carl's attention was
drawn to a wide-spreading oak tree, with a carpet
of verdure under its sturdy boughs.

"I will rest here for a little while," he said
to himself, and suiting the action to the word,
threw down his gripsack and flung himself on
the turf.

"This is refreshing," he murmured, as, lying
upon his back, he looked up through the leafy
rifts to the sky above.  "I don't know when
I have ever been so tired.  It's no joke walking
a dozen miles under a hot sun, with a heavy
gripsack in your hand.  It's a good introduction
to a life of labor, which I have reason to
believe is before me.  I wonder how I am coming
out--at the big or the little end of the horn?"

He paused, and his face grew grave, for he
understood well that for him life had become
a serious matter.  In his absorption he did
not observe the rapid approach of a boy some-
what younger than himself, mounted on a bicycle.

The boy stopped short in surprise, and
leaped from his iron steed.

"Why, Carl Crawford, is this you?  Where
in the world are you going with that gripsack?"

Carl looked up quickly.

"Going to seek my fortune," he answered, soberly.

"Well, I hope you'll find it.  Don't chaff,
though, but tell the honest truth."

"I have told you the truth, Gilbert."

With a puzzled look, Gilbert, first leaning
his bicycle against the tree, seated himself on
the ground by Carl's side.

"Has your father lost his property?" he
asked, abruptly.

"No."

"Has he disinherited you?"

"Not exactly."

"Have you left home for good?"

"I have left home--I hope for good."

"Have you quarreled with the governor?"

"I hardly know what to say to that.
There is a difference between us."

"He doesn't seem like a Roman father--one
who rules his family with a rod of iron."

"No; he is quite the reverse.  He hasn't
backbone enough."

"So it seemed to me when I saw him at the
exhibition of the academy.  You ought to be
able to get along with a father like that, Carl."

"So I could but for one thing."

"What is that?"

"I have a stepmother!" said Carl, with a
significant glance at his companion.

"So have I, but she is the soul of kindness,
and makes our home the dearest place in the world."

"Are there such stepmothers?  I shouldn't
have judged so from my own experience."

"I think I love her as much as if she were
my own mother."

"You are lucky," said Carl, sighing.

"Tell me about yours."

"She was married to my father five years
ago.  Up to the time of her marriage I thought
her amiable and sweet-tempered.  But soon
after the wedding she threw off the mask, and
made it clear that she disliked me.  One reason
is that she has a son of her own about
my age, a mean, sneaking fellow, who is the
apple of her eye.  She has been jealous of me,
and tried to supplant me in the affection of
my father, wishing Peter to be the favored son."

"How has she succeeded?"

"I don't think my father feels any love for
Peter, but through my stepmother's influence
he generally fares better than I do."

"Why wasn't he sent to school with you?"

"Because he is lazy and doesn't like study.
Besides, his mother prefers to have him at
home.  During my absence she worked upon
my father, by telling all sorts of malicious
stories about me, till he became estranged from
me, and little by little Peter has usurped my
place as the favorite."

"Why didn't you deny the stories?" asked Gilbert.

"I did, but no credit was given to my
denials.  My stepmother was continually poisoning
my father's mind against me."

"Did you give her cause?  Did you behave
disrespectfully to her?"

"No," answered Carl, warmly.  "I was
prepared to give her a warm welcome, and treat
her as a friend, but my advances were so coldly
received that my heart was chilled."

"Poor Carl!  How long has this been so?"

"From the beginning--ever since Mrs. Crawford
came into the house."

"What are your relations with your step-
brother--what's his name?"

"Peter Cook.  I despise the boy, for he is
mean, and tyrannical where he dares to be."

"I don't think it would be safe for him to
bully you, Carl."

"He tried it, and got a good thrashing.  You
can imagine what followed.  He ran, crying
to his mother, and his version of the story was
believed.  I was confined to my room for a
week, and forced to live on bread and water."

"I shouldn't think your father was a man
to inflict such a punishment."

"It wasn't he--it was my stepmother.  She
insisted upon it, and he yielded.  I heard afterwards
from one of the servants that he wanted
me released at the end of twenty-four hours,
but she would not consent."

"How long ago was this?"

"It happened when I was twelve."

"Was it ever repeated?"

"Yes, a month later; but the punishment
lasted only for two days."

"And you submitted to it?"

"I had to, but as soon as I was released I
gave Peter such a flogging, with the promise
to repeat it, if I was ever punished in that
manner again, that the boy himself was panic-
stricken, and objected to my being imprisoned again."

"He must be a charming fellow!"

"You would think so if you should see him.
He has small, insignificant features, a turn-
up nose, and an ugly scowl that appears whenever
he is out of humor."

"And yet your father likes him?"

"I don't think he does, though Peter, by his
mother's orders, pays all sorts of small attentions--
bringing him his slippers, running on
errands, and so on, not because he likes it, but
because he wants to supplant me, as he has
succeeded in doing."

"You have finally broken away, then?"

"Yes; I couldn't stand it any longer.  Home
had become intolerable."

"Pardon the question, but hasn't your father
got considerable property?"

"I have every reason to think so."

"Won't your leaving home give your step-
mother and Peter the inside track, and lead,
perhaps, to your disinheritance?"

"I suppose so," answered Carl, wearily; "but
no matter what happens, I can't bear to stay
at home any longer."

"You're badly fixed--that's a fact!" said
Gilbert, in a tone of sympathy.  "What are
your plans?"

"I don't know.  I haven't had time to think."

CHAPTER II.

A FRIEND WORTH HAVING.

Gilbert wrinkled up his forehead and set
about trying to form some plans for Carl.

"It will be hard for you to support yourself,"
he said, after a pause; "that is, without help."

"There is no one to help me.  I expect no help."

"I thought your father might be induced to
give you an allowance, so that with what you
can earn, you may get along comfortably."

"I think father would be willing to do this,
but my stepmother would prevent him."

"Then she has a great deal of influence over him?"

"Yes, she can twist him round her little finger."

"I can't understand it."

"You see, father is an invalid, and is very
nervous.  If he were in perfect health he would
have more force of character and firmness.  He
is under the impression that he has heart disease,
and it makes him timid and vacillating."

"Still he ought to do something for you."

"I suppose he ought.  Still, Gilbert, I think
I can earn my living."

"What can you do?"

"Well, I have a fair education.  I could be
an entry clerk, or a salesman in some store,
or, if the worst came to the worst, I could work
on a farm.  I believe farmers give boys who
work for them their board and clothes."

"I don't think the clothes would suit you."

"I am pretty well supplied with clothing."

Gilbert looked significantly at the gripsack.

"Do you carry it all in there?" he asked, doubtfully.

Carl laughed.

"Well, no," he answered.  "I have a trunkful
of clothes at home, though."

"Why didn't you bring them with you?"

"I would if I were an elephant.  Being only
a boy, I would find it burdensome carrying a
trunk with me.  The gripsack is all I can very
well manage."

"I tell you what," said Gilbert.  "Come
round to our house and stay overnight.  We
live only a mile from here, you know.  The
folks will be glad to see you, and while you
are there I will go to your house, see the
governor, and arrange for an allowance for you
that will make you comparatively independent."

"Thank you, Gilbert; but I don't feel like
asking favors from those who have ill-treated me."

"Nor would I--of strangers; but Dr. Crawford
is your father.  It isn't right that Peter,
your stepbrother, should be supported in ease
and luxury, while you, the real son, should
be subjected to privation and want."

"I don't know but you are right," admitted
Carl, slowly.

"Of course I am right.  Now, will you make
me your minister plenipotentiary, armed with
full powers?"

"Yes, I believe I will."

"That's right.  That shows you are a boy
of sense.  Now, as you are subject to my
directions, just get on that bicycle and I will
carry your gripsack, and we will seek Vance
Villa, as we call it when we want to be high-
toned, by the most direct route."

"No, no, Gilbert; I will carry my own
gripsack.  I won't burden you with it," said Carl,
rising from his recumbent position.

"Look here, Carl, how far have you walked
with it this morning?"

"About twelve miles."

"Then, of course, you're tired, and require
rest.  Just jump on that bicycle, and I'll take
the gripsack.  If you have carried it twelve
miles, I can surely carry it one."

"You are very kind, Gilbert."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"But it is imposing up on your good nature."

But Gilbert had turned his head in a backward
direction, and nodded in a satisfied way
as he saw a light, open buggy rapidly approaching.

"There's my sister in that carriage," he said.
"She comes in good time.  I will put you and
your gripsack in with her, and I'll take to my
bicycle again."

"Your sister may not like such an arrangement."

"Won't she though!  She's very fond of
beaux, and she will receive you very graciously."

"You make me feel bashful, Gilbert."

"You won't be long.  Julia will chat away
to you as if she'd known you for fifty years."

"I was very young fifty years ago," said
Carl, smiling.

"Hi, there, Jule!" called Gilbert, waving his hand.

Julia Vance stopped the horse, and looked
inquiringly and rather admiringly at Carl,
who was a boy of fine appearance.

"Let me introduce you to my friend and
schoolmate, Carl Crawford."

Carl took off his hat politely.

"I am very glad to make your acquaintance,
Mr. Crawford," said Julia, demurely; "I have
often heard Gilbert speak of you."

"I hope he said nothing bad about me, Miss Vance."

"You may be sure he didn't.  If he should now--
I wouldn't believe him."

"You've made a favorable impression, Carl,"
said Gilbert, smiling.

"I am naturally prejudiced against boys--
having such a brother," said Julia; "but it is
not fair to judge all boys by him."

"That is outrageous injustice!" said Gilbert;
"but then, sisters seldom appreciate their brothers."

"Some other fellows' sisters may," said Carl.

"They do, they do!"

"Did you ever see such a vain, conceited boy,
Mr. Crawford?"

"Of course you know him better than I do."

"Come, Carl; it's too bad for you, too, to
join against me.  However, I will forget and
forgive.  Jule, my friend, Carl, has accepted
my invitation to make us a visit."

"I am very glad, I am sure," said Julia,
sincerely.

"And I want you to take him in, bag and
baggage, and convey him to our palace, while
I speed thither on my wheel."

"To be sure I will, and with great pleasure."

"Can't you get out and assist him into the
carriage, Jule?"

"Thank you," said Carl; "but though I am
somewhat old and quite infirm, I think I can
get in without troubling your sister.  Are you
sure, Miss Vance, you won't be incommoded
by my gripsack?"

"Not at all."

"Then I will accept your kind offer."

In a trice Carl was seated next to Julia, with
his valise at his feet.

"Won't you drive, Mr. Crawford?" said the
young lady.

"Don't let me take the reins from you."

"I don't think it looks well for a lady to
drive when a gentleman is sitting beside her."

Carl was glad to take the reins, for he liked driving.

"Now for a race!" said Gilbert, who was
mounted on his bicycle.

"All right!" replied Carl.  "Look out for us!"

They started, and the two kept neck and
neck till they entered the driveway leading
up to a handsome country mansion.

Carl followed them into the house, and was
cordially received by Mr. and Mrs. Vance,
who were very kind and hospitable, and were
favorably impressed by the gentlemanly
appearance of their son's friend.

Half an hour later dinner was announced,
and Carl, having removed the stains of travel
in his schoolmate's room, descended to the dining-
room, and, it must be confessed, did ample
justice to the bounteous repast spread before him.

In the afternoon Julia, Gilbert and he
played tennis, and had a trial at archery.  The
hours glided away very rapidly, and six o'clock
came before they were aware.

"Gilbert," said Carl, as they were preparing
for tea, "you have a charming home."

"You have a nice house, too, Carl."

"True; but it isn't a home--to me.
There is no love there."

"That makes a great difference."

"If I had a father and mother like yours
I should be happy."

"You must stay here till day after tomorrow,
and I will devote to-morrow to a visit in
your interest to your home.  I will beard the
lion in his den--that is, your stepmother.
Do you consent?"

"Yes, I consent; but it won't do any good."

"We will see."

CHAPTER III.

INTRODUCES PETER COOK.

Gilbert took the morning train to the town
of Edgewood Center, the residence of the Crawfords.
He had been there before, and knew
that Carl's home was nearly a mile distant
from the station.  Though there was a hack
in waiting, he preferred to walk, as it would
give him a chance to think over what he proposed
to say to Dr. Crawford in Carl's behalf.

He was within a quarter of a mile of his
destination when his attention was drawn to a
boy of about his own age, who was amusing
himself and a smaller companion by firing
stones at a cat that had taken refuge in a tree.
Just as Gilbert came up, a stone took effect,
and the poor cat moaned in affright, but did
not dare to come down from her perch, as this
would put her in the power of her assailant.

"That must be Carl's stepbrother, Peter,"
Gilbert decided, as he noted the boy's mean
face and turn-up nose.  "Stoning cats seems
to be his idea of amusement.  I shall take the
liberty of interfering."

Peter Cook laughed heartily at his successful aim.

"I hit her, Simon," he said.  "Doesn't she
look seared?"

"You must have hurt her."

"I expect I did.  I'll take a bigger stone next time."

He suited the action to the word, and picked
up a rock which, should it hit the poor cat,
would in all probability kill her, and prepared
to fire.

"Put down that rock!" said Gilbert, indignantly.

Peter turned quickly, and eyed Gilbert insolently.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

"No matter who I am.  Put down that rock!"

"What business is it of yours?"

"I shall make it my business to protect that
cat from your cruelty."

Peter, who was a natural coward, took courage
from having a companion to back him up,
and retorted: "You'd better clear out of here,
or I may fire at you."

"Do it if you dare!" said Gilbert, quietly.

Peter concluded that it would be wiser not
to carry out his threat, but was resolved to
keep to his original purpose.  He raised his
arm again, and took aim; but Gilbert rushed
in, and striking his arm forcibly, compelled
him to drop it.

"What do you mean by that, you loafer?"
demanded Peter, his eyes blazing with anger.

"To stop your fun, if that's what you call it."

"I've a good mind to give you a thrashing."

