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STRUGGLING UPWARD by HORATIO ALGER JR.

Digitized by Cardinalis Etext Press [C.E.K.]
Posted to Wiretap in August 1993, as strugup.txt.

Italics are represented as _italics_.

This text is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN.

----

From the book "Ragged Dick and Struggling Upward", published
by Penguin Books, 1985. Ragged Dick was first published in the
United States by A.K. Loring, 1868. The Introduction written
by Carl Bode is not included in this etext, and is (c)1985 by
Viking Penguin, Inc., all rights reserved. The text itself
is not copyright, and this etext is public domain.

STRUGGLING UPWARD

CHAPTER I
THE WATERBURY WATCH

One Saturday afternoon in January a lively and animated
group of boys were gathered on the western side of a large pond
in the village of Groveton.  Prominent among them was a tall,
pleasant-looking young man of twenty-two, the teacher of the
Center Grammar School, Frederic Hooper, A.B., a recent graduate
of Yale College.  Evidently there was something of importance
on foot.  What it was may be learned from the words of the teacher.

"Now, boys," he said, holding in his hand a Waterbury watch,
of neat pattern, "I offer this watch as a prize to the boy who will
skate across the pond and back in the least time.  You will all
start together, at a given signal, and make your way to the mark
which I have placed at the western end of the lake, skate around
it, and return to this point.  Do you fully understand?"

"Yes, sir!" exclaimed the boys, unanimously.

Before proceeding, it may be well to refer more particularly
to some of the boys who were to engage in the contest.

First, in his own estimation, came Randolph Duncan, son
of Prince Duncan, president of the Groveton Bank, and a
prominent town official.  Prince Duncan was supposed to be
a rich man, and lived in a style quite beyond that of his neighbors. 
Randolph was his only son, a boy of sixteen, and felt that in
social position and blue blood he was without a peer in the village. 
He was a tall, athletic boy, and disposed to act the part of boss
among the Groveton boys.

Next came a boy similar in age and physical strength, but
in other respects very different from the young aristocrat. 
This was Luke Larkin, the son of a carpenter's widow, living on
narrow means, and so compelled to exercise the strictest economy. 
Luke worked where he could, helping the farmers in hay-time,
and ready to do odd jobs for any one in the village who desired
his services.  He filled the position of janitor at the school
which he attended, sweeping out twice a week and making the fires. 
He had a pleasant expression, and a bright, resolute look,
a warm heart, and a clear intellect, and was probably, in spite
of his poverty, the most popular boy in Groveton.  In this respect
he was the opposite of Randolph Duncan, whose assumption of
superiority and desire to "boss" the other boys prevented him
from having any real friends.  He had two or three companions,
who flattered him and submitted to his caprices because they
thought it looked well to be on good terms with the young aristocrat.

These two boys were looked upon as the chief contestants
for the prize offered by their teacher.  Opinions differed as to
which would win.

"I think Luke will get the watch," said Fred Acken, a younger boy.

"I don't know about that," said Tom Harper.  "Randolph skates
just as well, and he has a pair of club skates.  His father sent
to New York for them last week.  They're beauties, I tell you. 
Randolph says they cost ten dollars."

"Of course that gives him the advantage," said Percy Hall. 
"Look at Luke's old-fashioned wooden skates!  They would be
dear at fifty cents!"

"It's a pity Luke hasn't a better pair," said Harry Wright. 
"I don't think the contest is a fair one.  Luke ought to have an
allowance of twenty rods, to make up for the difference in skates."

"He wouldn't accept it," said Linton Tomkins, the son of
a manufacturer in Groveton, who was an intimate friend of Luke,
and preferred to associate with him, though Randolph had made
advances toward intimacy, Linton being the only boy in the
village whom he regarded as his social equal.  "I offered him my
club skates, but he said he would take the chances with his own."

Linton was the only boy who had a pair of skates equal to Randolph's. 
He, too, was a contestant, but, being three years younger than
Luke and Randolph, had no expectation of rivaling them.

Randolph had his friends near him, administering the adulation
he so much enjoyed.

"I have no doubt you'll get the watch, Randolph," said Sam Noble. 
"You're a better skater any day than Luke Larkin."

"Of course you are!" chimed in Tom Harper.

"The young janitor doesn't think so," said Randolph, his lips curling.

"Oh, he's conceited enough to think he can beat you, I make
no doubt," said Sam.

"On those old skates, too!  They look as if Adam might have
used them when he was a boy!"

This sally of Tom's created a laugh.

"His skates are old ones, to be sure," said Randolph, who was
quick-sighted enough to understand that any remark of this kind
might dim the luster of his expected victory.  "His skates are old
enough, but they are just as good for skating as mine."

"They won't win him the watch, though," said Sam.

"I don't care for the watch myself," said Randolph, loftily. 
"I've got a silver one now, and am to have a gold one when
I'm eighteen.  But I want to show that I am the best skater. 
Besides, father has promised me ten dollars if I win."

"I wish I had ten dollars," said Sam, enviously.

He was the son of the storekeeper, and his father allowed
him only ten cents a week pocket-money, so that ten dollars in
his eyes was a colossal fortune. 

"I have no doubt you would, Sam," said Tom, joyously; "but
you couldn't be trusted with so much money.  You'd go down
to New York and try to buy out A. T. Stewart."

"Are you ready, boys?" asked Mr. Hooper.

Most of the boys responded promptly in the affirmative; but Luke,
who had been tightening his straps, said quickly:  "I am not ready,
Mr. Hooper.  My strap has broken!"

"Indeed, Luke, I am sorry to hear it," said the teacher,
approaching and examining the fracture.  "As matters stand,
you can't skate."

Randolph's eyes brightened.  Confident as he professed to
feel, he knew that his chances of success would be greatly
increased by Luke's withdrawal from the list.

"The prize is yours now," whispered Tom.

"It was before," answered Randolph, conceitedly.

Poor Luke looked disappointed.  He knew that he had at least an
even chance of winning, and he wanted the watch.  Several of his
friends of his own age had watches, either silver or Waterbury,
and this seemed, in his circumstances, the only chance of
securing one.  Now he was apparently barred out.

"It's a pity you shouldn't skate, Luke," said Mr. Hooper, in
a tone of sympathy.  "You are one of the best skaters, and had
an excellent chance of winning the prize.  Is there any boy
willing to lend Luke his skates?"

"I will," said Frank Acken.

"My dear boy," said the teacher, "you forget that your feet
are several sizes smaller than Luke's."

"I didn't think of that," replied Frank, who was only twelve
years old.

"You may use my skates, Luke," said Linton Tomkins. 
"I think they will fit you."

Linton was only thirteen, but he was unusually large for his age.

"You are very kind, Linton," said Luke, "but that will keep
you out of the race."

"I stand no chance of winning," said Linton, "and I will
do my skating afterward."

"I don't think that fair," said Randolph, with a frown. 
"Each boy ought to use his own skates."

"There is nothing unfair about it," said the teacher, "except
that luke is placed at disadvantage in using a pair of skates
he is unaccustomed to."

Randolph did not dare gainsay the teacher, but he looked sullen.

"Mr. Hooper is always favoring that beggar!" he said in a
low voice, to Tom Harper.

"Of course he is!" chimed in the toady.

"You are very kind, Linny," said Luke, regarding his friend
affectionately.  "I won't soon forget it."

"Oh, it's all right, Luke," said Linton.  "Now go in and win!"

CHAPTER II
TOM HARPER'S ACCIDENT

Tom Harper and Sam Noble were not wholly disinterested
in their championship of Randolph.  They were very ordinary
skaters, and stood no chance of winning the match themselves. 
They wished Randolph to win, for each hoped, as he had a
silver watch himself already, he might give the Waterbury to
his faithful friend and follower.  Nothing in Randolph's
character granted such a hope, for he was by no means generous
or openhanded, but each thought that he might open his heart
on this occasion.  Indeed, Tom ventured to hint as much.

"I suppose, Randolph," he said, "if you win the watch you
will give it to me?"

"Why should I?" asked Randolph, surveying Tom with a
cold glance.

"You've got a nice silver watch yourself, you know."

"I might like to have two watches."

"You'll have the ten dollars your father promised you."

"What if I have?  What claim have you on me?"

Tom drew near and whispered something in Randolph's ear.

"I'll see about it," said Randolph, nodding.

"Are you ready?" asked the teacher, once more.

"Aye, aye!" responded the boys.

"One--two--three--go!"

The boys darted off like arrows from a bow.  Luke made
a late start, but before they were half across the pond he was
even with Randolph, and both were leading.  Randolph looked
sidewise, and shut his mouth tight as he saw his hated rival on
equal terms with him and threatening to pass him.  It would be
humiliating in the extreme, he thought, to be beaten by such a boy.

But beaten he seemed likely to be, for Luke was soon a rod
in advance and slowly gaining.  Slowly, for Randolph was really
a fine skater and had no rival except Luke.  But Luke was his
superior, as seemed likely to be proved.

Though only these two stood any chance of final success,
all the boys kept up the contest.

A branch of a tree had been placed at the western end of the
pond, and this was the mark around which the boys were to skate. 
Luke made the circuit first, Randolph being about half a dozen
rods behind.  After him came the rest of the boys in procession,
with one exception.  This exception was Tom Harper, who apparently
gave up the contest when half-way across, and began skating about,
here and there, apparently waiting for his companions to return.

"Tom Harper has given up his chance," said Linton to the teacher.

"So it seems," replied Mr. Hooper, "but he probably had
no expectation of succeeding."

"I should think he would have kept on with the rest.  I would
have done so, though my chance would have been no better than his."

Indeed, it seemed strange that Tom should have given up
so quickly.  It soon appeared that it was not caprice, but that
he had an object in view, and that a very discreditable one.

He waited till the boys were on their way back.  By this time
Luke was some eight rods in advance of his leading competitor. 
Then Tom began to be on the alert.  As Luke came swinging on to
victory he suddenly placed himself in his way.  Luke's speed
was so great that he could not check himself.  He came into
collision with Tom, and in an instant both were prostrate. 
Tom, however, got the worst of it.  He was thrown violently
backward, falling on the back of his head, and lay stunned
and motionless on the ice.  Luke fell over him, but was
scarcely hurt at all.  He was up agiin in an instant, and might
still have kept the lead, but instead he got down on his knees
beside Tom and asked anxiously:  "Are you much hurt, Tom?"

Tom didn't immediately answer, but lay breathing heavily,
with his eyes still closed.

Meanwhile, Randolph, with a smile of triumph, swept on to
his now assured victory.  Most of the boys, however, stopped and
gathered round Luke and Tom.

This accident had been watched with interest and surprise
from the starting-point.

"Tom must be a good deal hurt," said Linton.  "What could
possibly have made him get in Luke's way?"

"I don't know," said the teacher, slowly; "it looks strange."

"It almost seemed as if he got in the way on purpose,"
Linton continued.

"He is a friend of Randolph Duncan, is he not?" asked the
teacher, abruptly.

"They are together about all the time."

"Ha!" commented the teacher, as if struck by an idea.  He didn't,
however, give expression to the thought in his mind. 

A minute more, and Randolph swept into the presence of the teacher.

"I believe I have won?" he said, with a smile of gratification
on his countenance.

"You have come in first," said the teacher coldly.

"Luke was considerably ahead when he ran into Tom," suggested Linton.

"That's not my lookout," said Randolph, shrugging his shoulders. 
"The point is that I have come in first."

"Tom Harper is a friend of yours, is he not?" asked the teacher.

"Oh, yes!" answered Randolph, indifferently.

"He seems to be a good deal hurt.  It was very strange that
he got in Luke's way."

"So it was," said Randolph, without betraying much interest.

"Will you lend me your skates, Randolph?" asked Linton. 
"I should like to go out and see if I can help Tom in any way."

If any other boy than Linton had made the request, Randolph
would have declined, but he wished, if possible, to add
Linton to his list of friends, and graciously consented.

Before Linton could reach the spot, Tom had been assisted to
his feet, and, with a dazed expression, assisted on either side
by Luke and Edmund Blake, was on his way back to the starting-point.

"What made you get in my way, Tom?" asked Luke, puzzled.

"I don't know," answered Tom, sullenly.

"Are you much hurt?"

"I think my skull must be fractured," moaned Tom.

"Oh, not so bad as that," said Luke, cheerfully.  "I've fallen
on my head myself, but I got over it."

"You didn't fall as hard as I did," groaned Tom.

"No, I presume not; but heads are hard, and I guess you'll
be all right in a few days."

Tom had certainly been severely hurt.  There was a swelling
on the back of his head almost as large as a hen's egg.

"You've lost the watch, Luke," said Frank Acken. 
"Randolph has got in first."

"Yes, I supposed he would," answered Luke, quietly.

"And there is Linton Tomkins coming to meet us on Randolph's skates."

"Randolph is sitting down on a log taking it easy.  What is your
loss, Luke, is his gain."

"Yes."

"I think he might have come back to inquire after you, Tom,
as you are a friend of his."

Tom looked resentfully at Randolph, and marked his complacent
look, and it occurred to him also that the friend he had
risked so much to serve was very ungrateful.  But he hoped now,
at any rate, to get the watch, and thought it prudent to say nothing.

The boys had now reached the shore.

"Hope you're not much hurt, Tom?" said Randolph, in a tone
of mild interest.

"I don't know but my skull is fractured," responded Tom, bitterly.

"Oh, I guess not.  It's the fortune of war.  Well, I got in first."

Randolph waited for congratulations, but none came.  All the
boys looked serious, and more than one suspected that there
had been foul play.  They waited for the teacher to speak.

CHAPTER III
RANDOLPH GETS THE WATCH

"It is true," said the teacher, slowly.  "Randolph has won the race."

Randolph's face lighted up with exultation.

"But it is also evident," continued Mr. Hooper, "that he would
not have succeeded but for the unfortunate collision between Luke
Larkin and Tom Harper."

Here some of Luke's friends brightened up.

"I don't know about that," said Randolph.  "At any rate, I
came in first."

