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Title: Try and Trust

Author: Horatio Alger

Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5778]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on September 1, 2002]

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Language: English

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TRY AND TRUST

Or, Abner Holden's Bound Boy

BY

HORATIO ALGER, JR.
AUTHOR OF "PAUL THE PEDDLER," "FROM FARM BOY TO
SENATOR," "SLOW AND SURE," ETC.

THE MERSHON COMPANY
RAHWAY, N.J.          NEW YORK


TO MY YOUNG FRIEND,

A. FLORIAN HENRIQUES
(BOISIE),

THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED



CONTENTS

I.     AROUND THE BREAKFAST TABLE
II.    INTRODUCING THE HERO
III.   A COLLISION
IV.    A DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE
V.     THE ENVELOPE
VI.    ON THE WAY
VII.   A NEW HOME
VIII.  THE GHOST IN THE ATTIC
IX.    EXPOSING A FRAUD
X.     THE CLOUDS GATHER
XI.    A CRISIS
XII.   RALPH THE RANGER
XIII.  A MOMENT OF PERIL
XIV.   TAKEN PRISONER
XV.    A FOUR-FOOTED FOE
XVI.   JUST TOO LATE
XVII.  NEW ACQUAINTANCES
XVIII. A YOUNG ARISTOCRAT
XIX.   A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER
XX.    FACING A BURGLAR
XXI.   HERBERT'S REWARD
XXII.  ROBBED IN THE NIGHT
XXIII. A BUSINESS CALL
XXIV.  FINDING A BOARDING PLACE
XXV.   GETTING A SITUATION
XXVI.  A FAMILY COUNCIL
XXVII. AT THE CONCERT
XXVIII. PETER GREENLEAF AGAIN
XXIX.  SPARRING
XXX.   AN UNEXPECTED BLOW
XXXI.  MR. STANTON IS SURPRISED
XXXII. RISEN FROM THE DEAD
XXXIII. A FRIEND IN NEED
XXXIV. CONCLUSION



CHAPTER I

AROUND THE BREAKFAST TABLE


"Well, wife," said Mr. Benjamin Stanton, as he sat down to a late
breakfast, "I had a letter from Ohio yesterday."

"From Ohio? Who should write you from Ohio? Anyone I know?"

"My sister, Margaret, you remember, moved out there with her husband ten
years ago."

"Oh, it's from her, is it?" said Mrs. Stanton, indifferently.

"No," said her husband with momentary gravity. "It's from a Dr. Kent,
who attended her in her last illness. Margaret is dead!"

"Dear me!" returned Mrs. Stanton, uncomfortably; "and I am just out of
mourning for my aunt. Do you think it will be necessary for us to go
into mourning for your sister?"

"No, I think not," said her husband. "Margaret has lived away from us so
long, and people won't know that we have had a death in the family
unless we mention it."

"Was that all the letter said--about the death, I mean?"

"Why, no," said Mr. Stanton, with a little frown. "It seems Margaret
left a child--a boy of fourteen; and, as she left no property, the
doctor suggests that I should send for the boy and assume the care of
him."

"Upon my word!" said Mrs. Stanton; "you will find yourself in business
if you undertake to provide for all the beggars' brats that apply to you
for assistance."

"You must remember that you are speaking of my sister's child," said Mr.
Stanton, who, cold and selfish and worldly as he was, had some touch of
decency about him, and did not relish the term "beggars' brats," as
applied to one so nearly related to him.

"Well, call him what you like," said his wife; "only don't be so foolish
as to go spending your money on him when our children need all we have.
There's Maria needs a new dress immediately. She says all the girls at
Signor Madalini's dancing academy dress elegantly, and she's positively
ashamed to appear in any of her present dresses."

"How much will it cost?" asked Mr. Stanton, opening his pocketbook.

"You may hand me seventy-five dollars. I think I can make that do."

Without a word of remonstrance, the money was placed in her hand.

"I want some money, too," said Tom Stanton, who had just disposed of a
very hearty meal.