Gilbert put himself in a position of defense.

"Sail in, if you want to!" he responded.

"Help me, Simon!" said Peter.  "You grab
his legs, and I'll upset him."

Simon, who, though younger, was braver
than Peter, without hesitation followed directions.
He threw himself on the ground and
grasped Gilbert by the legs, while Peter,
doubling up his fists, made a rush at his enemy.
But Gilbert, swiftly eluding Simon, struck out
with his right arm, and Peter, unprepared for
so forcible a defense, tumbled over on his back,
and Simon ran to his assistance.

Gilbert put himself on guard, expecting a
second attack; but Peter apparently thought
it wiser to fight with his tongue.

"You rascal!" he shrieked, almost foaming
at the mouth; "I'll have you arrested."

"What for?" asked Gilbert, coolly.

"For flying at me like a--a tiger, and trying
to kill me."

Gilbert laughed at this curious version of things.

"I thought it was you who flew at me," he said.

"What business had you to interfere with me?"

"I'll do it again unless you give up firing
stones at the cat."

"I'll do it as long as I like."

"She's gone!" said Simon.

The boys looked up into the tree, and could
see nothing of puss.  She had taken the
opportunity, when her assailant was otherwise
occupied, to make good her escape.

"I'm glad of it!" said Gilbert.  "Good-
morning, boys!  When we meet again, I hope you
will be more creditably employed."

"You don't get off so easy, you loafer," said
Peter, who saw the village constable approaching.
"Here, Mr. Rogers, I want you to arrest
this boy."

Constable Rogers, who was a stout, broad-
shouldered man, nearly six feet in height,
turned from one to the other, and asked:
"What has he done?"

"He knocked me over.  I want him arrested
for assault and battery."

"And what did you do?"

"I?  I didn't do anything."

"That is rather strange.  Young man, what
is your name?"

"Gilbert Vance."

"You don't live in this town?"

"No; I live in Warren."

"What made you attack Peter?"

"Because he flew at me, and I had to defend myself."

"Is this so, Simon?  You saw all that happened."

"Ye--es," admitted Simon, unwillingly.

"That puts a different face on the matter.
I don't see how I can arrest this boy.  He had
a right to defend himself."

"He came up and abused me--the loafer,"
said Peter.

"That was the reason you went at him?"

"Yes."

"Have you anything to say?" asked the
constable, addressing Gilbert.

"Yes, sir; when I came up I saw this boy
firing stones at a cat, who had taken refuge
in that tree over there.  He had just hit her,
and had picked up a larger stone to fire when
I ordered him to drop it."

"It was no business of yours," muttered Peter.

"I made it my business, and will again."

"Did the cat have a white spot on her forehead?"
asked the constable.

"Yes, sir."

"And was mouse colored?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why, it's my little girl's cat.  She would
be heartbroken if the cat were seriously hurt.
You young rascal!" he continued, turning
suddenly upon Peter, and shaking him vigorously.
"Let me catch you at this business again, and
I'll give you such a warming that you'll never
want to touch another cat."

"Let me go!" cried the terrified boy.
"I didn't know it was your cat."

"It would have been just as bad if it had
been somebody else's cat.  I ve a great mind
to put you in the lockup."

"Oh, don't, please don't, Mr. Rogers!"
implored Peter, quite panic-stricken.

"Will you promise never to stone another cat?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then go about your business."

Peter lost no time, but scuttled up the street
with his companion.

"I am much obliged to you for protecting
Flora's cat," then said the constable to Gilbert.

"You are quite welcome, sir.  I won't see
any animal abused if I can help it."

"You are right there."

"Wasn't that boy Peter Cook?"

"Yes.  Don't you know him?"

"No; but I know his stepbrother, Carl."

"A different sort of boy!  Have you come
to visit him?"

"No; he is visiting me.  In fact, he has left
home, because he could not stand his step-
mother's ill-treatment, and I have come to see
his father in his behalf."

"He has had an uncomfortable home.  Dr.
Crawford is an invalid, and very much under
the influence of his wife, who seems to have
a spite against Carl, and is devoted to that
young cub to whom you have given a lesson.
Does Carl want to come back?"

"No; he wants to strike out for himself, but
I told him it was no more than right that he
should receive some help from his father."

"That is true enough.  For nearly all the doctor's
money came to him through Carl's mother."

"I am afraid Peter and his mother won't
give me a very cordial welcome after what has
happened this morning.  I wish I could see
the doctor alone."

"So you can, for there he is coming up the street."

Gilbert looked in the direction indicated,
and his glance fell on a thin, fragile-looking
man, evidently an invalid, with a weak,
undecided face, who was slowly approaching.

The boy advanced to meet him, and, taking
off his hat, asked politely: "Is this Dr. Crawford?"

CHAPTER IV.

AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE.

Dr. Crawford stopped short, and eyed Gilbert attentively.

"I don't know you," he said, in a querulous tone.

"I am a schoolmate of your son, Carl.
My name is Gilbert Vance."

"If you have come to see my son you will
be disappointed.  He has treated me in a
shameful manner.  He left home yesterday
morning, and I don't know where he is."

"I can tell you, sir.  He is staying--for a
day or two--at my father's house."

"Where is that?" asked Dr. Crawford, his
manner showing that he was confused.

"In Warren, thirteen miles from here."

"I know the town.  What induced him to
go to your house?  Have you encouraged him
to leave home?" inquired Dr. Crawford, with
a look of displeasure.

"No, sir.  It was only by chance that I met
him a mile from our home.  I induced him to
stay overnight."

"Did you bring me any message from him?"
"No, sir, except that he is going to strike
out for himself, as he thinks his home an
unhappy one."

"That is his own fault.  He has had enough
to eat and enough to wear.  He has had as
comfortable a home as yourself."

"I don't doubt that, but he complains that
his stepmother is continually finding fault
with him, and scolding him."

"He provokes her to do it.  He is a headstrong,
obstinate boy."

"He never had that reputation at school, sir.
We all liked him."

"I suppose you mean to imply that I am in
fault?" said the doctor, warmly.

"I don't think you know how badly Mrs. 
Crawford treats Carl, sir."

"Of course, of course.  That is always said
of a stepmother."

"Not always, sir.  I have a stepmother
myself, and no own mother could treat me better."

"You are probably a better boy."

"I can't accept the compliment.  I hope
you'll excuse me saying it, Dr. Crawford, but
if my stepmother treated me as Carl says Mrs. 
Crawford treats him I wouldn't stay in the
house another day."

"Really, this is very annoying," said Dr.
Crawford, irritably.  "Have you come here
from Warren to say this?"

"No, sir, not entirely."

"Perhaps Carl wants me to receive him back.
I will do so if he promises to obey his stepmother."

"That he won't do, I am sure."

"Then what is the object of your visit?"

"To say that Carl wants and intends to earn
his own living.  But it is hard for a boy of
his age, who has never worked, to earn enough
at first to pay for his board and clothes.  He
asks, or, rather, I ask for him, that you will
allow him a small sum, say three or four
dollars a week, which is considerably less than
he must cost you at home, for a time until he
gets on his feet."

"I don't know," said Dr. Crawford, in a
vacillating tone.  "I don't think Mrs. Crawford
would approve this."

"It seems to me you are the one to decide,
as Carl is your own son.  Peter must cost you
a good deal more."

"Do you know Peter?"

"I have met him," answered Gilbert, with
a slight smile.

"I don't know what to say.  You may be right.
Peter does cost me more."

"And Carl is entitled to be treated as well as he."

"I think I ought to speak to Mrs. Crawford
about it.  And, by the way, I nearly forgot
to say that she charges Carl with taking money
from her bureau drawer before he went away.
It was a large sum, too--twenty-five dollars."

"That is false!" exclaimed Gilbert,
indignantly.  "I am surprised that you should
believe such a thing of your own son."

"Mrs. Crawford says she has proof," said
the doctor, hesitating.

"Then what has he done with the money?
I know that he has but thirty-seven cents with
him at this time, and he only left home
yesterday.  If the money has really been taken,
I think I know who took it."

"Who?"

"Peter Cook.  He looks mean enough for anything."

"What right have you to speak so of Peter?"

"Because I caught him stoning a cat this
morning.  He would have killed the poor
thing if I had not interfered.  I consider that
worse than taking money."

"I--I don't know what to say.  I can't agree
to anything till I have spoken with Mrs. Crawford.
Did you say that Carl had but thirty
seven cents?"

"Yes, sir; I presume you don't want him to starve?"

"No, of course not.  He is my son, though
he has behaved badly.  Here, give him that!"
and Dr. Crawford drew a ten-dollar bill from
his wallet, and handed it to Gilbert

"Thank you, sir.  This money will be very
useful.  Besides, it will show Carl that his
father is not wholly indifferent to him."

"Of course not.  Who says that I am a bad
father?" asked Dr. Crawford, peevishly.

"I don't think, sir, there would be any
difficulty between you and Carl if you had not
married again."

"Carl has no right to vex Mrs. Crawford.
Besides, he can't agree with Peter."

"Is that his fault or Peter's?" asked Gilbert,
significantly.

"I am not acquainted with the circumstances,
but Mrs. Crawford says that Carl is
always bullying Peter."

"He never bullied anyone at school."

"Is there anything, else you want?"

"Yes, sir; Carl only took away a little
underclothing in a gripsack.  He would like his
woolen clothes put in his trunk, and to have
it sent----"

"Where?"

"Perhaps it had better be sent to my house.
There are one or two things in his room also
that he asked me to get."

"Why didn't he come himself?"

"Because he thought it would be unpleasant
for him to meet Mrs. Crawford.  They would
be sure to quarrel."

"Well, perhaps he is right," said Dr.
Crawford, with an air of relief.  "About the
allowance, I shall have to consult my wife.  Will
you come with me to the house?"

"Yes, sir; I should like to have the matter
settled to-day, so that Carl will know what
to depend upon."

Gilbert rather dreaded the interview he was
likely to have with Mrs. Crawford; but he was
acting for Carl, and his feelings of friendship
were strong.

So he walked beside Dr. Crawford till they
reached the tasteful dwelling occupied as a
residence by Carl and his father.

"How happy Carl could he here, if he had
a stepmother like mine," Gilbert thought.

They went up to the front door, which was
opened for them by a servant.

"Jane, is Mrs. Crawford in?" asked the doctor.

"No, sir; not just now.  She went to the
village to do some shopping."

"Is Peter in?"

"No, sir."

"Then you will have to wait till they return."

"Can't I go up to Carl's room and be packing
his things?"

"Yes, I think you may.  I don't think Mrs. 
Crawford would object."

"Good heavens!  Hasn't the man a mind of
his own?" thought Gilbert.

"Jane, you may show this young gentleman
up to Master Carl's room, and give him the
key of his trunk.  He is going to pack his
clothes."

"When is Master Carl coming back?" asked Jane.

"I--I don't know.  I think he will be away
for a time."

"I wish it was Peter instead of him," said
Jane, in a low voice, only audible to Gilbert.

She showed Gilbert the way upstairs, while
the doctor went to his study.

"Are you a friend of Master Carl's?" asked
Jane, as soon as they were alone.

"Yes, Jane."

"And where is he?"

"At my house."

"Is he goin' to stay there?"

"For a short time.  He wants to go out into
the world and make his own living."

"And no wonder--poor boy!  It's hard times
he had here."

"Didn't Mrs. Crawford treat him well?"
asked Gilbert, with curiosity

"Is it trate him well?  She was a-jawin' an'
a-jawin' him from mornin' till night.  Ugh,
but she's an ugly cr'atur'!"

"How about Peter?"

"He's just as bad--the m'anest bye I iver
set eyes on.  It would do me good to see him
flogged."

She chatted a little longer with Gilbert,
helping him to find Carl's clothes, when suddenly
a shrill voice was heard calling her from below.

"Shure, it's the madam!" said Jane, shrugging
her shoulders.  "I expect she's in a temper;"
and she rose from her knees and hurried downstairs.

CHAPTER V.

CARL'S STEPMOTHER.

Five minutes later, as Gilbert was closing
the trunk, Jane reappeared.

"The doctor and Mrs. Crawford would like
to see you downstairs," she said.

Gilbert followed Jane into the library, where
Dr. Crawford and his wife were seated.  He
looked with interest at the woman who had
made home so disagreeable to Carl, and was
instantly prejudiced against her.  She was light
complexioned, with very light-brown hair,
cold, gray eyes, and a disagreeable expression
which seemed natural to her.

"My dear," said the doctor, "this is the
young man who has come from Carl."

Mrs. Crawford surveyed Gilbert with an
expression by no means friendly.

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Gilbert Vance."

"Did Carl Crawford send you here?"

"No; I volunteered to come."

"Did he tell you that he was disobedient and
disrespectful to me?"

"No; he told me that you treated him so
badly that he was unwilling to live in the
same house with you," answered Gilbert,
boldly.

"Well, upon my word!" exclaimed Mrs. 
Crawford, fanning herself vigorously.
"Dr. Crawford, did you hear that?"

"Yes."

"And what do you think of it?"

"Well, I think you may have been too hard upon Carl."

"Too hard?  Why, then, did he not treat
me respectfully?  This boy seems inclined to
be impertinent."

"I answered your questions, madam," said
Gilbert, coldly.

"I suppose you side with your friend Carl?"

"I certainly do."

Mrs. Crawford bit her lip.

"What is the object of your coming?  Does
Carl wish to return?"

"I thought Dr. Crawford might have told you."

"Carl wants his clothes sent to him," said
the doctor.  "He only carried a few with him."

"I shall not consent to it.  He deserves no
favors at our hands."

This was too much even for Dr. Crawford.

"You go too far, Mrs. Crawford," he said.
"I am sensible of the boy's faults, but I
certainly will not allow his clothes to be
withheld from him."

"Oh, well!  spoil him if you choose!" said the lady,
sullenly.  "Take his part against your wife!"

"I have never done that, but I will not allow
him to be defrauded of his clothes."