"I watched the race closely," said the teacher, "and I have
no doubt on the subject.  Luke had so great a lead that he would
surely have won the race."

"But he didn't," persisted Randolph, doggedly

"He did not, as we all know.  It is also clear that had he not
stopped to ascertain the extent of Tom's injuries he still might
have won."

"That's so!" said half a dozen boys.

"Therefore I cannot accept the result as indicating the
superiority of the successful contestant."

"I think I am entitled to the prize," said Randolph.

"I concede that; but, under the circumstances, I suggest to
you that it would be graceful and proper to waive your claim
and try the race over again."

The boys applauded, with one or two exceptions.

"I won't consent to that, Mr. Hooper," said Randolph, frowning. 
"I've won the prize fairly and I want it."

"I am quite willing Randolph should have it, sir," said Luke. 
"I think I should have won it if I had not stopped with Tom, but
that doesn't affect the matter one way or the other.  Randolph
came in first, as he says, and I think he is entitled to the watch."

"Then," said Mr. Hooper, gravely, "there is nothing more to
be said.  Randolph, come forward and receive the prize."

Randolph obeyed with alacrity, and received the Waterbury
watch from the hands of Mr. Hooper.  The boys stood in silence
and offered no congratulations.

"Now, let me say," said the teacher, "that I cannot understand
why there was any collision at all.  Tom Harper, why did you get
in Luke's way?"

"Because I was a fool, sir," answered Tom, smarting from
his injuries, and the evident indifference of Randolph,
in whose cause he had incurred them.

"That doesn't answer my question.  Why did you act like a
fool, as you expressed it?"

"I thought I could get out of the way in time," stammered
Tom, who did not dare to tell the truth.

"You had no other reason?" asked the teacher, searchingly.

"No, sir.  What other reason could I have?" said Tom, but
his manner betrayed confusion.

"Indeed, I don't know," returned the teacher, quietly. 
"Your action, however, spoiled Luke's chances and insured
the success of Randolph."

"And got me a broken head," muttered Tom, placing his hand
upon the swelling at the back of his head.

"Yes, you got the worst of it.  I advise you to go home and
apply cold water or any other remedy your mother may suggest."

Randolph had already turned away, meaning to return home. 
Tom joined him.  Randolph would gladly have dispensed with his
company, but had no decent excuse, as Tom's home lay in the
same direction as his.

"Well, Randolph, you've won the watch," said Tom, when
they were out of hearing of the other boys.

"Yes," answered Randolph, indifferently.  "I don't care so much
for that as for the ten dollars my father is going to give me."

"That's what I thought.  You've got another watch, you
know--more valuable."

"Well, what of it?" said Randolph, suspiciously.

"I think you might give me the Waterbury.  I haven't got any."

"Why should I give it to you?" answered Randolph, coldly.

"Because but for me you wouldn't have won it, nor the ten
dollars, neither."

"How do you make that out?"

"The teacher said so himself."

"I don't agree to it."

"You can't deny it.  Luke was seven or eight rods ahead when
I got in his way."

"Then it was lucky for me."

"It isn't lucky for me.  My head hurts awfully."

"I'm very sorry, of course."

"That won't do me any good.  Come, Randolph, give me the
watch, like a good fellow."

"Well, you've got cheek, I must say.  I want the watch myself."

"And is that all the satisfaction I am to get for my broken
head?" exclaimed Tom, indignantly.

Randolph was a thoroughly mean boy, who, if he had had a dozen
watches, would have wished to keep them all for himself.

"I've a great mind to tell Luke and the teacher of the arrangement
between us."

"There wasn't any arrangement," said Randolph, sharply. 
"However, as I'm really sorry for you, I am willing to give you
a quarter.  There, now, don't let me hear any more about the matter."

He drew a silver quarter from his vest pocket and tendered
it to Tom.

Tom Harper was not a sensitive boy, but his face flushed with
indignation and shame, and he made no offer to take the money.

"Keep your quarter, Randolph Duncan," he said scornfully.  "I think
you're the meanest specimen of a boy that I ever came across. 
Any boy is a fool to be your friend.  I don't care to keep
company with you any longer."

"This to me!" exclaimed Randolph, angrily.  "This is the
pay I get for condescending to let you go with me."

"You needn't condescend any longer," said Tom, curtly, and
he crossed to the other side of the street.

Randolph looked after him rather uneasily.  After all, he was
sorry to lose his humble follower.

"He'll be coming round in a day or two to ask me to take
him back," he reflected.  "I would be willing to give him ten
cents more, but as for giving him the watch, he must think me
a fool to part with that."

CHAPTER IV
LUKE'S NIGHT ADVENTURE

"I am sorry you have lost the watch, Luke," said the teacher,
after Randolph's departure.  "You will have to be satisfied with
deserving it."

"I am reconciled to the disappointment, sir," answered Luke. 
"I can get along for the present without a watch."

Nevertheless, Luke did feel disappointed.  He had fully expected
to have the watch to carry home and display to his mother. 
As it was, he was in no hurry to go home, but remained for two
hours skating with the other boys.  He used his friend Linton's
skates, Linton having an engagement which prevented his remaining.

It was five o'clock when Luke entered the little cottage which
he called home.  His mother, a pleasant woman of middle age,
was spreading the cloth for supper.  She looked up as he entered.

"Well, Luke?" she said inquiringly.

"I haven't brought home the watch, mother," he said. 
"Randolph Duncan won it by accident.  I will tell you about it."

After he had done so, Mrs. Larkin asked thoughtfully.  "Isn't it
a little singular that Tom should have got in your way?"

"Yes; I thought so at the time."

"Do you think there was any arrangement between him and Randolph?"

"As you ask me, mother, I am obliged to say that I do."

"It was a very mean trick!" said Mrs. Larkin, resentfully.

"Yes, it was; but poor Tom was well punished for it.  Why, he's
got a bunch on the back of his head almost as large as a hen's egg."

"I don't pity him," said Mrs. Larkin.

"I pity him, mother, for I don't believe Randolph will repay
him for the service done him.  If Randolph had met with the
same accident I am not prepared to say that I should have pitied
him much."

"You might have been seriously injured yourself, Luke."

"I might, but I wasn't, so I won't take that into consideration. 
However, mother, watch or no watch, I've got a good appetite. 
I shall be ready when supper is."

Luke sat down to the table ten minutes afterward and proved
his words good, much to his mother's satisfaction.

While he is eating we will say a word about the cottage.  It was
small, containing only four rooms, furnished in the plainest fashion. 
The rooms, however, were exceedingly neat, and presented an appearance
of comfort.  Yet the united income of Mrs. Larkin and Luke was
very small.  Luke received a dollar a week for taking care of the
schoolhouse, but this income only lasted forty weeks in the year. 
Then he did odd jobs for the neighbors, and picked up perhaps
as much more.  Mrs. Larkin had some skill as a dressmaker,
but Groveton was a small village, and there was another in the
same line, so that her income from this source probably did not
average more than three dollars a week.  This was absolutely
all that they had to live on, though there was no rent to pay;
and the reader will not be surprised to learn that Luke had no
money to spend for watches.

"Are you tired, Luke?" asked his mother, after supper.

"No, mother.  Can I do anything for you?"

"I have finished a dress for Miss Almira Clark.  I suppose
she will want to wear it to church tomorrow.  But she lives
so far away, I don't like to ask you to carry it to her."

"Oh, I don't mind.  It won't do me any harm."

"You will get tired."

"If I do, I shall sleep the better for it."

"You are a good son, Luke."

"I ought to be.  Haven't I got a good mother?"

So it was arranged.  About seven o'clock, after his chores
were done--for there was some wood to saw and split--Luke set
out, with the bundle under his arm, for the house of Miss Clark,
a mile and a half away.

It was a commonplace errand, that on which Luke had started,
but it was destined to be a very important day in his life.  It was
to be a turning-point, and to mark the beginning of a new chapter
of experiences.  Was it to be for good or ill?  That we are not
prepared to reveal.  It will be necessary for the reader to follow
his career, step by step, and decide for himself.

Of course, Luke had no thought of this when he set out.  To him
it had been a marked day on account of the skating match,
but this had turned out a disappointment.  He accomplished his
errand, which occupied a considerable time, and then set out on
his return.  It was half-past eight, but the moon had risen and
diffused a mild radiance over the landscape.  Luke thought he
would shorten his homeward way by taking a path through the woods. 
It was not over a quarter of a mile, but would shorten the
distance by as much more.  The trees were not close together,
so that it was light enough to see.  Luke had nearly reached the
edge of the wood, when he overtook a tall man, a stranger in the
neighborhood, who carried in his hand a tin box.  Turning, he
eyed Luke sharply.

"Boy, what's your name?" he asked.

"Luke Larkin," our hero answered, in surprise.

"Where do you live?"

"In the village yonder."

"Will you do me a favor?"

"What is it, sir?"

"Take this tin box and carry it to your home.  Keep it under
lock and key till I call for it."

"Yes, sir, I can do that.  But how shall I know you again?"

"Take a good look at me, that you may remember me."

"I think I shall know you again, but hadn't you better give
me a name?"

"Well, perhaps so," answered the other, after a moment's thought. 
"You may call me Roland Reed.  Will you remember?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am obliged to leave this neighhorhood at once, and can't
conveniently carry the box," explained the stranger. 
"Here's something for your trouble."

Luke was about to say that he required no money, when it
occurred to him that he had no right to refuse, since money was
so scarce at home.  He took the tin box and thrust the bank-bill
into his vest pocket.  He wondered how much it was, but it was
too dark to distinguish.

"Good night!" said Luke, as the stranger turned away.

"Good night!" answered his new acquaintance, abruptly.

If Luke could have foreseen the immediate consequences of
this apparently simple act, and the position in which it would
soon place him, he would certainly have refused to take charge
of the box.  And yet in so doing it might have happened that
he had made a mistake.  The consequences of even our simple
acts are oftentimes far-reaching and beyond the power of human
wisdom to foreknow.

Luke thought little of this as, with the box under his arm, he
trudged homeward.

CHAPTER V
LUKE RECEIVES AN INVITATION

"What have you there, Luke?" asked Mrs. Larkin, as Luke
entered the little sitting-room with the tin box under his arm.

"I met a man on my way home, who asked me to keep it for him."

"Do you know the man?" asked his mother, in surprise.

"No," answered Luke.

"It seems very singular.  What did he say?"

"He said that he was obliged to leave the neighborhood at
once, and could not conveniently carry the box."

"Do you think it contains anything of value?"

"Yes, mother.  It is like the boxes rich men have to hold
their stocks and bonds.  I was at the bank one day, and saw
a gentleman bring in one to deposit in the safe."

"I can't understand that at all, Luke.  You say you did not
know this man?"

"I never met him before."

"And, of course, he does not know you?"

"No, for he asked my name."

"Yet he put what may be valuable property in your possession."

"I think," said Luke, shrewdly, "he had no one else to trust
it to.  Besides, a country boy wouldn't be very likely to make
use of stocks and bonds."

"No, that is true.  I suppose the tin box is locked?"

"Yes, mother.  The owner--he says his name is Roland
Reed--wishes it put under lock and key."

"I can lock it up in my trunk, Luke."

"I think that will be a good idea."

"I hope he will pay you for your trouble when he takes away
the tin box."

"He has already.  I forgot to mention it," and Luke drew from his
vest pocket, the bank-note he had thrust in as soon as received. 
"Why, it's a ten-dollar bill!" he exclaimed.  "I wonder whether
he knew he was giving me as much?"

"I presume so, Luke," said his mother, brightening up.  "You
are in luck!"

"Take it, mother.  You will find a use for it."

"But, Luke, this money is yours."

"No, it is yours, for you are going to take care of the box."

It was, indeed, quite a windfall, and both mother and son
retired to rest in a cheerful frame of mind, in spite of Luke's
failure in the race.

"I have been thinking, Luke," said his mother, at the
breakfast-table, "that I should like to have you buy a Waterbury
watch out of this money.  It will only cost three dollars and
a half, and that is only one-third."

"Thank you, mother, but I can get along without the watch. 
I cared for it chiefly because it was to be a prize given to the
best skater.  All the boys know that I would have won but for
the accident, and that satisfies me."

"I should like you to have a watch, Luke."

"There is another objection, mother.  I don't want any one
to know about the box or the money.  If it were known that we
had so much property in the house, some attempt might be made
to rob us."

"That is true, Luke.  But I hope it won't be long before you
have a watch of your own."

When Luke was walking, after breakfast, he met Randolph
Duncan, with a chain attached to the prize watch ostentatiously
displayed on the outside of his vest.  He smiled complacently, and
rather triumphantly, when he met Luke.  But Luke looked neither
depressed nor angry.

"I hope your watch keeps good time, Randolph," he said.

"Yes; it hasn't varied a minute so far.  I think it will keep
as good time as my silver watch."

"You are fortunate to have two watches."

"My father has promised me a gold watch when I am eighteen,"
said Randolph, pompously.

"I don't know if I shall have any watch at all when I am eighteen."

"Oh, well, you are a poor boy.  It doesn't matter to you."

"I don't know about that, Randolph.  Time is likely to be
of as much importance to a poor boy as to a rich boy."

"Oh, ah! yes, of course, but a poor boy isn't expected to wear
a watch."

Here the conversation ended.  Luke walked on with an
amused smile on his face.

"I wonder how it would seem to be as complacent and self-
satisfied as Randolph?" he thought.  "On the whole, I would
rather be as I am."

"Good morning, Luke!"

It was a girl's voice that addressed him.  Looking up, he met
the pleasant glance of Florence Grant, considered by many the
prettiest girl in Groveton.  Her mother was a widow in easy
circumstances, who had removed from Chicago three years before,
and occupied a handsome cottage nearly opposite Mr. Duncan's
residence.  She was a general favorite, not only for her good
looks, but on account of her pleasant manner and sweet disposition.

"Good morning, Florence," said Luke, with an answering smile.

"What a pity you lost the race yesterday!"

"Randolph doesn't think so."