"What do you want it for, Tom?"

"Oh, some of the fellows are getting up a club. It's going to be a
select affair, and of course each of us has got to contribute some
money. You see, we are going to hire a room, furnish it nicely with a
carpet, black walnut furniture, and so on, and that'll cost something."

"Whose idea is it?"

"Well, Sam Paget was the first boy that mentioned it."

"Whose son is he?"

"His father belongs to the firm of Paget, Norwood & Co. He's awful
rich."

"Yes, it is one of our first families," said Mr. Stanton, with
satisfaction. "Is he a friend of yours, Tom?"

"Oh, yes, we are quit intimate."

"That's right!" said his father, approvingly. "I am glad you choose your
friends so well. That's one of the principal reasons I have for sending
you to an expensive school, to get you well launched into good society."

"Yes, father, I understand," said Tom. "You won't find me associating
with common boys. I hold my head a little too high for that, I can tell
you."

"That's right, my boy," said Mr. Stanton, with satisfaction. "And now
how much money do you want for this club of yours?"

"Well," said Tom, hesitatingly, "thirty or forty dollars."

"Isn't that considerable?" said his father, surprised at the amount.

"Well, you see, father, I want to contribute as much as any of the boys.
It would seem mean if I didn't. There's only a few of us to stand the
expense, and we don't want to let in any out of our own set."

"That's true," said Mr. Stanton; "I approve of that. It's all very well
to talk about democracy, but I believe in those of the higher orders
keeping by themselves."

"Then you'll give the money, father?" said Tom, eagerly.

"Yes, Tom, there's forty dollars. It's more than I ought to spare, but I
am determined you shall stand as good a chance as any of your school-
fellows. They shan't be able to say that your father stints you in
anything that your position requires."

"Thank you, father," said Tom, pocketing the two twenty-dollar bills
with great satisfaction.

The fact was that Tom's assessment amounted to only twenty dollars, but
he thought it would be a good excuse for getting more out of his father.
As to the extra money, Tom felt confident that he could find uses enough
for it. He had latterly, though but fourteen years of age, contracted
the habit of smoking cigars; a habit which he found rather expensive,
especially as he felt bound occasionally to treat his companions. Then
he liked, now and then, to drop in and get an ice-cream or some
confectionery, and these little expenses counted up.

Mr. Stanton was a vain, worldly man. He was anxious to obtain an
entrance into the best society. For this reason, he made it a point to
send his children to the most expensive schools; trusting to their
forming fashionable acquaintances, through whom his whole family might
obtain recognition into those select circles for which he cherished a
most undemocratic respect. For this reason it was that, though not
naturally liberal, he had opened his purse willingly at the demands of
Mrs. Stanton and Tom.

"Well," said Mrs. Stanton, after Tom's little financial affair had been
adjusted, "what are you going to write to this doctor? Of course you
won't think of sending for your nephew?"

"By no means. He is much better off where he is. I shall write Dr. Kent
that he is old enough to earn his own living, and I shall recommend that
he be bound out to some farmer or mechanic in the neighborhood. It is an
imposition to expect, because I am tolerably well off, that it is my
duty to support other people's children. My own are entitled to all I
can do for them."

"That's so, father," said Tom, who was ready enough to give his consent
to any proposition of a selfish nature. "Charity begins at home."

With Tom, by the way, it not only began at home, but it ended there, and
the same may be said of his father. From time to time Mr. Stanton's name
was found in the list of donors to some charitable object, provided his
benevolence was likely to obtain sufficient publicity, Mr. Stanton did
not believe in giving in secret. What was the use of giving away money
unless you could get credit for it? That was the principle upon which he
always acted.

"I suppose," continued Tom, "this country cousin of mine wears cowhide
boots and overalls, and has got rough, red hands like a common laborer.
I wonder what Sam Paget would say if I should introduce such a fellow to
him as my cousin. I rather guess he would not want to be quite so
intimate with me as he is now."