"I have no more to say," said Mrs.  Crawford,
her eyes snapping.  She was clearly mortified
at her failure to carry her point.

"Do you wish the trunk to be sent to your house?"
asked the doctor.

"Yes, sir; I have packed the clothes and
locked the trunk."

"I should like to examine it before it goes,"
put in Mrs. Crawford, spitefully.

"Why?"

"To make sure that nothing has been put
in that does not belong to Carl."

"Do you mean to accuse me of stealing,
madam?" demanded Gilbert, indignantly.

Mrs. Crawford tossed her head.

"I don't know anything about you," she replied.

"Dr. Crawford, am I to open the trunk?"
asked Gilbert.

"No," answered the doctor, with unwonted decision.

"I hate that boy!  He has twice subjected
me to mortification," thought Mrs. Crawford.

"You know very well," she said, turning to
her husband, "that I have grounds for my
request.  I blush to mention it, but I have
reason to believe that your son took a wallet
containing twenty-five dollars from my bureau
drawer."

"I deny it!" said Gilbert.

"What do you know about it, I should like
to ask?" sneered Mrs. Crawford.

"I know that Carl is an honorable boy,
incapable of theft, and at this moment has but
thirty-seven cents in his possession."

"So far as you know."

"If the money has really disappeared, madam,
you had better ask your own boy about it."

"This is insufferable!" exclaimed Mrs. Crawford,
her light eyes emitting angry flashes.
"Who dares to say that Peter took the wallet?"
she went on, rising to her feet.

There was an unexpected reply.  Jane entered
the room at this moment to ask a question.

"I say so, ma'am," she rejoined.

"What?" ejaculated Mrs. Crawford, with
startling emphasis.

"I didn't mean to say anything about it till
I found you were charging it on Master Carl.
I saw Peter open your bureau drawer, take
out the wallet, and put it in his pocket."

"It's a lie!" said Mrs. Crawford, hoarsely.

"It's the truth, though I suppose you don't
want to believe it.  If you want to know what
he did with the money ask him how much he
paid for the gold ring he bought of the jeweler
down at the village."

"You are a spy--a base, dishonorable spy!"
cried Mrs. Crawford.

"I won't say what you are, ma'am, to bring
false charges against Master Carl, and I wonder
the doctor will believe them."

"Leave the house directly, you hussy!"
shrieked Mrs. Crawford.

"If I do, I wonder who'll get the dinner?"
remarked Jane, not at all disturbed.

"I won't stay here to be insulted," said the
angry lady.  "Dr. Crawford, you might have
spirit enough to defend your wife."

She flounced out of the room, not waiting
for a reply, leaving the doctor dazed and flurried.

"I hope, sir, you are convinced now that Carl
did not take Mrs. Crawford's money," said
Gilbert.  "I told you it was probably Peter."

"Are you sure of what you said, Jane?"
asked the doctor.

"Yes, sir.  I saw Peter take the wallet with
my own eyes."

"It is his mother's money, and they must
settle it between them I am glad Carl did
not take it.  Really, this has been a very
unpleasant scene."

"I am sorry for my part in it.  Carl is my
friend, and I feel that I ought to stand up for
his rights," remarked Gilbert.

"Certainly, certainly, that is right.  But
you see how I am placed."

"I see that this is no place for Carl.  If you
will allow me, I will send an expressman for
the trunk, and take it with me to the station."

"Yes, I see no objection.  I--I would invite
you to dinner, but Mrs. Crawford seems to be
suffering from a nervous attack, and it might
not be pleasant."

"I agree with you, sir."

Just then Peter entered the room, and looked
at Gilbert with surprise and wrath, remembering
his recent discomfiture at the hands of
the young visitor.

"My stepson, Peter," announced Dr. Crawford.

"Peter and I have met before," said Gilbert, smiling.

"What are you here for?" asked Peter, rudely.

"Not to see you," answered Gilbert, turning from him.

"My mother'll have something to say to you,"
went on Peter, significantly.

"She will have something to say to you,"
retorted Gilbert.  "She has found out who
stole her money."

Peter's face turned scarlet instantly, and he
left the room hurriedly.

"Perhaps I ought not to have said that, Dr
Crawford," added Gilbert, apologetically, "but
I dislike that boy very much, and couldn't
help giving him as good as he sent."

"It is all very unpleasant," responded Dr.
Crawford, peevishly.  "I don't see why I can't
live in peace and tranquility."

"I won't intrude upon you any longer," said
Gilbert, "if you will kindly tell me whether
you will consent to make Carl a small weekly
allowance."

"I can't say now.  I want time to think.
Give me your address, and I will write to Carl
in your care."

"Very well, sir."

Gilbert left the house and made arrangements
to have Carl's trunk called for.  It
accompanied him on the next train to Warren.

CHAPTER VI.

Mrs. CRAWFORD'S LETTER.

"How did you like my stepmother?" asked
Carl, when Gilbert returned in the afternoon.

"She's a daisy!" answered Gilbert,
shrugging his shoulders.  "I don't think I ever saw
a more disagreeable woman."

"Do you blame me for leaving home?"

"I only wonder you have been able to stay so long.
I had a long conversation with your father."

"Mrs. Crawford has made a different man of him.
I should have no trouble in getting along with him
if there was no one to come between us."

"He gave me this for you," said Gilbert,
producing the ten-dollar bill.

"Did my stepmother know of his sending it?"

"No; she was opposed to sending your trunk,
but your father said emphatically you should have it."

"I am glad he showed that much spirit."

"I have some hopes that he will make you
an allowance of a few dollars a week."

"That would make me all right, but I don't expect it."

"You will probably hear from your father
to-morrow or next day, so you will have to
make yourself contented a little longer."

"I hope you are not very homesick, Mr.
Crawford?" said Julia, coquettishly.

"I would ask nothing better than to stay
here permanently," rejoined Carl, earnestly.
"This is a real home.  I have met with more
kindness here than in six months at my own
home."

"You have one staunch friend at home,"
said Gilbert.

"You don't allude to Peter?"

"So far as I can judge, he hates you like
poison.  I mean Jane."

"Yes, Jane is a real friend.  She has been
in the family for ten years.  She was a favorite
with my own mother, and feels an interest in me."

"By the way, your stepmother's charge that
you took a wallet containing money from her
drawer has been disproved by Jane.  She saw
Peter abstracting the money, and so informed
Mrs. Crawford."

"I am not at all surprised.  Peter is mean
enough to steal or do anything else.  What
did my stepmother say?"

"She was very angry, and threatened to
discharge Jane; but, as no one would be left to
attend to the dinner, I presume she is likely
to stay."

"I ought to be forming some plan," said Carl,
thoughtfully.

"Wait till you hear from home.  Julia will
see that your time is well filled up till then.
Dismiss all care, and enjoy yourself while you may."

This seemed to be sensible advice, and Carl
followed it.  In the evening some young people
were invited in, and there was a round of
amusements that made Carl forget that he was
an exile from home, with very dubious prospects.

"You are all spoiling me," he said, as
Gilbert and he went upstairs to bed.  "I am
beginning to understand the charms of home.  To
go out into the world from here will be like
taking a cold shower bath."

"Never forget, Carl, that you will be
welcome back, whenever you feel like coming,"
said Gilbert, laying his band affectionately on
Carl's shoulder.  "We all like you here."

"Thank you, old fellow!  I appreciate the
kindness I have received here; but I must strike
out for myself."

"How do you feel about it, Carl?"

"I hope for the best.  I am young, strong
and willing to work.  There must be an opening
for me somewhere."

The next morning, just after breakfast, a letter
arrived for Carl, mailed at Edgewood Center.

"Is it from your father?" asked Gilbert.

"No; it is in the handwriting of my
stepmother.  I can guess from that that it
contains no good news."

He opened the letter, and as he read it his
face expressed disgust and annoyance.

"Read it, Gilbert," he said, handing him the
open sheet.

This was the missive:

"CARL CRAWFORD:--AS your father has a
nervous attack, brought on by your misconduct,
he has authorized me to write to you.
As you are but sixteen, he could send for you
and have you forcibly brought back, but deems
it better for you to follow your own course
and suffer the punishment of your obstinate
and perverse conduct.  The boy whom you
sent here proved a fitting messenger.  He
seems, if possible, to be even worse than
yourself.  He was very impertinent to me, and made
a brutal and unprovoked attack on my poor
boy, Peter, whose devotion to your father and
myself forms an agreeable contrast to your
studied disregard of our wishes.

"Your friend had the assurance to ask for
a weekly allowance for you while a voluntary
exile from the home where you have been only
too well treated.  In other words, you want
to be paid for your disobedience.  Even if your
father were weak enough to think of complying
with this extraordinary request, I should
do my best to dissuade him."

"Small doubt of that!" said Carl, bitterly.

"In my sorrow for your waywardness, I am
comforted by the thought that Peter is too
good and conscientious ever to follow your
example.  While you are away, he will do his
utmost to make up to your father for his
disappointment in you.  That you may grow wise
in time, and turn at length from the error of
your ways, is the earnest hope of your stepmother,

Anastasia Crawford."

"It makes me sick to read such a letter as
that, Gilbert," said Carl.  "And to have that
sneak and thief--as he turned out to be--Peter,
set up as a model for me, is a little too much."

"I never knew there were such women in the
world!" returned Gilbert.  "I can understand
your feelings perfectly, after my interview of
yesterday."

"She thinks even worse of you than of me,"
said Carl, with a faint smile.

"I have no doubt Peter shares her
sentiments.  I didn't make many friends in your
family, it must be confessed."

"You did me a service, Gilbert, and I shall
not soon forget it."

"Where did your stepmother come from?"
asked Gilbert, thoughtfully.

"I don't know.  My father met her at some
summer resort.  She was staying in the same
boarding house, she and the angelic Peter.  She
lost no time in setting her cap for my father,
who was doubtless reported to her as a man
of property, and she succeeded in capturing him."

"I wonder at that.  She doesn't seem very fascinating."

"She made herself very agreeable to my
father, and was even affectionate in her manner
to me, though I couldn't get to like her.
The end was that she became Mrs. Crawford.
Once installed in our house, she soon threw
off the mask and showed herself in her true colors,
a cold-hearted, selfish and disagreeable woman."

"I wonder your father doesn't recognize her
for what she is."

"She is very artful, and is politic enough to
treat him well.  She has lost no opportunity
of prejudicing him against me.  If he were
not an invalid she would find her task more
difficult."

"Did she have any property when your
father married her?"

"Not that I have been able to discover.  She
is scheming to have my father leave the lion's
share of his property to her and Peter.  I dare
say she will succeed."

"Let us hope your father will live till you
are a young man, at least, and better able to
cope with her."

"I earnestly hope so."

"Your father is not an old man."

"He is fifty-one, but he is not strong.  I
believe he has liver complaint.  At any rate,
I know that when, at my stepmother's instigation,
he applied to an insurance company to
insure his life for her benefit, the application
was rejected."

"You don't know anything of Mrs. Crawford's
antecedents?"

"No."

"What was her name before she married
your father?"

"She was a Mrs. Cook.  That, as you know,
is Peter's name."

"Perhaps, in your travels, you may learn
something of her history."

"I should like to do so."

"You won't leave us to-morrow?"

"I must go to-day.  I know now that I must
depend wholly upon my own exertions, and
I must get to work as soon as possible."

"You will write to me, Carl?"

"Yes, when I have anything agreeable to write."

"Let us hope that will be soon."

CHAPTER VII.

ENDS IN A TRAGEDY.

Carl obtained permission to leave his trunk
at the Vance mansion, merely taking out what
he absolutely needed for a change.

"When I am settled I will send for it," he said.
"Now I shouldn't know what to do with it."

There were cordial good-bys, and Carl
started once more on the tramp.  He might,
indeed, have traveled by rail, for he had ten
dollars and thirty-seven cents; but it occurred
to him that in walking he might meet with
some one who would give him employment.
Besides, he was not in a hurry to get on, nor had
he any definite destination.  The day was fine,
there was a light breeze, and he experienced
a hopeful exhilaration as he walked lightly on,
with the world before him, and any number
of possibilities in the way of fortunate
adventures that might befall him.

He had walked five miles, when, to the left,
he saw an elderly man hard at work in a hay
field.  He was leaning on his rake, and look-
ing perplexed and troubled.  Carl paused to
rest, and as he looked over the rail fence,
attracted the attention of the farmer.

"I say, young feller, where are you goin'?" he asked.

"I don't know--exactly."

"You don't know where you are goin'?"
repeated the farmer, in surprise.

Carl laughed.  "I am going out in the world
to seek my fortune," he said.

"You be?  Would you like a job?" asked the farmer, eagerly.

"What sort of a job?"

"I'd like to have you help me hayin'.  My
hired man is sick, and he's left me in a hole.
It's goin' to rain, and----"

"Going to rain?" repeated Carl, in surprise,
as he looked up at the nearly cloudless sky.

"Yes.  It don't look like it, I know, but
old Job Hagar say it'll rain before night, and
what he don't know about the weather ain't
worth knowin'.  I want to get the hay on this
meadow into the barn, and then I'll feel safe,
rain or shine."

"And you want me to help you?"

"Yes; you look strong and hardy."

"Yes, I am pretty strong," said Carl, complacently.

"Well, what do you say?"

"All right.  I'll help you."

Carl gave a spring and cleared the fence,
landing in the hay field, having first thrown
his valise over.

"You're pretty spry," said the farmer.
"I couldn't do that."

"No, you're too heavy," said Carl, smiling,
as he noted the clumsy figure of his employer.
"Now, what shall I do?"

"Take that rake and rake up the hay.  Then we'll
go over to the barn and get the hay wagon."

"Where is your barn?"

The farmer pointed across the fields to a
story-and-a-half farmhouse, and standing near
it a good-sized barn, brown from want of paint
and exposure to sun and rain.  The buildings
were perhaps twenty-five rods distant.

"Are you used to hayin'?" asked the farmer.

"Well, no, not exactly; though I've handled
a rake before."