"No; he is a very selfish boy, I am afraid."

"Did you see the race?" asked Luke.

"No, but I heard all about it.  If it hadn't been for Tom
Harper you would have won, wouldn't you?"

"I think so."

"All the boys say so.  What could have induced Tom to get in the way?"

"I don't know.  It was very foolish, however.  He got badly hurt."

"Tom is a friend of Randolph," said Florence significantly.

"Yes," answered Luke; "but I don't think Randolph would
stoop to such a trick as that."

"You wouldn't, Luke, but Randolph is a different boy. 
Besides, I hear he was trying for something else."

"I know; his father offered him ten dollars besides."

"I don't see why it is that some fare so much better than
others," remarked Florence, thoughtfully.  "The watch and the
money would have done you more good."

"So they would, Florence, but I don't complain.  I may be
better off some day than I am now."

"I hope you will, Luke," said Florence, cordially.

"I am very much obliged to you for your good wishes," said
Luke, warmly.

"That reminds me, Luke, next week, Thursday, is my birthday,
and I am to have a little party in the evening.  Will you come?"

Luke's face flushed with pleasure.  Though he knew Florence
very well from their being schoolfellows, he had never visited
the house.  He properly regarded the invitation as a compliment,
and as a mark of friendship from one whose good opinion he
highly valued.

"Thank you, Florence," he said.  "You are very kind, and I shall
have great pleasure in being present.  Shall you have many?"

"About twenty.  Your friend Randolph will be there."

"I think there will be room for both of us," said Luke, with
a smile.

The young lady bade him good morning and went on her way.

Two days later Luke met Randolph at the dry-goods store in
the village.

"What are you buying?" asked Randolph, condescendingly.

"Only a spool of thread for my mother."

"I am buying a new necktie to wear to Florence Grant's birthday
party," said Randolph, pompously.

"I think I shall have to do the same," said Luke, enjoying
the surprise he saw expressed on Randolph's face.

"Are you going?" demanded Randolph, abruptly.

"Yes."

"Have you been invited?"

"That is a strange question," answered Luke, indignantly. 
"Do you think I would go without an invitation?"

"Really, it will be quite a mixed affair," said Randolph,
shrugging his shoulders.

"If you think so, why do you go?"

"I don't want to disappoint Florence."

Luke smiled.  He was privately of the opinion that the
disappointment wouldn't be intense.

CHAPTER VI
PREPARING FOR THE PARTY

The evening of the party arrived.  It was quite a social event
at Groveton, and the young people looked forward to it with
pleasant anticipation.  Randolph went so far as to order a new
suit for the occasion.  He was very much afraid it would not be
ready in time, but he was not to be disappointed.  At five o'clock
on Thursday afternoon it was delivered, and Randolph, when
arrayed in it, surveyed himself with great satisfaction.  He had
purchased a handsome new necktie, and he reflected with pleasure
that no boy present--not even Linton--would be so handsomely
dressed as himself.  He had a high idea of his personal
consequence, but he was also of the opinion that "fine feathers
make fine birds," and his suit was of fine cloth and stylish make.

"I wonder what the janitor will wear?" he said to himself, with
a curl of the lip.  "A pair of overalls, perhaps.  They would
be very appropriate, certainly."

This was just the question which was occupying Luke's mind. 
He did not value clothes as Randolph did, but he liked to look neat. 
Truth to tell, he was not very well off as to wardrobe.  He had
his every-day suit, which he wore to school, and a better suit,
which he had worn for over a year.  It was of mixed cloth, neat
in appearance, though showing signs of wear; but there was one
trouble.  During the past year Luke had grown considerably, and
his coat-sleeves were nearly two inches too short, and the legs of
his trousers deficient quite as much.  Nevertheless, he dressed
himself, and he, too, surveyed himself, not before a pier-glass,
but before the small mirror in the kitchen.

"Don't my clothes look bad, mother?" he asked anxiously.

"They are neat and clean, Luke," said his mother, hesitatingly.

"Yes, I know; but they are too small."

"You have been growing fast in the last year, Luke," said
his mother, looking a little disturbed.  "I suppose you are
not sorry for that?"

"No," answered Luke, with a smile, "but I wish my coat and
trousers had grown, too."

"I wish, my dear boy, I could afford to buy you a new suit."

"Oh, never mind, mother," said Luke, recovering his cheerfulness. 
"They will do for a little while yet.  Florence didn't
invite me for my clothes."

"No; she is a sensible girl.  She values you for other reasons."

"I hope so, mother.  Still, when I consider how handsomely
Randolph will be dressed, I can't help thinking that there
is considerable difference in our luck."

"Would you be willing to exchange with him, Luke?"

"There is one thing I wouldn't like to exchange."

"And what is that?"

"I wouldn't exchange my mother for his," said Luke, kissing
the widow affectionately.  "His mother is a cold, proud,
disagreeable woman, while I have the best mother in the world."

"Don't talk foolishly, Luke," said Mrs. Larkin; but her face
brightened, and there was a warm feeling in her heart, for it was
very pleasant to her to hear Luke speak of her in this way.

"I won't think any more about it, mother," said Luke. 
"I've got a new necktie, at any rate, and I will make that do."

Just then there was a knock at the door, and Linton entered.

"I thought I would come round and go to the party with you,
Luke," he said.

Linton was handsomely dressed, though he had not bought
a suit expressly, like Randolph.  He didn't appear to notice Luke's
scant suit.  Even if he had, he would have been too much of a
gentleman to refer to it.

"I think we shall have a good time," he said.  "We always
do at Mrs. Grant's.  Florence is a nice girl, and they know how
to make it pleasant.  I suppose we shall have dancing."

"I don't know how to dance," said Luke, regretfully.  "I should
like to have taken lessons last winter when Professor Bent
had a class, but I couldn't afford it."

"You have seen dancing?"

"Oh, yes."

"It doesn't take much knowledge to dance a quadrille,
particularly if you get on a side set.  Come, we have an
hour before it is time to go.  Suppose I give you a lesson?"

"Do you think I could learn enough in that time to venture?"

"Yes, I do.  If you make an occasional mistake it won't matter. 
So, if your mother will give us the use of the sitting-room,
I will commence instructions."

Luke had looked at some dancers in the dining-room at the
hotel, and was not wholly a novice, therefore.  Linton was an
excellent dancer, and was clear in his directions.  It may also be
said that Luke was a ready learner.  So it happened at the end of
the hour that the pupil had been initiated not only in the ordinary
changes of the quadrille, but also in one contra dance, the Virginia 
Reel, which was a great favorite among the young people of Groveton.

"Now, I think you'll do, Luke," said Linton, when the lesson
was concluded.  "You are very quick to learn."

"You think I won't be awkward, Linton?"

"No, if you keep cool and don't get flustered."

"I am generally pretty cool.  But I shall be rather surprised
to see myself on the floor," laughed Luke.

"No doubt others will be, but you'll have a great deal more fun."

"So I shall.  I don't like leaning against the wall while others
are having a good time."

"If you could dance as well as you can skate you would have
no trouble, Luke."

"No; that is where Randolph has the advantage of me."

"He is a very great dancer, though he can't come up to you
in skating.  However, dancing isn't everything.  Dance as well
as he may, he doesn't stand as high in the good graces of Florence
Grant as he would like to do."

"I always noticed that he seemed partial to Florence."

"Yes, but it isn't returned.  How about yourself, Luke?"

Luke, being a modest boy, blushed.

"I certainly think Florence a very nice girl," he said.

"I was sure of that," said Linton, smiling.

"But I don't want to stand in your way, Linton," continued
Luke, with a smile.

"No danger, Luke.  Florence is a year older than I am.  Now, you
are nearly two years older than she, and are better matched. 
So you needn't consider me in the matter."

Of course, this was all a joke.  It was true, however, that of
all the girls in Groveton, Luke was more attracted by Florence
Grant than by any other, and they had always been excellent friends. 
It was well known that Randolph also was partial to the young lady,
but he certainly had never received much encouragement.

Finally the boys got out, and were very soon at the door of
Mrs. Grant's handsome cottage.  It was large upon the ground,
with a broad veranda, in the Southern style.  In fact, Mrs. Grant
was Southern by birth, and, erecting the house herself, had it
built after the fashion of her Southern birthplace.

Most of the young visitors had arrived when Luke and Linton
put in an appearance.  They had been detained longer than they
were aware by the dancing-lesson.

Randolph and Sam Noble were sitting side by side at one end
of the room, facing the entrance.

"Look," said Randolph, with a satirical smile, to his companion,
"there comes the young janitor in his dress suit.  Just look at
his coat-sleeves and the legs of his trousers.  They are at
least two inches too short.  Any other boy would be ashamed to
come to a party in such ridiculous clothes."

Sam looked and tittered.  Luke's face flushed, for, though he
did not hear the words, he guessed their tenor.  But he was made
to forget them when Florence came forward and greeted Linton
and himself with unaffected cordiality.

CHAPTER VII
FLORENCE GRANT'S PARTY

Luke's uncomfortable consciousness of his deficiencies in dress
soon passed off.  He noticed the sneer on Randolph's face and
heard Sam's laugh, but he cared very little for the opinion of
either of them.  No other in the company appeared to observe
his poor dress, and he was cordially greeted by them all, with the
two exceptions already named.

"The janitor ought to know better than to intrude into the
society of his superiors," said Randolph to Sam.

"He seems to enjoy himself," said Sam.

This was half an hour after the party had commenced, when
all were engaged in one of the plays popular at a country party.

"I am going to have a party myself in a short time," continued
Randolph, "but I shall be more select than Florence in my invitations. 
I shall not invite any working boys."

"Right you are, Randolph," said the subservient Sam.  "I hope
you won't forget me."

"Oh, no; I shall invite you.  Of course, you don't move exactly
in my circle, but, at any rate, you dress decently."

If Sam Noble had had proper pride he would have resented
the insolent assumption of superiority in this speech, but he was
content to play second fiddle to Randolph Duncan.  His family,
like himself, were ambitious to be on good terms with the leading
families in the village, and did not mind an occasional snub.

"Shall you invite Tom Harper?" he asked.

He felt a little jealous of Tom, who had vied with him in
flattering attentions to Randolph.

"No, I don't think so.  Tom isn't here, is he?"

"He received an invitation, but ever since his accident he has
been troubled with severe headaches, and I suppose that keeps
him away."

"He isn't up to my standard," said Randolph, consequentially. 
"He comes of a low family."

"You and he have been together a good deal."

"Oh, I have found him of some service, but I have paid for it."

Yet this was the boy who, at his own personal risk, had obtained
for Randolph the prize at the skating-match.  Privately, Sam
thought Randolph ungrateful, but he was, nevertheless, pleased
at having distanced Tom in the favor of the young aristocrat.

After an hour, spent in various amusements, one of the company
took her place at the piano, and dancing began.

"Now is your time, Luke," said Linton.  "Secure a partner. 
It is only a quadrille."

"I feel a little nervous," said Luke.  "Perhaps I had better
wait till the second dance."

"Oh, nonsense!  Don't be afraid."

Meanwhile, Randolph, with a great flourish, had invited Florence
to dance.

"Thank you," she answered, taking his arm.

Randolph took his place with her as head couple.  Linton and
Annie Comray faced them.  To Randolph's amazement, Luke and
Fanny Pratt took their places as one of the side couples. 
Randolph, who was aware that Luke had never taken lessons,
remarked this with equal surprise and disgust.  His lip curled
as he remarked to his partner:  "Really, I didn't know that Luke
Larkin danced."

"Nor I," answered Florence.

"I am sorry he is in our set."

"Why?" asked Florence, regarding him attentively.

"He will probably put us out by his clownish performance."

"Wouldn't it be well to wait and see whether he does or not?"
responded Florence, quietly.

Randolph shrugged his shoulders.

"I pity his partner, at any rate," he said.

"I can't join in any such conversation about one of my guests,"
said Florence, with dignity.

Here the first directions were given, and the quadrille commenced.

Luke felt a little nervous, it must be confessed, and for
that reason he watched with unusual care the movements of the
head couples.  He was quick to learn, and ordinarily cool and
self-possessed.  Besides, he knew that no one was likely to
criticize him except Randolph.  He saw the latter regarding him
with a mocking smile, and this stimulated him to unusual carefulness. 
The result was that he went through his part with quite as much
ease and correctness as any except the most practiced dancers. 
Florence said nothing, but she turned with a significant smile to
Randolph.  The latter looked disappointed and mortified.  His mean
disposition would have been gratified by Luke's failure, but this
was a gratification he was not to enjoy.

The dance was at length concluded, and Luke, as he led his
partner to a seat, felt that he had scored a success.

"May I have the pleasure of dancing with you next time,
Florence?" asked Randolph.

"Thank you, but I should not think it right to slight my other
guests," said the young lady.

Just then Luke came up and preferred the same request.  He would
not have done so if he had not acquitted himself well in the
first quadrille.

Florence accepted with a smile.

"I was not aware that dancing was one of your accomplishments,
Luke," she said.

"Nor I, till this evening," answered Luke.  "There stands my
teacher," and he pointed to Linton.

"You do credit to your teacher," said Florence.  "I should not
have known you were such a novice."

Luke was pleased with this compliment, and very glad that
he had been spared the mortification of breaking down before
the eyes of his ill-wisher, Randolph Duncan.  It is hardly
necessary to say that he did equally well in the second
quadrille, though he and Florence were head couple.

The next dance was the Virginia Reel.  Here Florence had
Linton for a partner, and Luke secured as his own partner a very
good dancer.  From prudence, however, he took his place at some
distance from the head, and by dint of careful watching he
acquitted himself as well as in the quadrilles.

"Really, Luke, you are doing wonderfully well," said Linton,
when the dance was over.  "I can hardly believe that you have
taken but one lesson, and that from so poor a teacher as I am."

"I couldn't have had a better teacher, Lin," said Luke. 
"I owe my success to you."

"Didn't you say Luke couldn't dance?" asked Sam Noble of
Randolph, later in the evening.