If anything had been needed, this consideration would have been
sufficient to deter Mr. Stanton from sending for his nephew. He could
not permit the social standing of his family to be compromised by the
presence of a poor relation from the country, rough and unpolished as he
doubtless was.

Maria, too, who had been for some time silent, here contributed to
strengthen the effect of Tom's words.

"Yes," said she, "and Laura Brooks, my most intimate friend, who is
shocked at anything vulgar or countrified--I wouldn't have her know that
I have such a cousin--oh, not for the world!"

"There will be no occasion for it," said her father, decidedly. "I shall
write at once to this Dr. Kent, explaining to him my views and wishes,
and how impossible it is for me to do as he so inconsiderately
suggests."

"It's the wisest thing you can do, Mr. Stanton," said his wife, who was
to the full as selfish as her husband.

"What is his name, father?" asked Maria.

"Whose name?"

"The boy's."

"Herbert Mason."

"Herbert? I thought it might be Jonathan, or Zeke, or some such name.
Herbert isn't at all countrified."

"No," said Tom, slyly; "of course not. We all know why you like that
name."

"Oh, you're mighty wise, Mr. Tom!" retorted his sister.

"It's because you like Herbert Dartmouth; but it isn't any use. He's in
love with Lizzie Graves."

"You seem to know all about it," said Maria, with vexation; for Tom was
not far from right in speaking of her preference for Herbert Dartmouth.

"Of course I do," said Tom; "I ought to, for he told me so himself."

"I don't believe it!" said Maria, who looked ready to cry.

"Well, you needn't; but it's so."

"Be quiet, children," said Mrs. Stanton. "Thomas, you mustn't plague
your sister."

"Don't take it so hard, Maria," said Tom, in rather an aggravating tone.
"There's other boys you could get. I guess you could get Jim Gorham for
a beau, if you tried hard enough."

"I wouldn't have him," said Maria. "His face is all over freckles."

"Enough of this quarreling, children," said Mrs. Stanton. "I hope," she
continued, addressing her husband, "you won't fail to write at once.
They might be sending on the boy, and then we should be in a pretty
predicament."

"I will write at once. I don't know but I ought to inclose some money."

"I don't see why you need to."

"Perhaps I had better, as this is the last I intend to do for him."

"At any rate, it won't be necessary to send much," said Mrs. Stanton.

"How much?"

"Five dollars will do, I should think. Because he happens to be your
nephew, there is no good reason why he should be thrown upon you for
support."

"Perhaps it will be best to send ten dollars," said Mr. Stanton. "People
are unreasonable, you know, and they might charge me with meanness, if I
sent less."

"Then make it ten. It's only for once. I hope that will be the last we
shall hear of him."

The room in which this conversation took place was a handsomely
furnished breakfast room, all the appointments of which spoke not only
of comfort, but of luxury. Mr. Stanton had been made rich by a series of
lucky speculations, and he was at present carrying on a large wholesale
store downtown. He had commenced with small means twenty years before,
and for some years had advanced slowly, until the tide of fortune set in
and made him rich. His present handsome residence he had only occupied
three years, having moved to it from one of much smaller pretensions on
Bleecker Street. Tom and Maria were forbidden to speak of their former
home to their present fashionable acquaintances, and this prohibition
they were likely to observe, having inherited to the full the worldly
spirit which actuated their parents. It will be seen that Herbert Mason
was little likely to be benefited by having such prosperous relations.




CHAPTER II

INTRODUCING THE HERO


If my young readers do not find the town of Waverley on the map of Ohio,
they may conclude that it was too small to attract the notice of the
map-makers. The village is small, consisting of about a dozen houses, a
church, a schoolhouse, and, as a matter of course, one of that well-
known class of stores in which everything required for the family is
sold, from a dress-pattern to a pound of sugar. Outside of the village
there are farmhouses, surrounded by broad acres, which keep them at
respectable distances from each other, like the feudal castles of the
Middle Ages. The land is good, and the farmers are thrifty and well-to-
do; but probably the whole town contains less than a thousand
inhabitants.