Carl's experience, however, had been very
limited.  He had, to be sure, had a rake in his
hand, but probably he had not worked more
than ten minutes at it.  However, raking is
easily learned, and his want of experience was
not detected.  He started off with great
enthusiasm, but after a while thought it best to
adopt the more leisurely movements of the
farmer.  After two hours his hands began to
blister, but still he kept on.

"I have got to make my living by hard work,"
he said to himself, "and it won't do to let such
a little thing as a blister interfere."

When he had been working a couple of hours,
he began to feel hungry.  His walk, and the
work he had been doing, sharpened his appetite
till he really felt uncomfortable.  It was
at this time--just twelve o'clock--that the
farmer's wife came to the front door and blew
a fish horn so vigorously that it could probably
have been heard half a mile.

"The old woman's got dinner ready," said
the farmer.  "If you don't mind takin' your
pay in victuals, you can go along home with
me, and take a bite."

"I think I could take two or three, sir."

"Ho, ho!  that's a good joke!  Money's scarce,
and I'd rather pay in victuals, if it's all the
same to you."

"Do you generally find people willing to
work for their board?" asked Carl, who knew
that he was being imposed upon.

"Well, I might pay a leetle more.  You work
for me till sundown, and I'll give you dinner
and supper, and--fifteen cents."

Carl wanted to laugh.  At this rate of
compensation he felt that it would take a long time
to make a fortune, but he was so hungry that
he would have accepted board alone if it had
been necessary.

"I agree," he said.  "Shall I leave my rake here?"

"Yes; it'll be all right."

"I'll take along my valise, for I can't
afford to run any risk of losing it."

"Jest as you say."

Five minutes brought them to the farmhouse.

"Can I wash my hands?" asked Carl.

"Yes, you can go right to the sink and wash
in the tin basin.  There's a roll towel behind
the door.  Mis' Perkins"--that was the way
he addressed his wife--"this is a young chap
that I've hired to help me hayin'.  You can
set a chair for him at the table."

"All right, Silas.  He don't look very old, though."

"No, ma'am.  I ain't twenty-one yet,"
answered Carl, who was really sixteen.

"I shouldn't say you was.  You ain't no
signs of a mustache."

"I keep it short, ma'am, in warm weather," said Carl.

"It don't dull a razor any to cut it in cold
weather, does it?" asked the farmer, chuckling
at his joke.

"Well, no, sir; I can't say it does."

It was a boiled dinner that the farmer's
wife provided, corned beef and vegetables, but
the plebeian meal seemed to Carl the best he
ever ate.  Afterwards there was apple pudding,
to which he did equal justice.

"I never knew work improved a fellow's
appetite so," reflected the young traveler.
"I never ate with so much relish at home."

After dinner they went back to the field
and worked till the supper hour, five o'clock.
By that time all the hay had been put into the barn.

"We've done a good day's work," said the
farmer, in a tone of satisfaction, "and only
just in time.  Do you see that dark cloud?"

"Yes, sir."

"In half an hour there'll be rain, or I'm mistaken.
Old Job Hagar is right after all."

The farmer proved a true prophet.  In half
an hour, while they were at the supper table,
the rain began to come down in large drops
--forming pools in the hollows of the ground,
and drenching all exposed objects with the
largesse of the heavens.

"Where war you a-goin' to-night?" asked the farmer.

"I don't know, sir."

"I was thinkin' that I'd give you a night's
lodgin' in place of the fifteen cents I agreed
to pay you.  Money's very skeerce with me,
and will be till I've sold off some of the crops."

"I shall be glad to make that arrangement,"
said Carl, who had been considering how much
the farmer would ask for lodging, for there
seemed small chance of continuing his journey.
Fifteen cents was a lower price than he had
calculated on.

"That's a sensible idea!" said the farmer,
rubbing his hands with satisfaction at the
thought that he had secured valuable help at
no money outlay whatever.

The next morning Carl continued his tramp,
refusing the offer of continued employment on
the same terms.  He was bent on pursuing
his journey, though he did not know exactly
where he would fetch up in the end.

At twelve o'clock that day he found himself
in the outskirts of a town, with the same
uncomfortable appetite that he had felt the
day before, but with no hotel or restaurant
anywhere near.  There was, however, a small
house, the outer door of which stood conveniently
open.  Through the open window, Carl saw a table
spread as if for dinner, and he thought it probable
that he could arrange to become a boarder for
a single meal.  He knocked at the door, but no one came.
He shouted out: "Is anybody at home?" and received
no answer.  He went to a small barn just outside
and peered in, but no one was to be seen.

What should he do?  He was terribly hungry,
and the sight of the food on the table was
tantalizing.

"I'll go in, as the door is open," he decided,
"and sit down to the table and eat.  Somebody
will be along before I get through, and I'll
pay whatever is satisfactory, for eat I must."

He entered, seated himself, and ate heartily.
Still no one appeared.

"I don't want to go off without paying,"
thought Carl.  "I'll see if I can find somebody."

He opened the door into the kitchen, but it
was deserted.  Then he opened that of a small
bedroom, and started back in terror and dismay.

There suspended from a hook--a man of
middle age was hanging, with his head bent
forward, his eyes wide open, and his tongue
protruding from his mouth!

CHAPTER VIII.

CARL FALLS UNDER SUSPICION.

To a person of any age such a sight as that
described at the close of the last chapter might
well have proved startling.  To a boy like
Carl it was simply overwhelming.  It so happened
that he had but twice seen a dead person,
and never a victim of violence.  The peculiar
circumstances increased the effect upon his mind.

He placed his hand upon the man's face, and
found that he was still warm.  He could have
been dead but a short time.

"What shall I do?" thought Carl, perplexed.
"This is terrible!"

Then it flashed upon him that as he was
alone with the dead man suspicion might fall
upon him as being concerned in what night be
called a murder.

"I had better leave here at once," he reflected.
"I shall have to go away without paying for my meal."

He started to leave the house, but had
scarcely reached the door when two persons
--a man and a woman--entered.  Both looked
at Carl with suspicion.

"What are you doing here?" asked the man.

"I beg your pardon," answered Carl; "I
was very hungry, and seeing no one about, took
the liberty to sit down at the table and eat.
I am willing to pay for my dinner if you will
tell me how much it amounts to."

"Wasn't my husband here?" asked the woman.

"I--I am afraid something has happened to your husband,"
faltered Carl.

"What do you mean?"

Carl silently pointed to the chamber door.
The woman opened it, and uttered a loud shriek.

"Look here, Walter!" she cried.

Her companion quickly came to her side.

"My husband is dead!" cried the woman;
"basely murdered, and there," pointing fiercely
to Carl, "there stands the murderer!"

"Madam, you cannot believe this!" said Carl,
naturally agitated.

"What have you to say for yourself?"
demanded the man, suspiciously.

"I only just saw--your husband," continued
Carl, addressing himself to the woman.  "I
had finished my meal, when I began to search
for some one whom I could pay, and so opened
this door into the room beyond, when I saw
--him hanging there!"

"Don't believe him, the red-handed
murderer!" broke out the woman, fiercely.  "He
is probably a thief; he killed my poor husband,
and then sat down like a cold-blooded villain
that he is, and gorged himself."

Things began to look very serious for poor Carl.

"Your husband is larger and stronger than myself,"
he urged, desperately.  "How could I overpower him?"

"It looks reasonable, Maria," said the man.
"I don't see how the boy could have killed Mr.
Brown, or lifted him upon the hook, even if
he did not resist."

"He murdered him, I tell you, he murdered him!"
shrieked the woman, who seemed bereft of reason.
"I call upon you to arrest him."

"I am not a constable, Maria."

"Then tie him so he cannot get away, and
go for a constable.  I wouldn't feel safe with
him in the house, unless he were tied fast.
He might hang me!"

Terrible as the circumstances were, Carl felt
an impulse to laugh.  It seemed absurd to hear
himself talked of in this way.

"Tie me if you like!" he said.  "I am will-
ing to wait here till some one comes who has
a little common sense.  Just remember that
I am only a boy, and haven't the strength of
a full-grown man!"

"The boy is right, Maria!  It's a foolish idea of yours."

"I call upon you to tie the villain!" insisted the woman.

"Just as you say!  Can you give me some rope?"

From a drawer Mrs. Brown drew a quantity
of strong cord, and the man proceeded to
tie Carl's hands.

"Tie his feet, too, Walter!"

"Even if you didn't tie me, I would promise
to remain here.  I don't want anybody to
suspect me of such a thing," put in Carl.

"How artful he is!" said Mrs. Brown.
"Tie him strong, Walter."

The two were left alone, Carl feeling decidedly
uncomfortable.  The newly-made widow
laid her head upon the table and moaned,
glancing occasionally at the body of her husband,
as it still hung suspended from the hook.

"Oh, William, I little expected to find you
dead!" she groaned.  "I only went to the store
to buy a pound of salt, and when I come back,
I find you cold and still, the victim of a young
ruffian!  How could you be so wicked?" she
demanded fiercely of Carl.

"I have told you that I had nothing to do
with your husband's death, madam."

"Who killed him, then?" she cried.

"I don't know.  He must have committed suicide."

"Don't think you are going to escape in that way.
I won't rest till I see you hung!"

"I wish I had never entered the house,"
thought Carl, uncomfortably.  "I would rather
have gone hungry for twenty four hours longer
than find myself in such a position."

Half an hour passed.  Then a sound of voices
was heard outside, and half a dozen men
entered, including besides the messenger, the
constable and a physician.

"Why was he not cut down?" asked the doctor, hastily.
"There might have been a chance to resuscitate him."

"I didn't think of it," said the messenger.
"Maria was so excited, and insisted that the
boy murdered him."

"What boy?"

Carl was pointed out.

"That boy?  What nonsense!" exclaimed Dr. Park.
"Why, it would be more than you or I could do
to overpower and hang a man weighing one hundred
and seventy-five pounds."

"That's what I thought, but Maria seemed crazed like."

"I tell you he did it!  Are you going to let him go,
the red-handed murderer?"

"Loose the cord, and I will question the boy,"
said Dr. Park, with an air of authority.

Carl breathed a sigh of relief, when,
freed from his bonds, he stood upright.

"I'll tell you all I know," he said, "but it
won't throw any light upon the death."

Dr. Park listened attentively, and asked one
or two questions.

"Did you hear any noise when you were sitting
at the table?" he inquired.

"No, sir."

"Was the door closed?"

"Yes, sir."

"That of itself would probably prevent your
hearing anything.  Mrs. Brown, at what hour
did you leave the house?"

"At ten minutes of twelve."

"It is now five minutes of one.  The deed
must have been committed just after you left
the house.  Had you noticed anything out of
the way in your--husband's manner?"

"No, sir, not much.  He was always a silent man."

"Had anything happened to disturb him?"

"He got a letter this morning.  I don't know
what was in it."

"We had better search for it."

The body was taken down and laid on the
bed.  Dr. Park searched the pockets, and
found a half sheet of note paper, on which
these lines were written:

"Maria:--I have made up my mind I can
ive no longer.  I have made a terrible
discovery.  When I married you, I thought my
first wife, who deserted me four years ago,
dead.  I learn by a letter received this morning
that she is still living in a town of Illinois.
The only thing I can do is to free you
both from my presence.  When you come back
from the store you will find me cold and dead.
The little that I leave behind I give to you.  If
my first wife should come here, as she threatens,
you can tell her so.  Good-by.

"William."

The reading of this letter made a sensation.
Mrs. Brown went into hysterics, and there was
a scene of confusion.

"Do you think I can go?" Carl asked Dr. Park.

"Yes.  There is nothing to connect you with the sad event."

Carl gladly left the cottage, and it was only
when he was a mile on his way that he remembered
that he had not paid for his dinner, after all.

CHAPTER IX.

A PLAUSIBLE STRANGER.

Three days later found Carl still on his travels.
It was his custom to obtain his meals at a
cheap hotel, or, if none were met with, at a
farmhouse, and to secure lodgings where he
could, and on as favorable terms as possible.
He realized the need of economy, and felt that
he was practicing it.  He had changed his ten-
dollar bill the first day, for a five and several
ones.  These last were now spent, and the five-
dollar bill alone remained to him.  He had
earned nothing, though everywhere he had been
on the lookout for a job.

Toward the close of the last day he overtook
a young man of twenty-five, who was traveling
in the same direction.

"Good-afternoon," said the young man, sociably.

"Good-afternoon, sir."

"Where are you bound, may I ask?"

"To the next town."

"Fillmore?"

"Yes, if that is the name."

"So am I.  Why shouldn't we travel together?"

"I have no objection," said Carl, who was
glad of company.

"Are you in any business?"

"No, but I hope to find a place."

"Oh, a smart boy like you will soon find employment."

"I hope so, I am sure.  I haven't much money
left, and it is necessary I should do something."

"Just so.  I am a New York salesman, but
just now I am on my vacation--taking a pedestrian
tour with knapsack and staff, as you see.
The beauty of it is that my salary runs on just
as if I were at my post, and will nearly pay
all my traveling expenses."

"You are in luck.  Besides you have a good place
to go back to.  There isn't any vacancy, is there?
You couldn't take on a boy?" asked Carl, eagerly.

"Well, there might be a chance," said the
young man, slowly.  "You haven't any recommendations
with you, have you?"

"No; I have never been employed."

"It doesn't matter.  I will recommend you myself."

"You might be deceived in me," said Carl, smiling.

"I'll take the risk of that.  I know a reliable
boy when I see him."

"Thank you.  What is the name of your firm?"

"F. Brandes & Co., commission merchants,
Pearl Street.  My own name is Chauncy Hubbard,
at your service."

"I am Carl Crawford."

"That's a good name.  I predict that we shall
be great chums, if I manage to get you a place
in our establishment."

"Is Mr. Brandes a good man to work for?"

"Yes, he is easy and good-natured.  He is liberal
to his clerks.  What salary do you think I get?"

"I couldn't guess."