"He can't," answered Randolph, irritably.

"He gets along very well, I am sure.  He dances as well as I do."

"That isn't saying much," answered Randolph, with a sneer. 
He could not help sneering even at his friends, and this was one
reason why no one was really attached to him.

Sam walked away offended.

The party broke up at half-past ten.  It was an early hour,
but late enough considering the youth of the participants. 
Luke accompanied home one of the girls who had no brother
present, and then turned toward his own home.

He had nearly reached it, when a tall figure, moving from the
roadside, put a hand on his shoulder.

"You are Luke Larkin?" said the stranger, in questioning tone.

"Yes, sir."

"Is the tin box safe?"

"Yes, sir."

"That is all--for the present," and the stranger walked quickly away.

"Who can he be," thought Luke, in wonder, "and why should
he have trusted a complete stranger--and a boy?"

Evidently there was some mystery about the matter.  Had the
stranger come honestly by the box, or was Luke aiding and
abetting a thief?  He could not tell.

CHAPTFER VIII

MISS SPRAGUE DISCOVERS A SECRET

About this time it became known to one person in the village that
the Larkins had in their possession a tin box, contents unknown.

This is the way it happened:

Among the best-known village residents was Miss Melinda
Sprague, a maiden lady, who took a profound interest in the
affairs of her neighbors.  She seldom went beyond the limits of
Groveton, which was her world.  She had learned the business
of dressmaking, and often did work at home for her customers. 
She was of a curious and prying disposition, and nothing
delighted her more than to acquire the knowledge of a secret.

One day--a few days after Florence Grant's party--Mrs. 
Larkin was in her own chamber.  She had the trunk open, having
occasion to take something from it, when, with a light step, Miss
Sprague entered the room.  The widow, who was on her knees
before the trunk, turning, recognized the intruder, not without
displeasure.

"I hope you'll excuse my coming in so unceremoniously, Mrs. 
Larkin," said Melinda, effusively.  "I knocked, but you didn't
hear it, being upstairs, and I took the liberty, being as we were
so well acquainted, to come upstairs in search of you."

"Yes, certainly," answered Mrs. Larkin, but her tone was
constrained.

She quickly shut the lid of the trunk.  There was only one
thing among its contents which she was anxious to hide, but that
Miss Melinda's sharp eyes had already discovered.  Unfortunately,
the tin box was at one side, in plain sight.

"What on earth does Mrs. Larkin do with a tin box?" she
asked herself, with eager curiosity.  "Can she have property that
people don't know of?  I always thought she was left poor."

Melinda asked no questions.  The sudden closing of the trunk
showed her that the widow would not be inclined to answer any
questions.

"I won't let her think I saw anything," she said to herself. 
"Perhaps she'll get anxious and refer to it."

"We will go downstairs, Melinda," said Mrs. Larkin. 
"It will be more comfortable."

"If you have anything to do up here, I beg you won't mind
me," said the spinster.

"No, I have nothing that won't wait."

So the two went down into the sitting-room.

"And how is Luke?" asked Miss Sprague, in a tone of friendly interest.

"Very well, thank you."

"Luke was always a great favorite of mine," continued the spinster. 
"Such a manly boy as he is!"

"He is a great help to me," said Mrs. Larkin.

"No doubt he is.  He takes care of the schoolhouse, doesn't he?"

"Yes."

"How much pay does he get?"

"A dollar a week."

"I hope he will be able to keep the position."

"What do you mean, Melinda?" asked the widow, not without anxiety.

"You know Doctor Snodgrass has resigned on the school
committee, and Squire Duncan has been elected in his place."

"Well?"

"Mrs. Flanagan went to him yesterday to ask to have her son
Tim appointed janitor in place of Luke, and I heard that she
received considerable encouragement from the squire."

"Do they find any fault with Luke?" asked Mrs. Larkin, jealously.

"No, not as I've heard; but Mrs. Flanagan said Luke had had
it for a year, and now some one else ought to have the chance."

"Are you quite sure of this, Melinda?"

Miss Sprague, though over forty, was generally called by her
first name, not as a tribute to her youth, but to the fact of
her being still unmarried.

"Yes, I am; I had it from Mrs. Flanagan herself."

"I don't think Tim would do as well as Luke.  He has never
been able to keep a place yet."

"Just so; but, of course, his mother thinks him a polygon."
Probably Miss Sprague meant a paragon--she was not very
careful in her speech, but Mrs. Larkin did not smile at
her mistake.  She was too much troubled at the news she had
just heard.  A dollar a week may seem a ridiculous trifle to
some of my readers, but, where the entire income of the family
was so small, it was a matter of some consequence.

"I don't think Luke has heard anything of this," said the widow. 
"He has not mentioned it to me."

"Perhaps there won't be any change, after all," said Melinda. 
"I am sure Tim Flanagan wouldn't do near as well as Luke."

Miss Melinda was not entirely sincere.  She had said to Mrs. 
Flanagan that she quite agreed with her that Luke had been janitor
long enough, and hoped Tim would get the place.  She was in the
habit of siding with the person she chanced to be talking with at
the moment, and this was pretty well understood.

Luke, however, had heard of this threatened removal.  For this,
it may be said, Randolph was partly responsible.  Just after
Mrs. Flanagan's call upon the squire to solicit his official
influence, Prince Duncan mentioned the matter to his son.

"How long has Luke Larkin been janitor at the schoolhouse?"
he asked.

"About a year.  Why do you ask?"

"Does he attend to the duties pretty well?"

"I suppose so.  He's just fit to make fires and sweep the floor,"
answered Randolph, his lip curling.

"Mrs. Flanagan has been here to ask me to appoint her son
Tim in Luke's place."

"You'd better do it, pa," said Randolph, quickly.

"Why?  You say Luke is well fitted for the position."

"Oh, anybody could do as well, but Luke puts on airs. 
He feels too big for his position."

"I suppose Mrs. Larkin needs the money."

"So does Mrs. Flanagan," said Randolph.

"What sort of a boy is Tim?  I have heard that he is lazy."

"Oh, I guess he'll do.  Of course, I am not well acquainted
with a boy like him," said the young aristocrat.  "But I'm quite
disgusted with Luke.  He was at Florence Grant's party the other
evening, and was cheeky enough to ask her to dance with him."

"Did she do so?"

"Yes; I suppose it was out of pity.  He ought to have known
better than to attend a party with such a suit.  His coat and
pantaloons were both too small for him, but he flourished around
as if he were fashionably dressed."

Squire Duncan made no reply to his son's comments, but he
felt disposed, for reasons of his own, to appoint Tim Flanagan. 
He was hoping to be nominated for representative at the next
election, and thought the appointment might influence the Irish
vote in his favor.

"Shall you appoint Tim, pa?" asked Randolph.

"I think it probable.  It seems only right to give him a chance. 
Rotation in office is a principle of which I approve."

"That's good!" thought Randolph, with a smile of gratification. 
"It isn't a very important place, but Luke will be sorry to
lose it.  The first time I see him I will give him a hint of it."

Randolph met Luke about an hour later in the village street. 
He did not often stop to speak with our hero, but this time he
had an object in doing so.

CHAPTER IX
LUKE LOSES HIS POSITION

"Luke Larkin!"

Luke turned, on hearing his name called, and was rather surprised
to see Randolph hastening toward him.

"How are you, Randolph?" he said politely.

"Where are you going?" asked Randolph, not heeding the inquiry.

"To the schoolhouse, to sweep out."

"How long have you been janitor?" asked Randolph, abruptly.

"About a year," Luke answered, in surprise.

"That's a good while."

Luke was puzzled.  Why should Randolph feel such an interest,
all at once, in his humble office?

"I suppose you know that my father is now on the school
committee?" Randolph continued.

"Yes; I heard so."

"He thinks of appointing Tim Flanagan janitor in your place."

Luke's face showed his surprise and concern.  The loss of his
modest income would, as he knew, be severely felt by his mother
and himself.  The worst of it was, there seemed no chance in
Groveton of making it up in any other way.

"Did your father tell you this?" he asked, after a pause.

"Yes; he just told me," answered Randolph, complacently.

"Why does he think of removing me?  Are there any complaints
of the way I perform my duties?"

"Really, my good fellow," said Randolph, languidly, "I can't
enlighten you on that point.  You've held the office a good while,
you know."

"You are very kind to tell me--this bad news," said Luke, pointedly.

"Oh, don't mention it.  Good morning.  Were you fatigued
after your violent exercise at Florence Grant's party?"

"No.  Were you?"

"I didn't take any," said Randolph, haughtily.  "I danced--
I didn't jump round."

"Thank you for the compliment.  Is there anything more you
wish to say to me?"

"No."

"Then good morning."

When Luke was left alone he felt serious.  How was he going
to make up the dollar a week of which he was to be deprived?
The more he considered the matter the further he was from
thinking anything.  He was not quite sure whether the news
was reliable, or merely invented by Randolph to tease and
annoy him.  Upon this point, however, he was soon made certain. 
The next day, as he was attending to his duties in the schoolhouse,
Tim Flanagan entered.

"Here's a note for you, Luke," he said.

Luke opened the note and found it brief but significant. 
It ran thus:

"LUKE LARKIN:  I have appointed the bearer, Timothy Flanagan,
janitor in your place.  You will give him the key of the
schoolhouse, and he will at once assume your duties. 
                                            "PRINCE DUNCAN."

"Well, Tim," said Luke, calmly, "it appears that you are going
to take my place."

"Yes, Luke, but I don't care much about it.  My mother
went to the squire and got me the job.  The pay's a dollar
a week, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"That isn't enough."

"It isn't very much, but there are not many ways of earning
money here in Groveton."

"What do you have to do?"

"Make the fire every morning and sweep out twice a week. 
Then there's dusting, splitting up kindlings, and so on."

"I don't think I'll like it.  I ain't good at makin' fires."

"Squire Duncan writes you are to begin at once."

"Shure, I'm afraid I won't succeed."

"I'll tell you what, Tim.  I'll help you along till you've got
used to the duties.  After a while they'll get easy for you."

"Will you now?  You're a good feller, Luke.  I thought you
would be mad at losin' the job."

"I am not mad, but I am sorry.  I needed the money, but no
doubt you do, also.  I have no grudge against you."

Luke had just started in his work.  He explained to Tim how
to do it, and remained with him till it was done.

"I'll come again to-morrow, Tim," he said.  "I will get you
well started, for I want to make it easy for you."

Tim was by no means a model boy, but he was warm-hearted,
and he was touched by Luke's generous treatment.

"I say, Luke," he exclaimed, "I don't want to take your job. 
Say the word, and I'll tell mother and the squire I don't want it."

"No, Tim, it's your duty to help your mother.  Take it and
do your best."

On his way home Luke chanced to meet the squire, walking
in his usual dignified manner toward the bank, of which he
was president.

"Squire Duncan," he said, walking up to him in a manly way,
"I would like to speak a word to you."

"Say on, young man."

"Tim Flanagan handed me a note from you this morning
ordering me to turn over my duties as janitor to him."

"Very well?"

"I have done so, but I wish to ask you if I have been removed
on account of any complaints that my work was not well done?"

"I have heard no complaints," answered the squire.  "I appointed
Timothy in your place because I approved of rotation in office. 
It won't do any good for you to make a fuss about it."

"I don't intend to make a fuss, Squire Duncan," said Luke,
proudly.  "I merely wished to know if there were any charges
against me."

"There are none."

"Then I am satisfied.  Good morning, sir."

"Stay, young man.  Is Timothy at the schoolhouse?"

"Yes, sir.  I gave him some instruction about the work, and
promised to go over to-morrow to help him."

"Very well."

Squire Duncan was rather relieved to find that Luke did not propose
to make any fuss.  His motive, as has already been stated, was a
political one.  He wished to ingratiate himself with Irish voters
and obtain an election as representative; not that he cared so
much for this office, except as a stepping-stone to something higher.

Luke turned his steps homeward.  He dreaded communicating
the news to his mother, for he knew that it would depress her,
as it had him.  However, it must be known sooner or later, and
he must not shrink from telling her.

"Mother," he said, as he entered the room where she was sewing,
"I have lost my job as janitor."

"I expected you would, Luke," said his mother, soberly.

"Who told you?" asked Luke, in surprise.

"Melinda Sprague was here yesterday and told me Tim Flanagan
was to have it."

"Miss Sprague seems to know everything that is going on."

"Yes, she usually hears everything.  Have you lost the place already?"

"Tim brought me a note this morning from Squire Duncan
informing me that I was removed and he was put in my place."

"It is going to be a serious loss to us, Luke," said Mrs.
Larkin, gravely.

"Yes, mother, but I am sure something will turn up in its place."

Luke spoke confidently, but it was a confidence he by no means felt.

"It is a sad thing to be so poor as we are," said Mrs. Larkin,
with a sigh.

"It is very inconvenient, mother, but we ought to be glad
that we have perfect health.  I am young and strong, and I
am sure I can find some other way of earning a dollar a week."

"At any rate, we will hope so, Luke."

Luke went to bed early that night.  The next morning, as they
were sitting at breakfast, Melinda Sprague rushed into the house
and sank into a chair, out of breath.

"Have you heard the news?"

"No.  What is it?"

"The bank has been robbed!  A box of United States bonds
has been taken, amounting to thirty or forty thousand dollars!"

Luke and his mother listened in amazement.

CHAPTER X
MELlNDA MAKES MlSCHlEF

"Where did you hear this, Melinda?" asked Mrs. Larkin.

"I called on Mrs. Duncan just now--I was doing some work
for her--and she told me.  Isn't it awful?"

"Was the bank broken open last night, Miss Sprague?" asked Luke.

"I don't know when it was entered."

"I don't understand it at all," said Luke, looking puzzled.

"All I know is that, on examining the safe, the box of bonds
was missing."

"Then it might have been taken some time since?"

"Yes, it might."