"Forty dollars a week, and I am only twenty-five.
Went into the house at sixteen, and worked my way up."

"You have certainly done well," said Carl, respectfully.

"Well, I'm no slouch, if I do say it myself."

"I don't wonder your income pays the
expenses of your vacation trip."

"It ought to, that's a fact, though I'm rather
free handed and like to spend money.  My prospects
are pretty good in another direction.  Old
Fred Brandes has a handsome daughter, who
thinks considerable of your humble servant."

"Do you think there is any chance of marrying her?"
asked Carl, with interest.

"I think my chance is pretty good, as the girl
won't look at anybody else."

"Is Mr. Brandes wealthy?"

"Yes, the old man's pretty well fixed,
worth nearly half a million, I guess."

"Perhaps he will take you into the firm,"
suggested Carl.

"Very likely.  That's what I'm working for."

"At any rate, you ought to save something
out of your salary."

"I ought, but I haven't.  The fact is, Carl,"
said Chauncy Hubbard, in a burst of
confidence, I have a great mind to make a
confession to you."

"I shall feel flattered, I am sure," said Carl,
politely.

"I have one great fault--I gamble."

"Do you?" said Carl, rather startled, for he
had been brought up very properly to have a
horror of gambling.

"Yes, I suppose it's in my blood.  My father
was a very rich man at one time, but he lost
nearly all his fortune at the gaming table."

"That ought to have been a warning to you,
I should think."

"It ought, and may be yet, for I am still a
young man."

"Mr. Hubbard," said Carl, earnestly, "I feel
rather diffident about advising you, for I am
only a boy, but I should think you would give
up such a dangerous habit."

"Say no more, Carl!  You are a true friend.
I will try to follow your advice.  Give me your hand."

Carl did so, and felt a warm glow of pleasure
at the thought that perhaps he had redeemed
his companion from a fascinating vice.

"I really wish I had a sensible boy like you
to be my constant companion.  I should feel safer."

"Do you really have such a passion for
gambling, then?"

"Yes; if at the hotel to-night I should see
a party playing poker, I could not resist joining
them.  Odd, isn't it?"

"I am glad I have no such temptation."

"Yes, you are lucky.  By the way, how much
money have you about you?"

"Five dollars."

"Then you can do me a favor.  I have a ten-
dollar bill, which I need to get me home.  Now,
I would like to have you keep a part of it for
me till I go away in the morning.  Give me
your five, and I will hand you ten.  Out of
that you can pay my hotel bill and hand me the
balance due me in the morning."

"If you really wish me to do so."

"Enough said.  Here is the ten."

Carl took the bill, and gave Mr. Hubbard his
five-dollar note.

"You are placing considerable confidence in me," he said.

"I am, it is true, but I have no fear of being deceived.
You are a boy who naturally inspires confidence."

Carl thought Mr. Chauncy Hubbard a very
agreeable and sensible fellow, and he felt
flattered to think that the young man had chosen
him as a guardian, so to speak.

"By the way, Carl, you haven't told me,"
said Hubbard, as they pursued their journey,
"how a boy like yourself is forced to work his
own way."

"I can tell you the reason very briefly--
I have a stepmother."

"I understand.  Is your father living?"

"Yes."

"But he thinks more of the stepmother than of you?"

"I am afraid he does."

"You have my sympathy, Carl.  I will do all
I can to help you.  If you can only get a place
in our establishment, you will be all right.
Step by step you will rise, till you come to
stand where I do."

"That would satisfy me.  Has Mr. Brandes
got another daughter?"

"No, there is only one."

"Then I shall have to be content with the
forty dollars a week.  If I ever get it, I will
save half."

"I wish I could."

"You can if you try.  Why, you might have
two thousand dollars saved up now, if you had
only begun to save in time."

"I have lost more than that at the gaming
table.  You will think me very foolish."

"Yes, I do," said Carl, frankly.

"You are right.  But here we are almost at
the village."

"Is there a good hotel?"

"Yes--the Fillmore.  We will take adjoining
rooms if you say so."

"Very well."

"And in the morning you will pay the bill?"

"Certainly."

The two travelers had a good supper, and
retired early, both being fatigued with the journey.
It was not till eight o'clock the next morning
that Carl opened his eyes.  He dressed hastily,
and went down to breakfast.  He was rather surprised
not to see his companion of the day before.

"Has Mr. Hubbard come down yet?" he asked at the desk.

"Yes; he took an early breakfast, and went
off by the first train."

"That is strange.  I was to pay his bill."

"He paid it himself."

Carl did not know what to make of this.
Had Hubbard forgotten that he had five dollars
belonging to him?  Fortunately, Carl had
his city address, and could refund the money
in New York.

"Very well!  I will pay my own bill.  How much is it?"

"A dollar and a quarter."

Carl took the ten-dollar bill from his wallet
and tendered it to the clerk.

Instead of changing it at once, the clerk held
it up to the light and examined it critically.

"I can't take that bill," he said, abruptly.

"Why not?"

"Because it is counterfeit."

Carl turned pale, and the room seemed to
whirl round.  It was all the money he had.

CHAPTER X.

THE COUNTERFEIT BILL.

"Are you sure it is counterfeit?" asked Carl,
very much disturbed.

"I am certain of it.  I haven't been handling
bank bills for ten years without being able
to tell good money from bad.  I'll trouble
you for another bill."

"That's all the money I have," faltered Carl.

"Look here, young man," said the clerk, sternly,
"you are trying a bold game, but it won't succeed."

"I am trying no game at all," said Carl,
plucking up spirit.  "I thought the bill
was good."

"Where did you get it?"

"From the man who came with me last evening--
Mr. Hubbard."

"The money he gave me was good."

"What did he give you?"

"A five-dollar bill."

"It was my five-dollar bill," said Carl, bitterly.

"Your story doesn't seem very probable,"
said the clerk, suspiciously.  "How did he
happen to get your money, and you his?"

"He told me that he would get to gambling,
and wished me to take money enough to pay
his bill here.  He handed me the ten-dollar
bill which you say is bad, and I gave him five
in return.  I think now he only wanted to
get good money for bad."

"Your story may be true, or it may not,"
said the clerk, whose manner indicated incredulity.
"That is nothing to me.  All you have to do
is to pay your hotel bill, and you can settle
with Mr. Hubbard when you see him."

"But I have no other money," said Carl, desperately.

"Then I shall feel justified in ordering your
arrest on a charge of passing, or trying to pass,
counterfeit money."

"Don't do that, sir!  I will see that you are
paid out of the first money I earn."

"You must think I am soft," said the clerk,
contemptuously.  "I have seen persons of your
stripe before.  I dare say, if you were searched,
more counterfeit money would be found in
your pockets."

"Search me, then!" cried Carl, indignantly.
"I am perfectly willing that you should."

"Haven't you any relations who will pay your bill?"

"I have no one to call upon," answered Carl, soberly.
"Couldn't you let me work it out?
I am ready to do any kind of work."

"Our list of workers is full," said the clerk, coldly.

Poor Carl!  he felt that he was decidedly
in a tight place.  He had never before found
himself unable to meet his bills.  nor would
he have been so placed now but for Hubbard's
rascality.  A dollar and a quarter seems a
small sum, but if you are absolutely penniless
it might as well be a thousand.  Suppose
he should be arrested and the story get
into the papers?  How his stepmother would
exult in the record of his disgrace!  He could
anticipate what she would say.  Peter, too,
would rejoice, and between them both his father
would be persuaded that he was thoroughly unprincipled.

"What have you got in your valise?" asked the clerk.

"Only some underclothing.  If there were
anything of any value I would cheerfully leave
it as security.  Wait a minute, though," he
said, with a sudden thought.  "Here is a gold
pencil!  It is worth five dollars; at any rate,
it cost more than that.  I can place that in
your hands."

"Let me see it."

Carl handed the clerk a neat gold pencil,
on which his name was inscribed.  It was evidently
of good quality, and found favor with
the clerk.

"I'll give you a dollar and a quarter for the
pencil," he said, "and call it square."

"I wouldn't like to sell it," said Carl.

"You won't get any more for it."

"I wasn't thinking of that; but it was given
me by my mother, who is now dead.  I would
not like to part with anything that she gave me."

"You would prefer to get off scot-free, I
suppose?" retorted the clerk, with a sneer.

"No; I am willing to leave it in your hands,
but I should like the privilege of redeeming
it when I have the money."

"Very well," said the clerk, who reflected
that in all probability Carl would never come
back for it.  "I'll take it on those conditions."

Carl passed over the pencil with a sigh.  He
didn't like to part with it, even for a short
time, but there seemed no help for it.

"All right.  I will mark you paid."

Carl left the hotel, satchel in hand, and as
he passed out into the street, reflected with
a sinking heart that he was now quite penniless.
Where was he to get his dinner, and
how was he to provide himself with a lodging
that night?  At present he was not hungry,
having eaten a hearty breakfast at the
hotel, but by one o'clock he would feel the need
of food.  He began to ask himself if, after all,
he had not been unwise in leaving home, no
matter how badly he had been treated by his
stepmother.  There, at least, he was certain
of living comfortably.  Now he was in danger
of starvation, and on two occasions already
he had incurred suspicion, once of being
concerned in a murder, and just now of
passing counterfeit money.  Ought he to have
submitted, and so avoided all these perils?

"No!" he finally decided; "I won't give up
the ship yet.  I am about as badly off as I
can be; I am without a cent, and don't know
where my next meal is to come from.  But
my luck may turn--it must turn--it has
turned!" he exclaimed with energy, as his
wandering glance suddenly fell upon a silver
quarter of a dollar, nearly covered up with
the dust of the street.  "That shall prove a
good omen!"

He stooped over and picked up the coin,
which he put in his vest pocket.

It was wonderful how the possession of this
small sum of money restored his courage and
raised his spirits.  He was sure of a dinner
now, at all events.  It looked as if Providence
was smiling on him.

Two miles farther on Carl overtook a boy
of about his own age trudging along the road
with a rake over his shoulder.  He wore overalls,
and was evidently a farmer's boy.

"Good-day!" said Carl, pleasantly, noticing
that the boy regarded him with interest.

"Good-day!" returned the country lad,
rather bashfully.

"Can you tell me if there is any place near
where I can buy some dinner?"

"There ain't no tavern, if that's what you mean.
I'm goin' home to dinner myself."

"Where do you live?"

"Over yonder."

He pointed to a farmhouse about a dozen rods away.

"Do you think your mother would give me some dinner?"

"I guess she would.  Mam's real accommodatin'."

"Will you ask her?"

"Yes; just come along of me."

He turned into the yard, and followed a
narrow path to the back door.

"I'll stay here while you ask," said Carl.

The boy entered the house, and came out
after a brief absence.

"Mam says you're to come in," he said.

Carl, glad at heart, and feeling quite
prepared to eat fifty cents' worth of dinner,
followed the boy inside.

A pleasant-looking, matronly woman,
plainly but neatly attired, came forward to
greet him.

"Nat says you would like to get some dinner," she said.

"Yes," answered Carl.  "I hope you'll excuse
my applying to you, but your son tells me
there is no hotel near by."

"The nearest one is three miles away from here."

"I don't think I can hold out so long," said
Carl, smiling.

"Sit right down with Nat," said the farmer's
wife, hospitably.  "Mr. Sweetser won't be
home for half an hour.  We've got enough,
such as it is."

Evidently Mrs. Sweetser was a good cook.
The dinner consisted of boiled mutton, with
several kinds of vegetables.  A cup of tea and
two kinds of pie followed.

It was hard to tell which of the two boys did
fuller justice to the meal.  Nat had the usual
appetite of a healthy farm boy, and Carl, in
spite of his recent anxieties, and narrow escape
from serious peril, did not allow himself
to fall behind.

"Your mother's a fine cook!" said Carl,
between two mouthfuls.

"Ain't she, though?" answered Nat, his
mouth full of pie.

When Carl rose from the table he feared that
he had eaten more than his little stock of
money would pay for.

"How much will it be, Mrs. Sweetser?" he asked.

"Oh, you're quite welcome to all you've had,"
said the good woman, cheerily.  "It's plain
farmer's fare."

"I never tasted a better dinner," said Carl.

Mrs. Sweetser seemed pleased with the
compliment to her cooking.

"Come again when you are passing this way," she said.
"You will always be welcome to a dinner."

Carl thanked her heartily, and pressed on
his way.  Two hours later, at a lonely point
of the road, an ill-looking tramp, who had been
reclining by the wayside, jumped up, and
addressed him in a menacing tone:

"Young feller, shell over all the money you
have got, or I'll hurt you!  I'm hard up, and
I won't stand no nonsense."

Carl started and looked into the face of the tramp.
It seemed to him that he had never seen a man more
ill-favored, or villainous-looking.

CHAPTER XI.

THE ARCHERY PRIZE.

Situated as he was, it seemed, on second thought,
rather a joke to Carl to be attacked by a robber.
He had but twenty-five cents in good money about him,
and that he had just picked up by the merest chance.

"Do I look like a banker?" he asked,
humorously.  "Why do you want to rob a boy?"

"The way you're togged out, you must have
something," growled the tramp, "and I haven't
got a penny."

"Your business doesn't seem to pay, then?"

"Don't you make fun of me, or I'll wring your neck!
Just hand over your money and be quick about it!
I haven't time to stand fooling here all day."

A bright idea came to Carl.  He couldn't spare
the silver coin, which constituted all his available wealth,
but he still had the counterfeit note.

"You won't take all my money, will you?"
he said, earnestly.

"How much have you got?" asked the tramp,
pricking up his ears.

Carl, with apparent reluctance, drew out the
ten-dollar bill.

The tramp's face lighted up.

"Is your name Vanderbilt?" he asked.
"I didn't expect to make such a haul."

"Can't you give me back a dollar out of it?
I don't want to lose all I have."

"I haven't got a cent.  You'll have to wait till
we meet again.  So long, boy!  You've helped
me out of a scrape."

"Or into one," thought Carl.