The same thought came to Luke and his mother at once. 
Was the mysterious stranger the thief, and had he robbed the
bank and transferred the tin box to Luke? It might be so, but,
as this happened more than a fortnight since, it would have been
strange in that case that the box had not been missed sooner
at the bank.  Luke longed to have Miss Sprague go, that he
might confer with his mother on this subject.  He had been
told to keep the possession of the box secret, and therefore he
didn't wish to reveal the fact that he had it unless it should
prove to be necessary.

"Were any traces of the robber discovered?" he added.

"Not that I heard of; but I pity the thief, whoever he is,"
remarked Melinda.  "When he's found out he will go to jail,
without any doubt."

"I can't understand, for my part, how an outside party could
open the safe," said Mrs. Larkin.  "It seems very mysterious."

"There's many things we can't understand," said Melinda,
shaking her head sagely.  "All crimes are mysterious."

"I hope they'll find out who took the bonds," said the widow. 
"Did they belong to the bank?"

"No, they belonged to a gentleman in Cavendish, who kept
them in the bank, thinking they would be safer than in his
own house.  Little did he know what iniquity there was even
in quiet country places like Groveton."

"Surely, Melinda, you don't think any one in Groveton robbed
the bank?" said Mrs. Larkin.

"There's no knowing!" said Miss Sprague, solemnly.  "There's those
that we know well, or think we do, but we cannot read their
hearts and their secret ways."

"Have you any suspicions, Miss Sprague?" asked Luke,
considerably amused at the portentous solemnity of the visitor.

"I may and I may not, Luke," answered Melinda, with the
air of one who knew a great deal more than she chose to tell;
"but it isn't proper for me to speak at present."

Just then Miss Sprague saw some one passing who, she thought,
had not heard of the robbery, and, hastily excusing herself,
she left the house.

"What do you think, Luke?" asked his mother, after the
spinster had gone.  "Do you think the box we have was taken
from the bank?"

"No, I don't, mother.  I did think it possible at first, but it
seems very foolish for the thief, if he was one, to leave the box
in the same village, in the charge of a boy.  It would have been
more natural and sensible for him to open it, take out the bonds,
and throw it away or leave it in the woods."

"There is something in that," said Mrs. Larkin, thoughtfully. 
"There is certainly a mystery about our box, but I can't think it
was stolen from the bank."

Meanwhile, Miss Sprague had formed an important resolve. 
The more she thought of it, the more she believed the missing
box was the one of which she had caught a glimpse of in Mrs. 
Larkin's trunk.  True, Luke and the widow had not betrayed
that confusion and embarrassment which might have been
anticipated when the theft was announced, but she had noticed
the look exchanged between them, and she was sure it meant something. 
Above all, her curiosity was aroused to learn how it happened
that a woman as poor as the Widow Larkin should have a tin box
in her trunk, the contents of which might be presumed to be valuable.

"I don't like to get Luke and his mother into trouble," Melinda
said to herself, "but I think it my duty to tell all I know. 
At any rate, they will have to tell how the box came into their
possession, and what it contains.  I'll go to the bank and speak
to Squire Duncan."

Prince Duncan had called an extra meeting of the directors
to consider the loss which had been discovered, and they were now
seated in the bank parlor.  There were three of them present, all
of whom resided in Groveton--Mr. Manning, the hotelkeeper;
Mr. Bailey, a storekeeper, and Mr. Beane, the Groveton lawyer.

Miss Sprague entered the bank and went up to the little
window presided over by the paying-teller.

"Is Squire Duncan in the bank?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss Sprague."

"I would like to speak with him."

"That is impossible.  He is presiding at a directors' meeting."

"Still, I would like to see him," persisted Melinda.

"You will have to wait," said the paying-teller, coldly. 
He had no particular respect or regard for Miss Sprague,
being quite familiar with her general reputation as a gossip
and busybody.

"I think he would like to see me," said Melinda, nodding her
head with mysterious significance.  "There has been a robbery
at the bank, hasn't there?"

"Do you know anything about it, Miss Sprague?" demanded
the teller, in surprise.

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't; but I've got a secret to tell
to Squire Duncan."

"I don't believe it amounts to anything," thought the teller. 
"Well, I will speak to Squire Duncan," he said aloud.

He went to the door of the directors' room, and after a brief
conference with Prince Duncan he returned with the message,
"You may go in, Miss Sprague."

She nodded triumphantly, and with an air of conscious importance
walked to the bank parlor.

Prince Duncan and his associates were sitting round a mahogany table.

Melinda made a formal curtsy and stood facing them.

"I understand, Miss Sprague, that you have something to
communicate to us in reference to the loss the bank has just
sustained," said the squire, clearing his throat.

"I thought it my duty to come and tell you all I knew, Squire
Duncan and gentlemen," said Melinda.

"Quite right, Miss Sprague.  Now, what can you tell us?"

"The article lost was a tin box, was it not?"

"Yes."

"About so long?" continued Miss Sprague, indicating a length
of about fifteen inches.

"Yes."

"What was there in it?"

"Government bonds."

"I know where there is such a box," said Miss Sprague, slowly.

"Where?  Please be expeditious, Miss Sprague."

"A few days since I was calling on Mrs. Larkin--Luke's
mother--just happened in, as I may say, and, not finding her
downstairs, went up into her chamber.  I don't think she heard
me, for when I entered the chamber and spoke to her she seemed
quite flustered.  She was on her knees before an open trunk,
and in that trunk I saw the tin box."

The directors looked at each other in surprise, and Squire
Duncan looked undeniably puzzled.

"I knew the box was one such as is used to hold valuable
papers and bonds," proceeded Melinda, "and, as I had always
looked on the widow as very poor, I didn't know what to make
of it."

"Did you question Mrs. Larkin about the tin box?" asked Mr. Beane.

"No; she shut the trunk at once, and I concluded she didn't
want me to see it."

"Then you did not say anything about it?"

"No; but I went in just now to tell her about the bank being robbed."

"How did it seem to affect her?" asked Mr. Bailey.

"She and Luke--Luke was there, too--looked at each other
in dismay.  It was evident that they were thinking of the box
in the trunk."

Melinda continued her story, and the directors were somewhat impressed.

"I propose," said Mr. Manning, "that we get out a search-
warrant and search Mrs. Larkin's cottage.  That box may be the
one missing from the bank."

CHAPTER XI
LUKE IS ARRESTED

Just after twelve o'clock, when Luke was at home eating dinner,
a knock was heard at the front door.

"I'll go, mother," said Luke, and he rose from the table, and,
going into the entry, opened the outer door.

His surprise may be imagined when he confronted Squire
Duncan and the gentlemen already mentioned as directors of
the Groveton bank.

"Did you wish to see mother?" he asked.

"Yes; we have come on important business," said Squire
Duncan, pompously.

"Walk in, if you please."

Luke led the way into the little sitting-room, followed by the
visitors.  The dinner-table was spread in the kitchen adjoining. 
The room looked very much filled up with the unwonted company,
all being large men.

"Mother," called Luke, "here are some gentlemen who wish
to see you."

The widow entered the room, and looked with surprise from
one to another.  All waited for Squire Duncan, as the proper
person, from his official position, to introduce the subject
of their visit

"Mrs. Larkin," said the squire, pompously, "it has possibly
come to your ears that the Groveton Bank, of which you are
aware that I am the president, has been robbed of a box of bonds?"

"Yes, sir.  I was so informed by Miss Melinda Sprague this morning."

"I am also informed that you have in your custody a tin box
similar to the one that has been taken."

He expected to see Mrs. Larkin show signs of confusion, but
she answered calmly:  "I have a box in my custody, but whether
it resembles the one lost I can't say."

"Ha! you admit that you hold such a box?" said the squire,
looking significantly at his companions.

"Certainly.  Why should I not?"

"Are you willing to show it to us?"

"Yes, we are willing to show it," said Luke, taking it upon
himself to answer, "but I have no idea that it will do you any good."

"That is for us to decide, young man," said Squire Duncan.

"Do you suppose it is the box missing from the bank, sir?"

"It may be."

"When did you miss the box?"

"Only this morning, but it may have been taken a month ago."

"This box has been in our possession for a fortnight."

"Such is your statement, Luke."

"It is the truth," said Luke, flushing with indignation.

"My boy," said Mr. Beane, "don't be angry.  I, for one, have
no suspicion that you have done anything wrong, but it is our
duty to inquire into this matter."

"Who told you that we had such a box, Mr. Beane?"

"Miss Melinda Sprague was the informant."

"I thought so, mother," said Luke.  "She is a prying old
maid, and it is just like her."

"Miss Sprague only did her duty," said the squire.  "But we
are losing time.  We require you to produce the box."

"I will get it, gentlemen," said the widow, calmly.

While she was upstairs, Mr. Manning inquired:  "Where did
you get the box, Luke?"

"If you identify it as the box taken from the bank," answered
Luke, "I will tell you.  Otherwise I should prefer to say nothing,
for it is a secret of another person."

"Matters look very suspicious, in my opinion, gentlemen," said
Squire Duncan, turning to his associates.

"Not necessarily," said Mr. Beane, who seemed inclined to
favor our hero.  "Luke may have a good reason for holding
his tongue."

Here Mrs. Larkin presented herself with the missing box. 
Instantly it became an object of attention.

"It looks like the missing box," said the squire.

"Of course, I can offer no opinion," said Mr. Beane, "not
having seen the one lost.  Such boxes, however, have a general
resemblance to each other."

"Have you the key that opens it?" asked the squire.

"No, sir."

"Squire Duncan," asked Mr. Beane, "have you the key unlocking
the missing box?"

"No, sir," answered Squire Duncan, after a slight pause.

"Then I don't think we can decide as to the identity of the
two boxes."

The trustees looked at each other in a state of indecision. 
No one knew what ought to be done.

"What course do you think we ought to take, Squire Duncan?"
asked Mr. Bailey.

"I think," said the bank president, straightening up, "that
there is sufficient evidence to justify the arrest of this boy Luke."

"I have done nothing wrong, sir," said Luke, indignantly. 
"I am no more of a thief than you are."

"Do you mean to insult me, you young jackanapes?"
demanded Mr. Duncan, with an angry flush on his face.

"I intend to insult no one, but I claim that I have done
nothing wrong."

"That is what all criminals say," sneered the squire.

Luke was about to make an angry reply, but Mr. Beane,
waving his hand as a signal for our hero to be quiet, remarked
calmly:  "I think, Duncan, in justice to Luke, we ought to hear
his story as to how the box came into his possession."

"That is my opinion," said Mr. Bailey.  "I don't believe Luke
is a bad boy."

Prince Duncan felt obliged to listen to that suggestion, Mr. 
Bailey and Mr. Beane being men of consideration in the village.

"Young man," he said, "we are ready to hear your story. 
From whom did you receive this box?"

"From a man named Roland Reed," answered Luke.

The four visitors looked at each other in surprise.

"And who is Roland Reed?" asked the president of the bank. 
"It seems very much like a fictitious name."

"It may be, for aught I know," said Luke, "but it is the name
given me by the person who gave me the box to keep for him."

"State the circumstances," said Mr. Beane.

"About two weeks since I was returning from the house of Miss
Almira Clark, where I had gone on an errand for my mother. 
To shorten my journey, I took my way through the woods. 
I had nearly passed through to the other side, when a tall
man, dark complexioned, whom I had never seen before
stepped up to me.  He asked me my name, and, upon my telling
him, asked if I would do him a favor.  This was to take charge
of a tin box, which he carried under his arm."

"The one before us?" asked Mr. Manning.

"Yes, sir."

"Did he give any reason for making this request?"

"He said he was about to leave the neighborhood, and wished
it taken care of.  He asked me to put it under lock and key."

"Did he state why he selected you for this trust?" asked Mr. Beane.

"No, sir; he paid me for my trouble, however.  He gave me
a bank-note, which, when I reached home, I found to be a
ten-dollar bill."

"And you haven't seen him since?"

"Once only."

"When was that?"

"On the evening of Florence Grant's party.  On my way home
the same man came up to me and asked if the box was safe. 
I answered, `Yes.' He said, `That is all--for the present,'
and disappeared.  I have not seen him since."

"That is a very pretty romance," said Prince Duncan, with a sneer.

"I can confirm it," said Mrs. Larkin, calmly.  "I saw Luke
bring in the box, and at his request I took charge of it. 
The story he told at that time is the same that he tells now."

"Very possibly," said the bank president.  "It was all cut
and dried."

"You seem very much prejudiced against Luke," said Mrs. 
Larkin, indignantly.

"By no means, Mrs. Larkin.  I judge him and his story from
the standpoint of common sense.  Gentlemen, I presume this
story makes the same impression on you as on me?"

Mr. Beane shook his head.  "It may be true; it is not impossible,"
he said.

"You believe, then, there is such a man as Roland Reed?"

"There may be a man who calls himself such."

"If there is such a man, he is a thief."

"It may be so, but that does not necessarily implicate Luke."

"He would be a receiver of stolen property."

"Not knowing it to be such."

"At all events, I feel amply justified in causing the arrest
of Luke Larkin on his own statement."

"Surely you don't mean this?" exclaimed Mrs. Larkin, in dismay.

"Don't be alarmed, mother," said Luke, calmly.  "I am innocent
of wrong, and no harm will befall me."

CHAPTER XII
LUKE AS A PRISONER

Prince Duncan, who was a magistrate, directed the arrest of
Luke on a charge of robbing the Groveton Bank.  The constable
who was called upon to make the arrest performed the duty
unwillingly.

"I don't believe a word of it, Luke," he said.  "It's perfect
nonsense to say you have robbed the bank.  I'd as soon believe
myself guilty."

Luke was not taken to the lock-up, but was put in the personal
custody of Constable Perkins, who undertook to be responsible
for his appearance at the trial.

"You mustn't run away, or you'll get me into trouble, Luke,"
said the good-natured constable.

"It's the last thing I'd be willing to do, Mr. Perkins,"
said Luke, promptly.  "Then everybody would decide that
I was guilty.  I am innocent, and want a chance to prove it."

What was to be done with the tin box, was the next question.

"I will take it over to my house," said Squire Duncan.

"I object," said Mr. Beane.

"Do you doubt my integrity?" demanded the bank president, angrily.

"No; but it is obviously improper that any one of us should
take charge of the box before it has been opened and its
contents examined.  We are not even certain that it is the one
missing from the bank."

As Mr. Beane was a lawyer, Prince Duncan, though unwillingly,
was obliged to yield.  The box, therefore, was taken to
the bank and locked up in the safe till wanted.

It is hardly necessary to say that the events at the cottage
of Mrs. Larkin, and Luke's arrest, made a great sensation in
the village.  The charge that Luke had robbed the bank was
received not only with surprise, but with incredulity.  The boy
was so well and so favorably known in Groveton that few could be
found to credit the charge.  There were exceptions, however. 
Melinda Sprague enjoyed the sudden celebrity she had achieved
as the original discoverer of the thief who had plundered the bank. 
She was inclined to believe that Luke was guilty, because it
enhanced her own importance.

"Most people call Luke a good boy," she said, "but there was
always something about him that made me suspicious.

"There was something in his expression--I can't tell you
what--that set me to thinkin' all wasn't right.  Appearances are
deceitful, as our old minister used to say."

"They certainly are, if Luke is a bad boy and a thief,"
retorted the other, indignantly.  "You might be in better
business, Melinda, than trying to take away the character
of a boy like Luke."

"I only did my duty," answered Melinda, with an air of
superior virtue.  "I had no right to keep secret what I
knew about the robbery."

"You always claimed to be a friend of the Larkins.  Only last
week you took tea there."

"That's true.  I am a friend now, but I can't consent to cover
up inquiry.  Do you know whether the bank has offered any
reward for the detection of the thief?"

"No," said the other, shortly, with a look of contempt at the
eager spinster.  "Even if it did, and poor Luke were found guilty,
it would be blood-money that no decent person would accept."

"Really, Mrs. Clark, you have singular ideas," said the
discomfited Melinda.  "I ain't after no money.  I only mean
to do my duty, but if the bank should recognize the value
of my services, it would be only right and proper."

There was another who heard with great satisfaction of Luke's arrest. 
This was Randolph Duncan.  As it happened, he was late in learning
that his rival had got into trouble, not having seen his father
since breakfast.

"This is great news about Luke," said his friend Sam Noble,
meeting him on the street.

"What news? I have heard nothing," said Randolph, eagerly.

"He has been arrested."

"You don't say so!" exclaimed Randolph.  "What has he done?"

"Robbed the bank of a tin box full of bonds.  It was worth
an awful lot of money."

"Well, well!" ejaculated Randolph.  "I always thought he
was a boy of no principle."

"The tin box was found in his mother's trunk."

"What did Luke say?  Did he own up?"

"No; he brazened it out.  He said the box was given him to
take care of by some mysterious stranger."

"That's too thin.  How was it traced to Luke?"

"It seems Old Maid Sprague"--it was lucky for Melinda's
peace of mind that she did not hear this contemptuous reference
to her--"went to the Widow Larkin's house one day and saw
the tin box in her trunk."

"She didn't leave the trunk open, did she?"

"No; but she had it open, looking into it, when old Melinda
crept upstairs softly and caught her at it."

"I suppose Luke will have to go to State's prison,"
said Randolph, with a gratified smile.

"I hope it won't be quite so bad as that," said Sam, who was
not equal in malice to his aristocratic friend.

"I haven't any pity for him," said Randolph, decidedly. 
"If he chooses to steal, he must expect to be punished."

Just then Mr. Hooper, the grammer-school teacher, came up.

"Mr. Hooper," said Randolph, eagerly, "have you heard
about Luke?"

"I have heard that he has been removed from his janitorship,
and I'm sorry for it."

"If he goes to jail he wouldn't be able to be janitor,"
said Randolph.

"Goes to jail!  What do you mean?" demanded the teacher, sharply.

Hereupon Randolph told the story, aided and assisted by Sam
Noble, to whom he referred as his authority.

"This is too ridiculous!" said Mr. Hooper, contemptuously. 
"Luke is no thief, and if he had the tin box he has given the
right explanation of how he came by it."

"I know he is a favorite of yours, Mr. Hooper, but that won't
save him from going to jail," said Randolph, tartly.

"If he is a favorite of mine," said the teacher, with dignity,
"it is for a very good reason.  I have always found him to be a
high-minded, honorable boy, and I still believe him to be so,
in spite of the grave accusation that has been brought against him."

There was something in the teacher's manner that deterred
Randolph from continuing his malicious attack upon Luke.  Mr.
Hooper lost no time in inquiring into the facts of the case, and
then in seeking out Luke, whom he found in the constable's house.

"Luke," he said, extending his hand, "I have heard that you
were in trouble, and I have come to see what I can do for you."

"You are very kind, Mr. Hooper," said Luke, gratefully. 
"I hope you don't believe me guilty."

"I would as soon believe myself guilty of the charge, Luke."

"That's just what I said, Mr. Hooper," said Constable Perkins. 
"Just as if there wasn't more than one tin box in the world."

"You never told any one that you had a tin box in your
custody, I suppose, Luke?"

"No, sir; the man who asked me to take care of it especially
cautioned me to say nothing about it."

"What was his name?"

"Roland Reed."

"Do you know where to find him?  It would be of service to
you if you could obtain his evidence.  It would clear you at once."

"I wish I could, sir, but I have no idea where to look for him."

"That is unfortunate," said the teacher, knitting his brows
in perplexity.  "When are you to be brought to trial?"

"To-morrow, I hear."

"Well, Luke, keep up a good heart and hope for the best."

"I mean to, sir."

CHAPTER XIII
IN THE COURT-ROOM

It was decided that Luke should remain until his trial in the
personal custody of Constable Perkins.  Except for the name of
it, his imprisonment was not very irksome, for the Perkins family
treated him as an honored guest, and Mrs. Perkins prepared a
nicer supper than usual.  When Mr. Perkins went out he said to
his wife, with a quizzical smile:  "I leave Luke in your charge. 
Don't let him run away."

"I'll look out for that," said Mrs. Perkins, smiling.

"Perhaps I had better leave you a pistol, my dear?"

"I am afraid I should not know how to use it."

"You might tie my hands," suggested Luke.

"That wouldn't prevent your walking away."

"Then my feet."

"It won't be necessary, husband," said Mrs. Perkins. 
"I've got the poker and tongs ready."

But, though treated in this jesting manner, Luke could not help
feeling a little anxious.  For aught he knew, the tin box taken
from his mother's trunk might be the same which had been stolen
from the bank.  In that case Roland Reed was not likely to appear
again, and his story would be disbelieved.  It was a strange one,
he could not help admitting to himself.  Yet he could not believe
that the mysterious stranger was a burglar.  If he were, it seemed
very improbable that he would have left his booty within half a mile
of the bank, in the very village where the theft had been committed. 
It was all very queer, and he could not see into the mystery.

"I should like to do something," thought Luke.  "It's dull
work sitting here with folded hands."

"Isn't there something I can do, Mrs. Perkins?" he said. 
"I am not used to sitting about the house idle."

"Well, you might make me some pies," said Mrs. Perkins.

"You'd never eat them if I did.  I can boil eggs and fry potatoes. 
Isn't there some wood to saw and split?"

"Plenty out in the shed."

"I understand that, at any rate.  Have you any objection to
my setting to work?"

"No, if you won't run away."

"Send out Charlie to watch me."

Charlie was a youngster about four years of age, and very
fond of Luke, who was a favorite with most young children.

"Yes, that will do.  Charlie, go into the shed and see Luke
saw wood."

"Yes, mama."

"Don't let him run away."

"No, I won't," said Charlie, gravely.

Luke felt happier when he was fairly at work.  It took his
mind off his troubles, as work generally does, and he spent a
couple of hours in the shed.  Then Mrs. Perkins came to the
door and called him.

"Luke," she said, "a young lady has called to see the prisoner."

"A young lady!  Who is it?"

"Florence Grant."

Luke's face brightened up with pleasure; he put on his coat
and went into the house.

"Oh, Luke, what a shame!" exclaimed Florence, hastening to
him with extended hand.  "I only just heard of it."

"Then you're not afraid to shake hands with a bank burglar?"
said Luke.

"No, indeed!  What nonsense it is!  Who do you think told
me of your arrest?"

"Randolph Duncan."

"You have guessed it."

"What did he say?  Did he seem to be shocked at my iniquity?"

"I think he seemed glad of it.  Of course, he believes you guilty."

"I supposed he would, or pretend to, at any rate.  I think his
father is interested to make me out guilty.  I hope you don't think
there is any chance of it?"

"Of course not, Luke.  I know you too well.  I'd sooner
suspect Randolph.  He wanted to know what I thought of you now."

"And what did you answer?"

"That I thought the same as I always had--that you were
one of the best boys in the village.  `I admire your taste,' said
Randolph, with a sneer.  Then I gave him a piece of my mind."

"I should like to have heard you, Florence."

"I don't know; you have no idea what a virago I am when I
am mad.  Now sit down and tell me all about it."

Luke obeyed, and the conversation was a long one, and seemed
interesting to both.  In the midst of it Linton Tomkins came in.

"Have you come to see the prisoner, also, Linton?" asked Florence.

"Yes, Florence.  What a desperate-looking ruffian he is!  I don't
dare to come too near.  How did you break into the bank, Luke?"

First Luke smiled, then he became grave.  "After all, it is
no joke to me, Linny," he said.  "Think of the disgrace of being
arrested on such a charge."

"The disgrace is in being a burglar, not in being arrested for
one, Luke.  Of course, it's absurd.  Father wants me to say that if
you are bound over for trial he will go bail for you to any amount."

"Your father is very kind, Linny.  I may need to avail myself
of his kindness."

The next day came, and at ten o'clock, Luke, accompanied
by Constable Perkins, entered the room in which Squire Duncan
sat as trial justice.  A considerable number of persons were
gathered, for it was a trial in which the whole village was
interested.  Among them was Mrs. Larkin, who wore an anxious,
perturbed look.

"Oh, Luke," she said sorrowfully, "how terrible it is to have
you here!"

"Don't be troubled, mother," said Luke.  "We both know that
I am innocent, and I rely on God to stand by me."

"Luke," said Mr. Beane, "though I am a bank trustee, I am
your friend and believe you innocent.  I will act as your lawyer."

"Thank you, Mr. Beane.  I shall be very glad to accept your services."

The preliminary proceedings were of a formal character.  Then Miss
Melinda Sprague was summoned to testify.  She professed to be
very unwilling to say anything likely to injure her good friends,
Luke and his mother, but managed to tell, quite dramatically,
how she first caught a glimpse of the tin box.

"Did Mrs. Larkin know that you saw it?" asked the squire.

"She didn't know for certain," answered Melinda, "but she
was evidently afraid I would, for she shut the trunk in a hurry,
and seemed very much confused.  I thought of this directly when
I heard of the bank robbery, and I went over to tell Luke and
his mother."

"How did they receive your communication?"

"They seemed very much frightened."

"And you inferred that they had not come honestly by the
tin box?"

"It grieves me to say that I did," said Melinda, putting her
handkerchief to her eyes to brush away an imaginary tear.

Finally Melinda sat down, and witnesses were called to testify
to Luke's good character.  There were more who wished to be
sworn than there was time to hear.  Mr. Beane called only Mr. 
Hooper, Mr. Tomkins and Luke's Sunday-school teacher.  Then he
called Luke to testify in his own defense.

Luke told a straightforward story--the same that he had told
before--replying readily and easily to any questions that were
asked him.

"I submit, Squire Duncan," said Mr. Beane, "that my client's
statement is plain and frank and explains everything.  I hold that
it exonerates him from all suspicion of complicity with the robbery."

"I differ with you," said Squire Duncan, acidly.  "It is a wild,
improbable tale, that does not even do credit to the prisoner's
invention.  In my opinion, this mysterious stranger has no existence. 
Is there any one besides himself who has seen this Roland Reed?"

At this moment there was a little confusion at the door. 
A tall, dark-complexioned stranger pushed his way into the
court-room.  He advanced quickly to the front.

"I heard my name called," he said.  "There is no occasion to
doubt my existence.  I am Roland Reed!"

CHAPTER XIV
AN IMPORTANT WITNESS

The effect of Roland Reed's sudden appearance in the court-room,
close upon the doubt expressed as to his existence, was electric. 
Every head was turned, and every one present looked with eager
curiosity at the mysterious stranger.  They saw a dark-
complexioned, slender, but wiry man, above the middle height,
with a pair of keen black eyes scanning, not without sarcastic
amusement, the faces turned toward him.

Luke recognized him at once.

"Thank God!" he ejaculated, with a feeling of intense relief. 
"Now my innocence will be made known."

Squire Duncan was quite taken aback.  His face betrayed
his surprise and disappointment.

"I don't know you," he said, after a pause.

"Perhaps not, Mr. Duncan," answered the stranger, in a
significant tone, "but I know you."

"Were you the man who gave this tin box to the defendant?"

"Wouldn't it be well, since this is a court, to swear me as a
witness?" asked Roland Reed, quietly.

"Of course, of course," said the squire, rather annoyed to be
reminded of his duty by this stranger.

This being done, Mr. Beane questioned the witness in the interest
of his client.

"Do you know anything about the tin box found in the possession
of Luke Larkin?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Did you commit it to his charge for safe-keeping?"

"I did."

"Were you previously acquainted with Luke?"

"I was not."

"Was it not rather a singular proceeding to commit what is
presumably of considerable value to an unknown boy?"

"It would generally be considered so, but I do many strange things. 
I had seen the boy by daylight, though he had never seen me,
and I was sure I could trust him."

"Why, if you desired a place of safe-keeping for your box,
did you not select the bank vaults?"

Roland Reed laughed, and glanced at the presiding justice.

"It might have been stolen," he said.

"Does the box contain documents of value?"

"The contents are valuable to me, at any rate."

"Mr. Beane," said Squire Duncan, irritably, "I think you
are treating the witness too indulgently.  I believe this
box to be the one taken from the bank."