The tramp straightened up, buttoned his
dilapidated coat, and walked off with the
consciousness of being a capitalist.

Carl watched him with a smile.

"I hope I won't meet him after he has discovered
that the bill is a counterfeit," he said to himself.

He congratulated himself upon being still the possessor
of twenty-five cents in silver.  It was not much,
but it seemed a great deal better than being penniless.
A week before he would have thought it impossible that
such a paltry sum would have made him feel comfortable,
but he had passed through a great deal since then.

About the middle of the afternoon he came
to a field, in which something appeared to be
going on.  Some forty or fifty young persons,
boys and girls, were walking about the grass,
and seemed to be preparing for some interesting
event.

Carl stopped to rest and look on.

"What's going on here?" he asked of a boy
who was sitting on the fence.

"It's a meeting of the athletic association,"
said the boy.

"What are they doing?"

"They try for prizes in jumping, vaulting,
archery and so on."

This interested Carl, who excelled in all
manly exercises.

"I suppose I may stay and look on?" he said, inquiringly.

"Why, of course.  Jump over the fence and
I'll go round with you."

It seemed pleasant to Carl to associate once
more with boys of his own age.  Thrown
unexpectedly upon his own resources, he had
almost forgotten that he was a boy.  Face to
face with a cold and unsympathizing world,
he seemed to himself twenty-five at least.

"Those who wish to compete for the archery
prize will come forward," announced Robert
Gardiner, a young man of nineteen, who, as
Carl learned, was the president of the association.
"You all understand the conditions.  The entry fee
to competitors is ten cents.  The prize to the most
successful archer is one dollar."

Several boys came forward and paid the entrance fee.

"Would you like to compete?" asked Edward Downie,
the boy whose acquaintance Carl had made.

"I am an outsider," said Carl.  "I don't
belong to the association."

"I'll speak to the president, if you like."

"I don't want to intrude."

"It won't be considered an intrusion.  You
pay the entrance fee and take your chances."

Edward went to the president and spoke to
him in a low voice.  The result was that he
advanced to Carl, and said, courteously:

"If you would like to enter into our games,
you are quite at liberty to do so."

"Thank you," responded Carl.  "I have had
a little practice in archery, and will enter my
name for that prize."

He paid over his quarter and received back
fifteen cents in change.  It seemed rather an
imprudent outlay, considering his small capital;
but he had good hopes of carrying off the prize,
and that would be a great lift for him.
Seven boys entered besides Carl.  The first was
Victor Russell, a lad of fourteen, whose arrow
went three feet above the mark.

"The prize is mine if none of you do better
than that," laughed Victor, good-naturedly.

"I hope not, for the credit of the club," said
the president.  "Mr. Crawford, will you shoot next?"

"I would prefer to be the last," said Carl, modestly.

"John Livermore, your turn now."

John came a little nearer than his predecessor,
but did not distinguish himself.

"If that is a specimen of the skill of the clubmen,"
thought Carl, "my chance is a good one."

Next came Frank Stockton, whose arrow stuck
only three inches from the center of the target.

"Good for Fred!" cried Edward Downie.
"Just wait till you see me shoot!"

"Are you a dangerous rival?" asked Carl, smiling.

"I can hit a barn door if I am only near enough," replied Edward.

"Edward Downie!" called the president.

Edward took his bow and advanced to the proper place,
bent it, and the arrow sped on its way.

There was a murmur of surprise when his
arrow struck only an inch to the right of the
centre.  No one was more amazed than Edward
himself, for he was accounted far from
skillful.  It was indeed a lucky accident.

"What do you say to that?" asked Edward,
triumphantly.

"I think the prize is yours.  I had no idea
you could shoot like that," said Carl.

"Nor I," rejoined Edward, laughing.

"Carl Crawford!" called the president.

Carl took his position, and bent his bow with
the greatest care.  He exercised unusual
deliberation, for success meant more to him than
to any of the others.  A dollar to him in his
present circumstances would be a small fortune,
while the loss of even ten cents would be
sensibly felt.  His heart throbbed with excitement
as he let the arrow speed on its mission.

His unusual deliberation, and the fact that
he was a stranger, excited strong interest, and
all eyes followed the arrow with eager attentiveness.

There was a sudden shout of irrepressible excitement.

Carl's arrow had struck the bull's-eye and
the prize was his.

"Christopher!" exclaimed Edward Downie,
"you've beaten me, after all!"

"I'm almost sorry," said Carl, apologetically,
but the light in his eyes hardly bore out the statement.

"Never mind.  Everybody would have called it a fluke
if I had won," said Edward.  "I expect to get the prize
for the long jump.  I am good at that."

"So am I, but I won't compete; I will leave it to you."

"No, no.  I want to win fair."

Carl accordingly entered his name.  He made
the second best jump, but Edward's exceeded
his by a couple of inches, and the prize was
adjudged to him.

"I have my revenge," he said, smiling.  "I
am glad I won, for it wouldn't have been to
the credit of the club to have an outsider carry
off two prizes."

"I am perfectly satisfied," said Carl; "I ought to be,
for I did not expect to carry off any."

Carl decided not to compete for any other prize.
He had invested twenty cents and got back a dollar,
which left him a profit of eighty cents.
This, with his original quarter, made him
the possessor of a dollar and five cents.

"My luck seems to have turned," he said to himself,
and the thought gave him fresh courage.

It was five o'clock when the games were over,
and Carl prepared to start again on his journey.

"Where are you going to take supper?" asked Downie.

"I--don't--know."

"Come home with me.  If you are in no hurry,
you may as well stay overnight, and go on in the morning."

"Are you sure it won't inconvenience you?"

"Not at all."

"Then I'll accept with thanks."

CHAPTER XII.

AN ODD ACQUAINTANCE.

After breakfast the next morning Carl
started again on his way.  His new friend,
Edward Downie, accompanied him for a mile,
having an errand at that distance.

"I wish you good luck, Carl," he said,
earnestly.  "When you come this way again, be
sure to stop in and see me."

"I will certainly do so, but I hope I may
find employment."

"At any rate," thought Carl, as he resumed
his journey alone, "I am better off than I was
yesterday morning.  Then I had but twenty-
five cents; now I have a dollar."

This was satisfactory as far as it went, but
Carl was sensible that he was making no progress
in his plan of earning a living.  He was
simply living from hand to mouth, and but for
good luck he would have had to go hungry, and
perhaps have been obliged to sleep out doors.
What he wanted was employment.

It was about ten o'clock when, looking along
the road, his curiosity was excited by a man
of very unusual figure a few rods in advance
of him.  He looked no taller than a boy of ten;
but his frame was large, his shoulders broad,
and his arms were of unusual length.  He
might properly be called a dwarf.

"I am glad I am not so small as that,"
thought Carl.  "I am richer than he in having
a good figure.  I should not like to excite
attention wherever I go by being unusually large
or unusually small."

Some boys would have felt inclined to laugh
at the queer figure, but Carl had too much good
feeling.  His curiosity certainly was aroused,
and he thought he would like to get acquainted
with the little man, whose garments of fine
texture showed that, though short in stature,
he was probably long in purse.  He didn't
quite know how to pave the way for an
acquaintance, but circumstances favored him.

The little man drew out a handkerchief from
the side pocket of his overcoat.  With it
fluttered out a bank bill, which fell to the ground
apparently unobserved by the owner.

Carl hurried on, and, picking up the bill,
said to the small stranger as he touched his
arm: "Here is some money you just dropped, sir."

The little man turned round and smiled pleasantly.

"Thank you.  Are you sure it is mine?"

"Yes, sir; it came out with your handkerchief."

"Let me see.  So it is mine.  I was very
careless to put it loose in my pocket."

"You were rather careless, sir."

"Of what denomination is it?'

"It is a two-dollar note."

"If you had been a poor boy," said the
little man, eying Carl keenly, "you might have
been tempted to keep it.  I might not have known."

Carl smiled.

"What makes you think I am not a poor boy?" he said.

"You are well dressed."

"That is true; but all the money I have is
a dollar and five cents."

"You know where to get more?  You have a good home?"

"I had a home, but now I am thrown on my own exertions,"
said Carl, soberly.

"Dear me!  That is bad!  If I were better acquainted,
I might ask more particularly how this happens.  Are you an orphan?"

"No, sir; my father is living."

"And your mother is dead?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is your father a poor man?"

"No, sir; he is moderately rich."

"Yet you have to fight your own way?"

"Yes, sir.  I have a stepmother."

"I see.  Are you sure you are not unreasonably prejudiced
against your stepmother?  All stepmothers are not bad or unkind."

"I know that, sir."

"Yours is, I presume?"

"You can judge for yourself."

Carl recited some incidents in his experience
with his stepmother.  The stranger listened
with evident interest.

"I am not in general in favor of boys
leaving home except on extreme provocation,"
he said, after a pause; "but in your case,
as your father seems to take part against you,
I think you may be justified, especially as,
at your age, you have a fair chance of making
your own living."

"I am glad you think that, sir.  I have begun
to wonder whether I have not acted rashly."

"In undertaking to support yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"At fourteen I was obliged to undertake
what you have now before you."

"To support yourself?"

"Yes; I was left an orphan at fourteen, with
no money left me by my poor father, and no
relatives who could help me."

"How did you make out, sir?" asked Carl,
feeling very much interested.

"I sold papers for a while--in Newark, New
Jersey--then I got a place at three dollars
a week, out of which I had to pay for board,
lodging and clothes.  Well, I won't go through
my history.  I will only say that whatever I
did I did as well as I could.  I am now a man
of about middle age, and I am moderately wealthy."

"I am very much encouraged by what you tell me, sir."

"Perhaps you don't understand what a hard
struggle I had.  More than once I have had
to go to bed hungry.  Sometimes I have had
to sleep out, but one mustn't be afraid to rough
it a little when he is young.  I shouldn't like to
sleep out now, or go to bed without my supper,"
and the little man laughed softly.

"Yes, sir; I expect to rough it, but if I could
only get a situation, at no matter what income,
I should feel encouraged."

"You have earned no money yet?"

"Yes, sir; I earned a dollar yesterday."

"At what kind of work?"

"Archery."

The little man looked surprised.

"Is that a business?" he asked, curiously.

"I'll explain how it was," and Carl told
about the contest.

"So you hit the mark?" said the little man,
significantly.

Somehow, there was something in the little
man's tone that put new courage into Carl,
and incited him to fresh effort.

"I wonder, sir," he said, after a pause, "that
you should be walking, when you can well afford
to ride."

The little man smiled.

"It is by advice of my physician," he said.
"He tells me I am getting too stout, and ought
to take more or less exercise in the open air.
So I am trying to follow his advice "

"Are you in business near here, sir?"

"At a large town six miles distant.  I may
not walk all the way there, but I have a place
to call at near by, and thought I would avail
myself of the good chance offered to take a
little exercise.  I feel repaid.  I have made a
pleasant acquaintance."

"Thank you, sir."

"There is my card," and the little man took
out a business card, reading thus:

  HENRY JENNINGS,
FURNITURE WAREHOUSE,
    MILFORD.

"I manufacture my furniture in the country,"
he continued, "but I ship it by special ar-
rangements to a house in New York in which
I am also interested."

"Yes, sir, I see.  Do you employ many persons
in your establishment?"

"About thirty."

"Do you think you could make room for me?"

"Do you think you would like the business?"

"I am prepared to like any business in which
I can make a living."

"That is right.  That is the way to look at
it.  Let me think."

For two minutes Mr. Jennings seemed to be
plunged in thought.  Then he turned and
smiled encouragingly.

"You can come home with me," he said, "and
I will consider the matter."

"Thank you, sir," said Carl, gladly.

"I have got to make a call at the next house,
not on business, though.  There is an old schoolmate
lying there sick.  I am afraid he is rather
poor, too.  You can walk on slowly, and I will
overtake you in a few minutes."

"Thank you, sir."

"After walking half a mile, if I have not
overtaken you, you may sit down under a tree
and wait for me."

"All right, sir."

"Before I leave you I will tell you a secret."

"What is it, sir?"

"The two dollars you picked up, I dropped
on purpose."

"On purpose?" asked Carl, in amazement.

"Yes; I wanted to try you, to see if you were honest."

"Then you had noticed me?"

"Yes.  I liked your appearance, but I wanted to test you."

CHAPTER XIII.

AN UNEQUAL CONTEST.

Carl walked on slowly.  He felt encouraged
by the prospect of work, for he was sure that
Mr. Jennings would make a place for him, if
possible.

"He is evidently a kind-hearted man," Carl
reflected.  "Besides, he has been poor himself,
and he can sympathize with me.  The wages
may be small, but I won't mind that, if I
only support myself economically, and get on."
To most boys brought up in comfort, not to
say luxury, the prospect of working hard for
small pay would not have seemed inviting.  But
Carl was essentially manly, and had sensible
ideas about labor.  It was no sacrifice or
humiliation to him to become a working boy,
for he had never considered himself superior
to working boys, as many boys in his position
would have done.

He walked on in a leisurely manner, and at
the end of ten minutes thought he had better
sit down and wait for Mr. Jennings.  But he was
destined to receive a shock.  There, under the tree
which seemed to offer the most inviting shelter,
reclined a figure only too well-known.

It was the tramp who the day before had
compelled him to surrender the ten-dollar bill.

The ill-looking fellow glanced up, and when
his gaze rested upon Carl, his face beamed
with savage joy.

"So it's you, is it?" he said, rising from his seat.

"Yes," answered Carl, doubtfully.

"Do you remember me?"

"Yes."

"I have cause to remember you, my chicken.
That was a mean trick you played upon me,"
and he nodded his head significantly.

"I should think it was you that played the trick on me."

"How do you make that out?" growled the tramp.

"You took my money."

"So I did, and much good it did me."

Carl was silent.

"You know why, don't you?"

Carl might have denied that he knew the
character of the bill which was stolen from him,
but I am glad to say that it would have come
from him with a very ill grace, for he was
accustomed to tell the truth under all circumstances.

"You knew that the bill was counterfeit,
didn't you?" demanded the tramp, fiercely.

"I was told so at the hotel where I offered
it in payment for my bill."

"Yet you passed it on me!"

"I didn't pass it on you.  You took it from me,"
retorted Carl, with spirit.

"That makes no difference."

"I think it does.  I wouldn't have offered
it to anyone in payment of an honest bill."

"Humph!  you thought because I was poor
and unfortunate you could pass it off on me!"

This seemed so grotesque that Carl found
it difficult not to laugh.

"Do you know it nearly got me into trouble?"
went on the tramp.

"How was that?"

"I stopped at a baker's shop to get a lunch.
When I got through I offered the bill.  The
old Dutchman put on his spectacles, and he
looked first at the bill, then at me.  Then he
threatened to have me arrested for passing bad
money.  I told him I'd go out in the back yard
and settle it with him.  I tell you, boy, I'd
have knocked him out in one round, and he
knew it, so he bade me be gone and never
darken his door again.  Where did you get it?"

"It was passed on me by a man I was traveling with."

"How much other money have you got?" asked the tramp.

"Very little."

"Give it to me, whatever it is."

This was a little too much for Carl's patience.

"I have no money to spare," he said, shortly.

"Say that over again!" said the tramp, menacingly.

"If you don't understand me, I will.
I have no money to spare."

"You'll spare it to me, I reckon."

"Look here," said Carl, slowly backing.
"You've robbed me of ten dollars.  You'll have
to be satisfied with that."

"It was no good.  It might have sent me
to prison.  If I was nicely dressed I might
pass it, but when a chap like me offers a ten-
dollar bill it's sure to he looked at sharply.
I haven't a cent, and I'll trouble you to hand
over all you've got."

"Why don't you work for a living?  You
are a strong, able-bodied man."

"You'll find I am if you give me any more
of your palaver."

Carl saw that the time of negotiation was
past, and that active hostilities were about to
commence.  Accordingly he turned and ran,
not forward, but in the reverse direction, hoping
in this way to meet with Mr. Jennings.

"Ah, that's your game, is it?" growled the tramp.
"You needn't expect to escape, for I'll overhaul
you in two minutes."

So Carl ran, and his rough acquaintance ran after him.

It could hardly be expected that a boy of sixteen,
though stout and strong, could get away from a tall,
powerful man like the tramp.

Looking back over his shoulder, Carl saw
that the tramp was but three feet behind, and
almost able to lay his hand upon his shoulder.

He dodged dexterously, and in trying to do
the same the tramp nearly fell to the ground.
Naturally, this did not sweeten his temper.

"I'll half murder you when I get hold of you,"
he growled, in a tone that bodied ill for Carl.

The latter began to pant, and felt that he
could not hold out much longer.  Should he
surrender at discretion?

"If some one would only come along," was his
inward aspiration.  "This man will take my money
and beat me, too."

As if in reply to his fervent prayer the small
figure of Mr. Jennings appeared suddenly,
rounding a curve in the road.

"Save me, save me, Mr. Jennings!" cried Carl,
running up to the little man for protection.

"What is the matter?  Who is this fellow?"
asked Mr. Jennings, in a deep voice for so
small a man.

"That tramp wants to rob me."

"Don't trouble yourself!  He won't do it,"
said Jennings, calmly.

CHAPTER XIV.

CARL ARRIVES IN MILFORD.

The tramp stopped short, and eyed Carl's small defender,
first with curious surprise, and then with derision.

"Out of my way, you midget!" he cried, "or 'll hurt you."

"Try it!" said the little man, showing no sign of fear.

"Why, you're no bigger than a kid.  I can upset you
with one finger."

He advanced contemptuously, and laid his
hand on the shoulder of the dwarf.  In an
instant Jennings had swung his flail-like arms,
and before the tramp understood what was
happening he was lying flat on his back, as
much to Carl's amazement as his own.

He leaped to his feet with an execration,
and advanced again to the attack.  To be upset
by such a pigmy was the height of mortification.

"I'm going to crush you, you mannikin!"
he threatened.

Jennings put himself on guard.  Like many
small men, he was very powerful, as his broad
shoulders and sinewy arms would have made
evident to a teacher of gymnastics.  He clearly
understood that this opponent was in deadly
earnest, and he put out all the strength which
he possessed.  The result was that his large-
framed antagonist went down once more, striking
his head with a force that nearly stunned him.

It so happened that at this juncture reinforcements arrived.
A sheriff and his deputy drove up in an open buggy, and,
on witnessing the encounter, halted their carriage and sprang
to the ground.

"What is the matter, Mr. Jennings?" asked the sheriff,
respectfully, for the little man was a person of importance
in that vicinity.

"That gentleman is trying to extort a forced
loan, Mr. Clunningham."

"Ha! a footpad?"

"Yes."

The sheriff sprang to the side of the tramp,
who was trying to rise, and in a trice his wrists
were confined by handcuffs.

"I think I know you, Mike Frost," he said.
"You are up to your old tricks.  When did you
come out of Sing Sing?"

"Three weeks since," answered the tramp, sullenly.

"They want you back there.  Come along with me!"

He was assisted into the buggy, and spent
that night in the lockup.

"Did he take anything from you, Carl?"
asked Mr. Jennings.

"No, sir; but I was in considerable danger.
How strong you are!" he added, admiringly.

"Strength isn't always according to size!"
said the little man, quietly.  "Nature gave me
a powerful, though small, frame, and I have
increased my strength by gymnastic exercise."

Mr. Jennings did not show the least excitement
after his desperate contest.  He had attended
to it as a matter of business, and when
over he suffered it to pass out of his mind.  He
took out his watch and noted the time.

"It is later than I thought," he said.  "I think
I shall have to give up my plan of walking
the rest of the way."

"Then I shall be left alone," thought Carl regretfully.

Just then a man overtook them in a carriage.

He greeted Mr. Jennings respectfully.

"Are you out for a long walk?" he said.

"Yes, but I find time is passing too rapidly with me.
Are you going to Milford?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you take two passengers?"

"You and the boy?"

"Yes; of course I will see that you don't lose by it."

"I ought not to charge you anything, Mr. Jennings.
Several times you have done me favors."

"And I hope to again, but this is business.
If a dollar will pay you, the boy and I will ride
with you."

"It will be so much gain, as I don't go out of my way."

"You can take the back seat, Carl," said Mr. Jennings.
"I will sit with Mr. Leach."

They were soon seated and on their way.

"Relative of yours, Mr. Jennings?" asked Leach,
with a backward glance at Carl.

Like most country folks, he was curious
about people.  Those who live in cities meet
too many of their kind to feel an interest in strangers.

"No; a young friend," answered Jennings, briefly.

"Goin' to visit you?"

"Yes, I think he will stay with me for a time."

Then the conversation touched upon Milford
matters in which at present Carl was not interested.

After his fatiguing walk our hero enjoyed
the sensation of riding.  The road was a pleasant
one, the day was bright with sunshine and
the air vocal with the songs of birds.  For a
time houses were met at rare intervals, but
after a while it became evident that they were
approaching a town of considerable size.

"Is this Milford, Mr. Jennings?" asked Carl.

"Yes," answered the little man, turning with
a pleasant smile.

"How large is it?"

"I think there are twelve thousand inhabitants.
It is what Western people call a `right smart place.'
It has been my home for twenty years, and I am
much attached to it."

"And it to you, Mr. Jennings," put in the driver.

"That is pleasant to hear," said Jennings, with a smile.

"It is true.  There are few people here whom
you have not befriended."

"That is what we are here for, is it not?"

"I wish all were of your opinion.  Why, Mr.
Jennings, when we get a city charter I think
I know who will be the first mayor."

"Not I, Mr. Leach.  My own business is all
I can well attend to.  Thank you for your compliment,
though.  Carl, do you see yonder building?"

He pointed to a three-story structure, a
frame building, occupying a prominent position.

"Yes, sir."

"That is my manufactory.  What do you think of it?"

"I shouldn't think a town of this size would
require so large an establishment," answered Carl.

Mr. Jennings laughed.

"You are right," he said.  "If I depended on
Milford trade, a very small building would be
sufficient.  My trade is outside.  I supply
many dealers in New York City and at the
West.  My retail trade is small.  If any of my
neighbors want furniture they naturally come
to me, and I favor them as to price out of
friendly feeling, but I am a manufacturer and
wholesale dealer."

"I see, sir."

"Shall I take you to your house, Mr. Jennings?"
asked Leach.

"Yes, if you please."

Leach drove on till he reached a two-story
building of Quaker-like simplicity but with a
large, pleasant yard in front, with here and
there a bed of flowers.  Here he stopped his horse.

"We have reached our destination, Carl,"
said Mr. Jennings.  "You are active.  Jump
out and I will follow."

Carl needed no second invitation.  He sprang
from the carriage and went forward to help
Mr. Jennings out.

"No, thank you, Carl," said the little man.
"I am more active than you think.  Here we are!"

He descended nimbly to the ground, and,
drawing a one-dollar bill from his pocket,
handed it to the driver.

"I don't like to take it, Mr. Jennings," said
Mr. Leach.

"Why not?  The laborer is worthy of his hire.
Now, Carl, let us go into the house."

CHAPTER XV.

Mr. JENNINGS AT HOME.

Mr. Jennings did not need to open the door.
He had scarcely set foot on the front step when
it was opened from inside, and Carl found a
fresh surprise in store for him.  A woman,
apparently six feet in height, stood on the
threshold.  Her figure was spare and ungainly,
and her face singularly homely, but the absence
of beauty was partially made up by a kindly
expression.  She looked with some surprise at Carl.

"This is a young friend of mine, Hannah,"
said her master.  "Welcome him for my sake."

"I am glad to see you," said Hannah,
in a voice that was another amazement.
It was deeper than that of most men.

As she spoke, she held out a large masculine
hand, which Carl took, as seemed to be expected.

"Thank you," said Carl.

"What am I to call you?" asked Hannah.

"Carl Crawford."

"That's a strange name."

"It is not common, I believe."

"You two will get acquainted by and by,"
said Mr. Jennings.  "The most interesting
question at present is, when will dinner be ready?"

"In ten minutes," answered Hannah, promptly.

"Carl and I are both famished.  We have
had considerable exercise," here he nodded at
Carl with a comical look, and Carl understood that
he referred in part to his contest with the tramp.

Hannah disappeared into the kitchen, and
Mr. Jennings said: "Come upstairs, Carl.
I will show you your room."

Up an old-fashioned stairway Carl followed
his host, and the latter opened the door of a
side room on the first landing.  It was not
large, but was neat and comfortable.  There
was a cottage bedstead, a washstand, a small
bureau and a couple of chairs.

"I hope you will come to feel at home here,"
said Mr. Jennings, kindly.

"Thank you, sir.  I am sure I shall," Carl
responded, gratefully.

"There are some nails to hang your clothing
on," went on Mr. Jennings, and then he stopped
short, for it was clear that Carl's small gripsack
could not contain an extra suit, and he
felt delicate at calling up in the boy's mind
the thought of his poverty.

"Thank you, sir," said Carl.  "I left my
trunk at the house of a friend, and if you
should succeed in finding me a place, I will
send for it."

"That is well!" returned Mr. Jennings, looking
relieved.  "Now I will leave you for a few
moments.  You will find water and towels,
in case you wish to wash before dinner."

Carl was glad of the opportunity.  He was
particular about his personal appearance, and
he felt hot and dusty.  He bathed his face and
hands, carefully dusted his suit, brushed his
hair, and was ready to descend when he heard
the tinkling of a small bell at the foot of the
front stairs.

He readily found his way into the neat dining-
room at the rear of the parlor.  Mr. Jennings
sat at the head of the table, a little giant,
diminutive in stature, but with broad shoulders,
a large head, and a powerful frame.  Opposite
him sat Hannah, tall, stiff and upright
as a grenadier.  She formed a strange contrast
to her employer.

"I wonder what made him hire such a tall
woman?" thought Carl.  "Being so small himself,
her size makes him look smaller."

There was a chair at one side, placed for
Carl.

"Sit down there, Carl," said Mr. Jennings.
"I won't keep you waiting any longer than
I can help.  What have you given us to-day, Hannah?"

"Roast beef," answered Hannah in her deep tones.

"There is nothing better."

The host cut off a liberal slice for Carl,
and passed the plate to Hannah, who supplied
potatoes, peas and squash.  Carl's mouth fairly
watered as he watched the hospitable preparations
for his refreshment.

"I never trouble myself about what we are
to have on the table," said Mr. Jennings.
"Hannah always sees to that.  She's knows just
what I want.  She is a capital cook, too, Hannah is."

Hannah looked pleased at this compliment.

"You are easily pleased, master," she said.

"I should be hard to suit if I were not
pleased with your cooking.  You don't know
so well Carl's taste, but if there is anything
he likes particularly he can tell you."

"You are very kind, sir," said Carl.

"There are not many men who would treat
a poor boy so considerately," he thought.
"He makes me an honored guest."

When dinner was over, Mr. Jennings invited
Carl to accompany him on a walk.  They
passed along the principal street, nearly every
person they met giving the little man a cordial greeting.

"He seems to be very popular," thought Carl.

At length they reached the manufactory.  Mr. Jennings
went into the office, followed by Carl.

A slender, dark-complexioned man, about
thirty-five years of age, sat on a stool at a high
desk.  He was evidently the bookkeeper.

"Any letters, Mr. Gibbon?" asked Mr. Jennings.

"Yes, sir; here are four."

"Where are they from?"

"From New York, Chicago, Pittsburg and New Haven."

"What do they relate to?"

"Orders.  I have handed them to Mr. Potter."

Potter, as Carl afterwards learned, was superintendent
of the manufactory, and had full charge of practical details.

"Is there anything requiring my personal attention?"

"No, sir; I don't think so."

"By the way, Mr. Gibbon, let me introduce
you to a young friend of mine--Carl Crawford."