"You heard the remark of the justice," said the lawyer. 
"Is this the box taken from the bank?"

"It is not," answered the witness, contemptuously, "and no
one knows this better than Mr. Duncan."

The justice flushed angrily.

"You are impertinent, witness," he said.  "It is all very well to
claim this box as yours, but I shall require you to prove ownership."

"I am ready to do so," said Roland Reed, quietly.  "Is that
the box on the table?"

"It is."

"Has it been opened?"

"No; the key has disappeared from the bank."

"The key is in the hands of the owner, where it properly belongs. 
With the permission of the court, I will open the box."

"I object," said Squire Duncan, quickly.

"Permit me to say that your refusal is extraordinary," said
Mr. Beane, pointedly.  "You ask the witness to prove property,
and then decline to allow him to do so."

Squire Duncan, who saw that he had been betrayed into a piece
of folly, said sullenly:  "I don't agree with you, Mr. Beane,
but I withdraw my objection.  The witness may come forward and
open the box, if he can."

Roland Reed bowed slightly, advanced to the table, took a
bunch of keys from his pocket, and inserting one of the smallest
in the lock easily opened the box.

Those who were near enough, including the justice, craned
their necks forward to look into the box.

The box contained papers, certificates of stock, apparently, and
a couple of bank-books.

"The box missing from the vault contained government bonds,
as I understand, Squire Duncan?" said the lawyer.

"Yes," answered the justice, reluctantly.

"Are there any government bonds in the box, Mr. Reed."

"You can see for yourself, sir."

The manner of the witness toward the lawyer was courteous,
though in the tone in which he addressed the court there had
been a scarcely veiled contempt.

"I submit, then, that my young client has been guilty of no wrong. 
He accepted the custody of the box from the rightful owner,
and this he had a clear right to do."

"How do you know that the witness is the rightful owner of
the box?" demanded the justice, in a cross tone.  "He may have
stolen it from some other quarter."

"There is not a shadow of evidence of this," said the lawyer,
in a tone of rebuke.

"I am not sure but that he ought to be held."

"You will hold me at your peril, Mr. Duncan," said the witness,
in clear, resolute tones.  "I have a clear comprehension of
my rights, and I do not propose to have them infringed."

Squire Duncan bit his lips.  He had only a smattering of law, but
he knew that the witness was right, and that he had been betrayed
by temper into making a discreditable exhibition of himself.

"I demand that you treat me with proper respect," he said angrily.

"I am ready to do that," answered the witness, in a tone whose
meaning more than one understood.  It was not an apology
calculated to soothe the ruffled pride of the justice.

"I call for the discharge of my young client, Squire Duncan,"
said the lawyer.  "The case against him, as I hardly need say,
has utterly failed."

"He is discharged," said the justice, unwillingly.

Instantly Luke's friends surrounded him and began to shower
congratulations upon him.  Among them was Roland Reed.

"My young friend," he said, "I am sincerely sorry that by any
act of mine I have brought anxiety and trouble upon you.  But I
can't understand how the fact that you had the box in your
possession became known."

This was explained to him.

"I have a proposal to make to you and your mother," said
Roland Reed, "and with your permission I will accompany you home."

"We shall be glad to have you, sir," said Mrs. Larkin, cordially.

As they were making their way out of the court-room, Melinda
Sprague, the cause of Luke's trouble, hurried to meet them. 
She saw by this time that she had made a great mistake, and that
her course was likely to make her generally unpopular.  She hoped
to make it up with the Larkins.

"I am so glad you are acquitted, Luke," she began effusively. 
"I hope, Mrs. Larkin, you won't take offense at what I did. 
I did what I thought to be my duty, though with a bleeding heart. 
No one is more rejoiced at dear Luke's vindication."

"Miss Sprague," said she, "if you think you did your duty,
let the consciousness of that sustain you.  I do not care to
receive any visits from you hereafter."

"How cruel and unfeeling you are, Mrs. Larkin," said the
spinster, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.

Mrs. Larkin did not reply.

Miss Sprague found herself so coldly treated in the village
that she shortly left Groveton on a prolonged visit to some
relatives in a neighboring town.  It is to be feared that the
consciousness of having done her duty did not wholly console her. 
What she regretted most, however, was the loss of the reward
which she had hoped to receive from the bank.

CHAPTER XV
THE LARKINS ARE lN LUCK

Luke and his mother, accompanied by Roland Reed, took their
way from the court-room to the widow's modest cottage.

"You may take the tin box, Luke," said the stranger, "if you are
not afraid to keep in your charge what has given you so much trouble."

"All's well that ends well!" said Luke.

"Yes; I don't think it will occasion you any further anxiety."

Roland Reed walked in advance with Mrs. Larkin, leaving
Luke to follow.

"What sort of a man is this Mr. Duncan?" he asked abruptly.

"Squire Duncan?"

"Yes, if that is his title."

"He is, upon the whole, our foremost citizen," answered the
widow, after a slight hesitation.

"Is he popular?"

"I can hardly say that."

"He is president of the bank, is he not?"

"Yes."

"How long has he lived in Groveton?"

"Nearly twenty years."

"Was he born in this neighborhood?"

"I think he came from the West."

"Does he say from what part of the western country?"

"He says very little about his past life."

Roland Reed smiled significantly.

"Perhaps he has his reasons," he said meditatively.

"Is he thought to be rich?" he asked, after a pause.

"Yes, but how rich no one knows.  He is taxed for his house
and grounds, but he may have a good deal of property besides. 
It is generally thought he has."

"He does not appear to be friendly toward your son."

"No," answered Mrs. Larkin, with a trace of indignation,
"though I am sure he has no cause to dislike him.  He seemed
convinced that Luke had come by your tin box dishonestly."

"It seemed to me that he was prejudiced against Luke. 
How do you account for it?"

"Perhaps his son, Randolph, has influenced him."

"So he has a son--how old?"

"Almost Luke's age.  He thinks Luke beneath him, though why he
should do so, except that Luke is poor, I can't understand. 
Not long since there was a skating match for a prize of a
Waterbury watch, offered by the grammar-school teacher, which Luke
would have won had not Randolph arranged with another boy to
get in his way and leave the victory to him."

"So Randolph won the watch?"

"Yes."

"I suppose he had a watch of his own already."

"Yes, a silver one, while Luke had none.  This makes it
meaner in him."

"I don't mind it now, mother," said Luke, who had overheard
the last part of the conversation.  "He is welcome to his watches
--I can wait."

"Has Squire Duncan shown his hostility to Luke in any other way?"
inquired the stranger.

"Yes; Luke has for over a year been janitor at the school-house. 
It didn't bring much--only a dollar a week--but it was considerable
to us.  Lately Squire Duncan was appointed on the school committee
to fill a vacancy, and his first act was to remove Luke from
his position."

"Not in favor of his son, I conclude."

Luke laughed.

"Randolph would be shocked at the mere supposition," he said. 
"He is a young man who wears kid gloves, and the duties
of a school janitor he would look upon as degrading."

"I really think, Luke, you have been badly treated," said
Roland Reed, with a friendly smile.

"I have thought so, too, sir, but I suppose I have no better
claim to the office than any other boy."

"You needed the income, however."

"Yes, sir."

By this time they were at the door of the cottage.

"Won't you come in, sir?" asked Mrs. Larkin, cordially.

"Thank you.  I will not only do so, but as I don't care to stay
at the hotel, I will even crave leave to pass the night under
your roof."

"If you don't mind our poor accommodations, you will be
very welcome."

"I am not likely to complain, Mrs. Larkin.  I have not been
nursed in the lap of luxury.  For two years I was a California
miner, and camped out.  For that long period I did not know what
it was to sleep in a bed.  I used to stretch myself in a blanket,
and lie down on the ground."

"You won't have to do that here, Mr. Reed," said Luke, smiling. 
"But it must have been great fun."

"How can you say so, Luke?" expostulated his mother.  "It must
have been very uncomfortable, and dangerous to the health."

"I wouldn't mind it a bit, mother," said Luke, stoutly.

Roland Reed smiled.

{"I am not surprised that you and your mother regard the matter
from different points of view," he said.  "It is only natural. 
Women are not adapted to roughing it.  Boys like nothing better,
and so with young men.  But there comes a time--when a man
passes forty--when he sets a higher value on the comforts of life. 
I don't mind confessing that I wouldn't care to repeat my old
mining experiences."

"I hope you were repaid for your trouble and privations, sir."

"Yes, I was handsomely repaid.  I may soon be as rich as
your local magnate, Prince Duncan, but I have had to work
harder for it, probably."

"So you know the squire's name?" said Mrs. Larkin, in some surprise.

"I must have heard it somewhere," remarked Roland Reed. 
"Have I got it right?"

"Yes; it's a peculiar name."

When they reached the cottage Mrs. Larkin set about getting supper. 
In honor of her guest she sent out for some steak, and baked some
biscuit, so that the table presented an inviting appearance when
the three sat down to it.  After supper was over, Roland Reed said: 
"I told you that I wished to speak to you on business, Mrs. Larkin. 
It is briefly this:  Are you willing to receive a boarder?"

"I am afraid, sir, that you would hardly be satisfied with our
humble accommodations."

"Oh, I am not speaking of myself, but of a child.  I am a
widower, Mrs. Larkin, and have a little daughter eight years
of age.  She is now boarding in New York, but I do not like the
people with whom I have placed her.  She is rather delicate, also,
and I think a country town would suit her better than the city air. 
I should like to have her under just such nice motherly care as
I am sure you would give her."

"I shall be very glad to receive her," said Mrs. Larkin, with
a flush of pleasure.

"And for the terms?"

"I would rather you would name them, sir."

"Then I will say ten dollars a week."

"Ten dollars!" exclaimed the widow, in amazement.  "It won't
be worth half that."

"I don't pay for board merely, but for care and attendance
as well.  She may be sick, and that would increase your trouble."

"She would in that case receive as much care as if she were my
own daughter; but I don't ask such an exorbitant rate of board."

"It isn't exorbitant if I choose to pay it, Mrs. Larkin," said
Mr. Reed, smiling.  "I am entirely able to pay that price, and
prefer to do so."

"It will make me feel quite rich, sir," said the widow, gratefully. 
"I shall find it useful, especially as Luke has lost his situation."

"Luke may find another position."

"When do you wish your daughter to come?" asked Mrs. Larkin.

"Luke will accompany me to the city to-morrow, and bring her
back with him.  By the way, I will pay you four weeks in advance."

He drew four ten-dollar bills from his pocket and put them
into the widow's hand.

"I am almost afraid this is a dream," said Mrs. Larkin. 
"You have made me very happy."

"You mustn't become purse-proud, mother," said Luke,
"because you have become suddenly rich."

"Can you be ready to take the first train to New York with
me in the morning, Luke?" asked Roland Reed.

"Yes, sir; it starts at half-past seven."

"Your breakfast will be ready on time," said the widow,
"and Luke will call you."

CHAPTER XVI
LUKE'S VISIT TO NEW YORK

The morning train to New York carried among its passengers Luke
and his new friend.  The distance was thirty-five miles,
and the time occupied was a trifle over an hour.  The two sat
together, and Luke had an opportunity of observing his companion
more closely.  He was a man of middle age, dark complexion, with
keen black eyes, and the expression of one who understood the
world and was well fitted to make his way in it.  He had already
given the Larkins to understand that he had been successful in
accumulating money.

As for Luke, he felt happy and contented.  The tide of fortune
seemed to have turned in his favor, or rather in favor of his family. 
The handsome weekly sum which would be received for the board
of Mr. Reed's little daughter would be sufficient of itself
to defray the modest expenses of their household.  If he, too,
could obtain work, they would actually feel rich.

"Luke," said his companion, "does your mother own the
cottage where you live?"

"Yes, sir."

"Free of incumbrance?"

"Not quite.  There is a mortgage of three hundred dollars
held by Squire Duncan.  It was held by Deacon Tibbetts, but
about three months since Squire Duncan bought it."

"What could be his object in buying it?"

"I don't know, sir.  Perhaps the deacon owed him money."

"I am surprised, then, that he deprived you of your position
as janitor, since it would naturally make it more difficult for you
to meet the interest."

"That is true, sir.  I wondered at it myself."

"Your house is a small one, but the location is fine.  It would
make a building lot suitable for a gentleman's summer residence."

"Yes, sir; there was a gentleman in the village last summer
who called upon mother and tried to induce her to sell."

"Did he offer her a fair price?"

"No, sir; he said he should have to take down the cottage, and
he only offered eight hundred dollars.  Mother would have sold
for a thousand."

"Tell her not to accept even that offer, but to hold on to
the property.  Some day she can obtain considerably more."

"She won't sell unless she is obliged to," replied Luke. 
"A few days since I thought we might have to do it.  Now, with
the generous sum which you allow for your little girl's board
there will be no necessity."

"Has Squire Duncan broached the subject to your mother?"

"He mentioned it one day, but he wanted her to sell for seven
hundred dollars."

"He is evidently sharp at a bargain."

"Yes, sir; he is not considered liberal."

There was one thing that troubled Luke in spite of the pleasure
he anticipated from his visit to New York.  He knew very well
that his clothes were shabby, and he shrank from the idea of
appearing on Broadway in a patched suit too small for him. 
But he had never breathed a word of complaint to his mother,
knowing that she could not afford to buy him another suit, and he
did not wish to add to her troubles.  It might have happened
that occasionally he fixed a troubled look on his clothes, but if
Roland Reed noticed it he did not make any comment.

But when they reached New York, and found themselves on Broadway,
his companion paused in front of a large clothing store with
large plate-glass windows, and said, quietly:  "Come in, Luke. 
I think you need some new clothes."

Luke's face flushed with pleasure, but he said, "I have no
money, Mr. Reed."

"I have," said Roland Reed, significantly.

"You are very kind, sir," said Luke, gratefully.

"It costs little to be kind when you have more money than
you know what to do with," said Reed.  "I don't mean that I am
a Vanderbilt or an Astor, but my income is much greater than
I need to spend on myself."