The bookkeeper rapidly scanned Carl's face
and figure.  It seemed to Carl that the scrutiny
was not a friendly one.

"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Gibbon, coldly.

"Thank you, sir."

"By the way, Mr. Jennings," said the
bookkeeper, "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Go on, Mr. Gibbon," rejoined his employer,
in a cordial tone.

"Two months since you gave my nephew,
Leonard Craig, a place in the factory."

"Yes; I remember."

"I don't think the work agrees with him."

"He seemed a strong, healthy boy."

"He has never been used to confinement,
and it affects him unpleasantly."

"Does he wish to resign his place?"

"I have been wondering whether you would
not be willing to transfer him to the office.
I could send him on errands, to the post office,
and make him useful in various ways."

"I had not supposed an office boy was needed.
Still, if you desire it, I will try your nephew
in the place."

"Thank you, sir."

"I am bound to tell you, however, that his
present place is a better one.  He is learning
a good trade, which, if he masters it, will
always give him a livelihood.  I learned a
trade, and owe all I have to that."

"True, Mr. Jennings, but there are other
ways of earning a living."

"Certainly."

"And I thought of giving Leonard evening
instruction in bookkeeping."

"That alters the case.  Good bookkeepers are
always in demand.  I have no objection to
your trying the experiment."

"Thank you, sir."

"Have you mentioned the matter to your nephew?"

"I just suggested that I would ask you,
but could not say what answer you would give."

"It would have been better not to mention
the matter at all till you could tell him definitely
that he could change his place."

"I don't know but you are right, sir.
However, it is all right now."

"Now, Carl," said Mr. Jennings, "I will
take you into the workroom."

CHAPTER XVI.

CARL GETS A PLACE.

"I suppose that is the bookkeeper," said Carl.

"Yes.  He has been with me three years.  He
understands his business well.  You heard
what he said about his nephew?"

"Yes, sir."

"It is his sister's son--a boy of about your
own age.  I think he is making a mistake in
leaving the factory, and going into the office.
He will have little to do, and that not of a
character to give him knowledge of business."

"Still, if he takes lessons in bookkeeping----"

Mr. Jennings smiled.

"The boy will never make a bookkeeper," he said.
"His reason for desiring the change is because
he is indolent.  The world has no room for lazy people."

"I wonder, sir, that you have had a chance
to find him out."

"Little things betray a boy's nature, or a
man's, for that matter.  When I have visited
the workroom I have noticed Leonard, and
formed my conclusions.  He is not a boy whom
I would select for my service, but I have taken
him as a favor to his uncle.  I presume he is
without means, and it is desirable that he
should pay his uncle something in return for
the home which he gives him."

"How much do you pay him, sir, if it is not a secret?"

"Oh, no; he receives five dollars a week to begin with.
I will pay him the same in the office.  And that reminds me;
how would you like to have a situation in the factory?
Would you like to take Leonard's place?"

"Yes, sir, if you think I would do."

"I feel quite sure of it.  Have you ever done
any manual labor?"

"No, sir."

"I suppose you have always been to school."

"Yes, sir."

"You are a gentleman's son," proceeded Mr.
Jennings, eying Carl attentively.  "How will
it suit you to become a working boy?"

"I shall like it," answered Carl, promptly.

"Don't be too sure!  You can tell better after
a week in the factory.  Those in my employ work
ten hours a day.  Leonard Craig doesn't like it."

"All I ask, Mr. Jennings, is that you give me a trial."

"That is fair," responded the little man,
looking pleased.  "I will tell you now that,
not knowing of any vacancy in the factory,
I had intended to give you the place in the office
which Mr. Gibbon has asked for his nephew.
It would have been a good deal easier work."

"I shall be quite satisfied to take my place
in the factory."

"Come in, then, and see your future scene
of employment."

They entered a large room, occupying nearly
an entire floor of the building.  Part of the
space was filled by machinery.  The number
employed Carl estimated roughly at twenty-five.

Quite near the door was a boy, who bore
some personal resemblance to the bookkeeper.
Carl concluded that it must be Leonard Craig.
The boy looked round as Mr. Jennings entered,
and eyed Carl sharply.

"How are you getting on, Leonard?" Mr. Jennings asked.

"Pretty well, sir; but the machinery makes my head ache."

"Your uncle tells me that your employment does not agree with you."

"No, sir; I don't think it does."

"He would like to have you in the office with him.
Would you like it, also?"

"Yes, sir," answered Leonard, eagerly.

"Very well.  You may report for duty at the office
to-morrow morning.  This boy will take your place here."

Leonard eyed Carl curiously, not cordially.

"I hope you'll like it," he said.

"I think I shall."

"You two boys must get acquainted," said Mr. Jennings.
"Leonard, this is Carl Crawford."

"Glad to know you," said Leonard, coldly.

"I don't think I shall like that boy," thought Carl,
as he followed Mr. Jennings to another part of the room.

CHAPTER XVII.

CARL ENTERS THE FACTORY.

When they left the factory Mr. Jennings said, with a smile:

"Now you are one of us, Carl.  To-morrow you begin work."

"I am glad of it, sir."

"You don't ask what salary you are to get."

"I am willing to leave that to you."

"Suppose we say two dollars a week and board--
to begin with."

"That is better than I expected.  But where
am I to board?"

"At my house, for the present, if that will suit you."

"I shall like it very much, if it won't
inconvenience you."

"Hannah is the one to be inconvenienced,
if anyone.  I had a little conversation with
her while you were getting ready for dinner.
She seems to have taken a liking for you,
though she doesn't like boys generally.
As for me, it will make the home brighter to have
a young person in it.  Hannah and I are old-
fashioned and quiet, and the neighbors don't
have much reason to complain of noise."

"No, sir; I should think not, ' said Carl, with a smile.

"There is one thing you must be prepared
for, Carl," said Mr. Jennings, after a pause.

"What is that, sir?"

"Your living in my house--I being your
employer--may excite jealousy in some.  I think
I know of one who will be jealous."

"Leonard Craig?"

"And his uncle.  However, don't borrow any
trouble on that score.  I hope you won't take
advantage of your position, and, thinking yourself
a favorite, neglect your duties."

"I will not, sir."

"Business and friendship ought to be kept apart."

"That is right, sir."

"I am going back to the house, but you may
like to take a walk about the village.  You
will feel interested in it, as it is to be your
future home.  By the way, it may be well for
you to write for your trunk.  You can order
it sent to my house."

"All right, sir; I will do so."

He went to the post office, and, buying a postal
card, wrote to his friend, Gilbert Vance,
as follows:

"Dear Gilbert:--Please send my trunk by
express to me at Milford, care of Henry Jennings,
Esq.  He is my employer, and I live at
his house.  He is proprietor of a furniture
factory.  Will write further particulars soon.

"Carl Crawford."

This postal carried welcome intelligence to
Gilbert, who felt a brotherly interest in Carl.
He responded by a letter of hearty congratulation,
and forwarded the trunk as requested.

Carl reported for duty the next morning,
and, though a novice, soon showed that he was
not without mechanical skill.

At twelve o'clock all the factory hands had
an hour off for dinner.  As Carl passed into
the street he found himself walking beside the
boy whom he had succeeded--Leonard Craig.

"Good-morning, Leonard," said Carl, pleasantly.

"Good-morning.  Have you taken my place
in the factory?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you shall like it?"

"I think I shall, though, of course, it is
rather early to form an opinion."

"I didn't like it."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to grow up a workman.  I
think I am fit for something better."

"Mr. Jennings began as a factory hand."

"I suppose he had a taste for it.  I haven't."

"Then you like your present position better?"

"Oh, yes; it's more genteel.  How much does
Jennings pay you?"

"Two dollars a week and board."

"How is that?  Where do you board?"

"With him."

"Oh!" said Leonard, his countenance changing.
"So you are a favorite with the boss, are you?"

"I don't know.  He gave me warning that
he should be just as strict with me as if we
were strangers."

"How long have you known him?"

Carl smiled.

"I met him for the first time yesterday," he answered.

"That's very queer."

"Well, perhaps it is a little singular."

"Are you a poor boy?"

"I have to earn my own living."

"I see.  You will grow up a common workman."

"I shall try to rise above it.  I am not ashamed
of the position, but I am ambitious to rise."

"I am going to be a bookkeeper," said Leonard.
"My uncle is going to teach me.  I would
rather be a bookkeeper than a factory hand."

"Then you are right in preparing yourself
for such a post."

Here the two boys separated, as they were
to dine in different places.

Leonard was pleased with his new position.
He really had very little to do.  Twice a day
he went to the post office, once or twice to the
bank, and there was an occasional errand besides.
To Carl the idleness would have been
insupportable, but Leonard was naturally
indolent.  He sat down in a chair by the window,
and watched the people go by.

The first afternoon he was in luck, for there
was a dog fight in the street outside.  He seized
his hat, went out, and watched the canine warfare
with the deepest interest.

"I think I will buy you a system of bookkeeping,"
said his uncle, "and you can study it in the office."

"Put it off till next week, Uncle Julius.  I
want to get rested from the factory work."

"It seems to me, Leonard, you were born lazy,"
said his uncle, sharply.

"I don't care to work with my hands."

"Do you care to work at all?"

"I should like to be a bookkeeper."

"Do you know that my work is harder and
more exhausting than that of a workman in
the factory?"

"You don't want to exchange with him, do you?"
asked Leonard.

"No."

"That's where I agree with you."

Mr. Jennings took several weekly papers.
Leonard was looking over the columns of one
of them one day, when he saw the advertisement
of a gift enterprise of a most attractive
character.  The first prize was a house and
grounds valued at ten thousand dollars.  Following
were minor prizes, among them one
thousand dollars in gold.

Leonard's fancy was captivated by the brilliant
prospect of such a prize.

"Price of tickets--only one dollar!" he read.
"Think of getting a thousand dollars for one!
Oh, if I could only be the lucky one!"

He took out his purse, though he knew
beforehand that his stock of cash consisted only
of two dimes and a nickel.

"I wonder if I could borrow a dollar of that
boy Carl!" he deliberated.  "I'll speak to him
about it."

This happened more than a week after Carl
went to work in the factory.  He had already
received one week's pay, and it remained
untouched in his pocket.

Leonard joined him in the street early in the
evening, and accosted him graciously.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Nowhere in particular.  I am out for a walk."

"So am I.  Shall we walk together?"

"If you like."

After talking on indifferent matters, Leonard
said suddenly: "Oh, by the way, will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Lend me a dollar till next week."

In former days Carl would probably have granted
the favor, but he realized the value of money now
that he had to earn it by steady work.

"I am afraid it won't be convenient," he answered.

"Does that mean that you haven't got it?"
asked Leonard.

"No, I have it, but I am expecting to use it."

"I wouldn't mind paying you interest for it--
say twenty-five cents," continued Leonard,
who had set his heart on buying a ticket in the
gift enterprise.

"I would be ashamed to take such interest as that."

"But I have a chance of making a good deal
more out of it myself."

"In what way?"

"That is my secret."

"Why don't you borrow it of your uncle?"

"He would ask too many questions.  However,
I see that you're a miser, and I won't
trouble you."

He left Carl in a huff and walked hastily
away.  He turned into a lane little traveled,
and, after walking a few rods, came suddenly
upon the prostrate body of a man, whose deep,
breathing showed that he was stupefied by
liquor.  Leonard was not likely to feel any
special interest in him, but one object did
attract his attention.  It was a wallet which had
dropped out of the man's pocket and was lying
on the grass beside him.

CHAPTER XVIII.

LEONARD'S TEMPTATION.

Leonard was not a thief, but the sight of the
wallet tempted him, under the circumstances.
He had set his heart on buying a ticket in the
gift enterprise, and knew of no way of obtaining
the requisite sum--except this.  It was,
indeed, a little shock to him to think of
appropriating money not his own; yet who would
know it?  The owner of the wallet was drunk,
and would be quite unconscious of his loss.
Besides, if he didn't take the wallet, some one else
probably would, and appropriate the entire
contents.  It was an insidious suggestion, and
Leonard somehow persuaded himself that since
the money was sure to be taken, he might as
well have the benefit of it as anyone else.

So, after turning over the matter in his mind
rapidly, he stooped down and picked up the
wallet.

The man did not move.

Emboldened by his insensibility, Leonard
cautiously opened the pocketbook, and his eyes
glistened when he saw tucked away in one
side, quite a thick roll of bills.

"He won't miss one bill," thought Leonard.
"Anyone else might take the whole wallet, but
I wouldn't do that.  I wonder how much money
there is in the roll."

He darted another glance at the prostrate
form, but there seemed no danger of interruption.
He took the roll in his hand, therefore,
and a hasty scrutiny showed him that the bills
ran from ones to tens.  There must have been
nearly a hundred dollars in all.

"Suppose I take a five," thought Leonard,
whose cupidity increased with the sight of the
money.  "He won't miss it, and it will be better
in my hands than if spent for whiskey."

How specious are the arguments of those
who seek an excuse for a wrong act that will
put money in the purse!

"Yes, I think I may venture to take a five,
and, as I might not be able to change it right
away, I will take a one to send for a ticket.
Then I will put the wallet back in the man's pocket."

So far, all went smoothly, and Leonard was
proceeding to carry out his intention when,
taking a precautionary look at the man on the
ground, he was dumfounded by seeing his eyes
wide open and fixed upon him.

Leonard flushed painfully, like a criminal
detected in a crime, and returned the look of
inquiry by one of dismay.

"What--you--doing?" inquired the victim
of inebriety.

"I--is this your wallet, sir?" stammered Leonard.

"Course it is.  What you got it for?"

"I--I saw it on the ground, and was afraid
some one would find it, and rob you," said
Leonard, fluently.

"Somebody did find it," rejoined the man,
whose senses seemed coming back to him.
"How much did you take?"

"I?  You don't think I would take any of
your money?" said Leonard, in virtuous surprise.

"Looked like it!  Can't tell who to trust.