A suit was readily found which fitted Luke as well as if it
had been made for him.  It was of gray mixed cloth, made in
fashionable style.

"You may as well keep it on, Luke." Then to the shopman: 
"Have you a nice suit of black cloth, and of the same size?"

"Yes, sir," answered the salesman, readily.

"He may as well have two while we are about it.  As to the
old suit, it is too small, and we will leave it here to be
given away to some smaller boy."

Luke was quite overwhelmed by his new friend's munificence.

"I don't think mother will know me," he said, as he surveyed
himself in a long mirror.

"Then I will introduce you or give you a letter of introduction. 
Have you a watch, Luke?"

"No, sir; you know I did not get the prize at the skating match."

"True; then I must remedy the deficiency."

They took the roadway stage down below the Astor House--
it was before the days of Jacob Sharp's horse railway--and got
out at Benedict's.  There Mr. Reed made choice of a neat silver
watch, manufactured at Waltham, and bought a plated chain to
go with it.

"Put that in your vest pocket," he said.  "It may console you
for the loss of the Waterbury."

"How can I ever repay you for your kindness, Mr. Reed?"
said Luke, overjoyed.

"I have taken a fancy to you, Luke," said his companion. 
"I hope to do more for you soon.  Now we will go uptown, and
I will put my little girl under your charge."

Luke had dreaded making a call at a nice city house in his
old suit.  Now he looked forward to it with pleasure, especially
after his new friend completed his benefactions by buying him
a new pair of shoes and a hat.

"Luke," asked his companion, as they were on their way
uptown in a Sixth Avenue car, "do you know who owned the
box of bonds taken from the Groveton Bank?"

"I have heard that it was a Mr. Armstrong, now traveling in Europe."

"How did he come to leave the box in a village bank?"

"He is some acquaintance of Squire Duncan, and spent some
weeks last summer at the village hotel."

"Then probably he left the box there at the suggestion of
Duncan, the president."

"I don't know, sir, but I think it very likely."

"Humph!  This is getting interesting.  The contents of the
box were government bonds, I have heard."

"I heard Squire Duncan say so."

"Were they coupon or registered?"

"What difference would that make, sir?"

"The first could be sold without trouble by the thief, while
the last could not be disposed of without a formal transfer
from the owner."

"Then it would not pay to steal them?"

"Just so.  Luke, do you know, a strange idea has come into
my head."

"What is it, sir?"

"I think Prince Duncan knows more about how those bonds
were spirited away than is suspected."

Luke was greatly surprised.

"You don't think he took them himself, do you?" he asked.

"That remains to be seen.  It is a curious affair altogether. 
I may have occasion to speak of it another time.  Are you a
good writer?"

"Fair, I believe, sir."

"I have recently come into possession of a business in a city
in Ohio, which I carry on through a paid agent.  Among other
things, I have bought out the old accounts.  I shall need to have
a large number of bills made out, covering a series of years, which
I shall then put into the hands of a collector and realize so far
as I can.  This work, with a little instruction, I think you can do."

"I shall be very glad to do it, sir."

"You will be paid fairly for the labor."

"I don't need any pay, Mr. Reed.  You have already paid me
handsomely."

"You refer to the clothing and the watch? Those are gifts. 
I will pay you thirty cents an hour for the time employed, leaving
you to keep the account.  The books of the firm I have at the house
where my daughter is boarding.  You will take them back to
Groveton with you."

"This is a fortunate day for me," said Luke.  "It will pay me
much better than the janitorship."

"Do your duty, Luke, and your good fortune will continue. 
But here is our street."

They left the car at the corner of Fourteenth Street and Sixth
Avenue, and turning westward, paused in front of a four-story
house of good appearance.

CHAPTER XVII
RANDOLPH IS MYSTIFIED

In an hour, Luke, with the little girl under his charge, was on
his way to the depot, accompanied by Mr. Reed, who paid for
their tickets, and bade them good-bye, promising to communicate
with Luke.

Rosa Reed was a bright little girl of about eight years of age. 
She made no opposition to going with Luke, but put her hand
confidently in his, and expressed much pleasure at the prospect
of living in the country.  She had been under the care of two
maiden ladies, the Misses Graham, who had no love for children,
and had merely accepted the charge on account of the liberal
terms paid them by the father.  They seemed displeased at the
withdrawal of Rosa, and clearly signified this by their cold,
stiff reception of Mr. Reed and Luke.

"The old girls don't like to part with Rosa," he said, with a
smile, as they emerged into the street.

"Are you sorry to leave them, Rosa?" he inquired.

"No; they ain't a bit pleasant," answered the little girl, decidedly.

"Were they strict with you?" asked Luke.

"Yes; they were always saying, `Little girls should be seen
and not heard!'  They didn't want me to make a bit of noise,
and wouldn't let me have any little girls in to play with me. 
Are there any little girls at your home?"

"No, but there are some living near by, and they will come
to see you."

"That will be nice," said Rosa, with satisfaction.

Directions were left to have the little girl's trunk go to
Groveton by express, and, therefore, Luke was encumbered only
by a small satchel belonging to his new charge.

Of the details of the journey it is unnecessary to speak. 
The two young travelers arrived at Groveton, and, as it chanced,
reached Luke's cottage without attracting much observation. 
The door was opened by the widow, whose kind manner at once won
the favor of the child.

"I like you much better than Miss Graham," she said, with
childish frankness.

"I am glad of that, my child," said Mrs. Larkin.  "I will try
to make this a pleasant home for you."

"I like Luke, too," said Rosa.

"Really, Rosa, you make me blush," said Luke.  "I am not
used to hearing young ladies say they like me."

"I think he is a good boy," said Rosa, reflectively.  "Isn't he,
Mrs. Larkin?"

"I think so, my dear," said the widow, smiling.

"Then I suppose I shall have to behave like one," said Luke. 
"Do you think I have improved in appearance, mother?"

"I noticed your new suit at once, Luke."

"I have another in this bundle, mother; and that isn't all. 
Do you see this watch? I sha'n't mourn the loss of the Waterbury
any longer."

"Mr. Reed is certainly proving a kind friend, Luke.  We have
much reason to be grateful."

"He has also provided me with employment for a time, mother." 
And then Luke told his mother about the copying he had engaged to do.

It is hardy necessary to say that the heart of the widow was
unfeignedly thankful for the favorable change in their fortunes,
and she did not omit to give thanks to Providence for raising
up so kind and serviceable a friend.

About the middle of the afternoon Luke made his appearance
in the village street.  Though I hope my readers will not suspect
him of being a dude, he certainly did enjoy the consciousness of
being well dressed.  He hoped he should meet Randolph, anticipating
the surprise and disappointment of the latter at the evidence
of his prosperity.

When Luke was arrested, Randolph rejoiced as only a mean
and spiteful boy would be capable of doing at the humiliation and
anticipated disgrace of a boy whom he disliked.  He had indulged
in more than one expression of triumph, and sought every opportunity
of discussing the subject, to the disgust of all fair-minded persons. 
Even Sam Noble protested, though a toady of Randolph.

"Look here, Randolph," he said, "I don't like Luke overmuch,
and I know he doesn't like me, but I don't believe he's a thief,
and I am sorry he is in trouble."

"Then you are no friend of mine," said Randolph, looking black.

"Oh, I say, Randolph, you know better than that.  Haven't I
always stood up for you, and done whatever you wanted me to?"

"If you were my friend you wouldn't stand up for Luke."

"I am not a friend of his, and I am a friend of yours, but I
don't want him to go to prison."

"I do, if he deserves it."

"I don't believe he does deserve it."

"That is what I complain of in you."

"The fact is, Randolph, you expect too much.  If you want
to break friendship, all right."

Randolph was amazed at this unexpected independence on the
part of one whom he regarded as his bond slave; but, being hardly
prepared to part with him, especially as his other follower, Tom
Harper, had partially thrown off his allegiance, thought it prudent
to be satisfied with Sam's expressions of loyalty, even if they
did not go as far as he wished.

Randolph missed Luke at school on the day after the trial. 
Of course, he had no idea that our hero was out of school, and
hastily concluded that on account of his trial he was ashamed
to show himself.

"I don't wonder he doesn't want to show himself," he remarked
to Tom Harper.

"Why not? He has been acquitted."

"Never mind.  He has been under arrest, and may yet be
guilty in spite of his acquittal.  Have you seen him to-day?"

"No."

"Probably he is hiding at home.  Well, it shows some sort
of shame."

On his way home from school Randolph was destined to be surprised. 
Not far from his own house he met Luke, arrayed in his new suit,
with a chain that looked like gold crossing his waistcoat. 
Instead of looking confused and ashamed, Luke looked uncommonly
bright and cheerful.

Randolph was amazed.  What could it all mean?  He had
intended not to notice Luke, but to pass him with a scornful
smile, but his curiosity got the better of him.

"Why were you not at school to-day?" he asked, abruptly.

Luke smiled.

"I didn't think you would miss me, Randolph."

"I didn't, but wondered at your absence."

"I was detained by business.  I expect to have the pleasure
of seeing you there to-morrow."

"Humph!  You seem to have invested in a new suit."

"Yes; my old suit was getting decidedly shabby, as you kindly
remarked at Florence Grant's party."

"Where did you get them?"

"In New York."

"In New York!" repeated Randolph, in surprise.  "When did
you go there?"

"This morning.  It was that which detained me from school."

"I see you've got a new watch-chain, too."

Randolph emphasized the word "chain" satirically, being under
the impression that no watch was attached.

"Yes; you may like to see my new watch."  And Luke, with
pardonable triumph, produced his new watch, which was a stem-
winder, whereas Randolph's was only a key-winder.

Randolph condescended to take the watch in his hands and
examine it.

"Where was this bought?" he asked.

"At Benedict's."

"You seem to have plenty of money," he said, with unpleasant
significance.

"I should like more."

"Only you are rather imprudent in making such extensive
purchases so soon after your trial."

"What do you mean?" demanded Luke quickly.

"What should I mean?  It is evident that you robbed the bank,
after all.  I shall tell my father, and you may find your
trouble is not over."

"Look here, Randolph Duncan!" said Luke sternly, "I look
upon that as an insult, and I don't mean to be insulted. 
I am no more a thief than you are, and that you know."

"Do you mean to charge me with being a thief?" fumed Randolph.

"No; I only say you are as much a thief as I am.  If you
repeat your insult, I shall be obliged to knock you down."

"You impudent loafer!" screamed Randolph.  "You'll be
sorry for this.  I'll have you arrested over again."

"I have no doubt you would if you had the power.  I sha'n't
lie awake nights thinking of it.  If you have nothing more to
say I will leave you."

Randolph did not reply, probably because he was at a loss
what to say, but went home angry and mystified.  Where could
Luke have got his watch and new suit?  He asked himself this
many times, but no possible explanation suggested itself.

Scarcely had Luke parted with Randolph when he met his
friend Linton, who surveyed Luke's improved appearance with
pleasure and surprise.

"I say, Luke, are you setting up for a dude?"

"I thought a little of it," answered Luke, with a smile--and
then he explained the cause of his good fortune.  "I have only
one regret," he added, "Randolph seems to be grieved over it. 
He liked me better in my old suit.  Besides, I have a new watch,
and it turns out to be better than his."

Here he displayed his new silver watch.  Linton felt a generous
pleasure in Luke's luck, and it may truly be said rejoiced
more at it than he would at any piece of good fortune to himself.

"By the way, Luke," he said, "I am going to give a party
next Thursday evening, and I give you the very first invitation. 
It is my birthday, you know."

"I accept with pleasure, sir.  I look upon you as my warmest
friend, and as long as I retain your friendship I shall not care
for Randolph's malice."

CHAPTER XVIII
MR.  DUNCAN'S SECRET

About two weeks later, Prince Duncan sat at his desk with a
troubled look.  Open before him were letters.  One was post-
marked London, and ran as follows:

"MY DEAR SIR:  I have decided to shorten my visit, and shall
leave Liverpool next Saturday en route for New York.  You will
see, therefore, that I shall arrive nearly as soon as the letter I
am now writing.  I have decided to withdraw the box of securities
I deposited in your bank, and shall place it in a safe-deposit
vault in New York.  You may expect to see me shortly. 
                              "Yours in haste,
                                     "JOHN ARMSTRONG."

Drops of perspiration gathered on the brow of Prince Duncan
as he read this letter.  What would Mr. Armstrong say when
he learned that the box had mysteriously disappeared?  That he
would be thoroughly indignant, and make it very unpleasant for
the president of Groveton Bank, was certain.  He would ask,
among other things, why Mr. Duncan had not informed him
of the loss by cable, and no satisfactory explanation could
be given.  He would ask, furthermore, why detectives had not
been employed to ferret out the mystery, and here again no
satisfactory explanation could be given.  Prince Duncan knew
very well that he had a reason, but it was not one that could
be disclosed.

He next read the second letter, and his trouble was not diminished. 
It was from a Wall Street broker, informing him that the Erie
shares bought for him on a margin had gone down two points,
and it would be necessary for him to deposit additional margin,
or be sold out.

"Why did I ever invest in Erie?" thought Duncan ruefully. 
"I was confidently assured that it would go up--that it must go
up--and here it is falling, and Heaven knows how much lower
it will go."

At this point the door opened, and Randolph entered.  He had
a special favor to ask.  He had already given his father several
hints that he would like a gold watch, being quite dissatisfied with
his silver watch now that Luke Larkin possessed one superior to his. 
He had chosen a very unfavorable moment for his request,
as he soon found out.

"Father," he said, "I have a favor to ask."

"What is it?" asked Prince Duncan, with a frown.

"I wish you would buy me a gold watch."

"Oh, you do!" sneered his father.  "I was under the impression
that you had two watches already."

"So I have, but one is a Waterbury, and the other a cheap
silver one."

"Well, they keep time, don't they?"

"Yes."

"Then what more do you want?"

"Luke Larkin has a silver watch better than mine--a stem-winder."

"Suppose he has?"

"I