In one of the houses, near the church, lived Dr. Kent, whose letter has
already been referred to. He was a skillful physician, and a very worthy
man, who would have been very glad to be benevolent if his limited
practice had supplied him with the requisite means. But chance had
directed him to a healthy and sparsely-settled neighborhood, where he
was able only to earn a respectable livelihood, and indeed found himself
compelled to economize at times where he would have liked to indulge
himself in expense.

When Mrs. Mason died it was found that the sale of her furniture barely
realized enough to defray the expenses of her funeral. Herbert, her only
son, was left wholly unprovided for. Dr. Kent, knowing that he had a
rich uncle in New York, undertook to communicate to him the position in
which his nephew had been left, never doubting that he would cheerfully
extend a helping hand to him. Meanwhile he invited Herbert to come to
his house and make it his home till his uncle should send for him.

Herbert was a handsome, well-grown boy of fourteen, and a general
favorite in the village. While his mother lived he had done all he could
to lighten her tasks, and he grieved deeply for her loss now that she
was gone. His father had ten years before failed in business in the city
of New York, and, in a fit of depression, had emigrated to this obscure
country village, where he had invested the few hundred dollars remaining
to him in a farm, from which he was able to draw a scanty income. Being
a man of liberal education, he had personally superintended the
education of his son till his death, two years before, so that Herbert's
attainments were considerably in advance of those of other boys of his
age in the neighborhood. He knew something of Latin and French, which
made him looked upon as quite a model of learning by his playmates.
After his father's death he had continued the daily study of the
languages, so that he was able to read ordinary French with nearly as
much ease as if it were English. Though studious, he was not a bookworm,
but was distinguished in athletic sports popular with boys of his age.

Enough has been said of our hero by way of introduction. Herbert's
faults and virtues will appear as the record of his adventures is
continued. It may be hinted only that, while he was frank, manly, and
generous in his disposition, he was proud and high-spirited also, and
perhaps these qualities were sometimes carried to excess. He would not
allow himself to be imposed upon if he could help it. Being strong for
his age, he was always able to maintain his rights, but never abused his
strength by making it the instrument of tyrannizing over weaker boys.

Of course Herbert felt somewhat anxious as to his future prospects. He
knew that the doctor had written to his Uncle Benjamin about him, and he
hoped that he might be sent for to New York, having a great curiosity to
see the city, of which he had heard so much.

"Have you heard from my uncle, Dr. Kent?" he inquired, a few days after
the scene recorded in our first chapter.

His question was prompted by seeing the doctor coming into the yard with
an open letter in his hand.

"Yes," said Dr. Kent, with troubled expression and perplexed took.

"What does Uncle Benjamin say?" asked our young hero, eagerly.

"Nothing very encouraging, Herbert, I am sorry to say," returned the
doctor. "However, here is the letter; you may read it for yourself."

Herbert received the letter from the doctor's hands and read it through
with feelings of mortification and anger.

Here it is:

"DEAR SIR: I have to acknowledge yours of the 10th inst. I regret to
hear of my sister's decease. I regret, also, to hear that her son,
Herbert, is left without a provision for his support. My brother-in-law
I cannot but consider culpable in neglecting to lay up something during
his life upon which his widow and son might depend. I suspect that he
must have lived with inconsiderate extravagance.

"As for myself, I have a family of my own to provide for, and the
expense of living in a city like this is very great. In justice to them,
I do not feel that it would be right for me to incur extra expense. You
tell me that he is now fourteen and a stout boy. He is able, I should
think, to earn his own living. I should recommend that he be bound out
to a farmer or mechanic. To defray any little expenses that may arise, I
enclose ten dollars, which I hope he may find serviceable. Yours etc.,

"BENJAMIN STANTON."

This cold and selfish letter Herbert read with rising color, and a
feeling of bitterness found a place in his young heart, which was quite
foreign to him.

"Well, Herbert, what do you think of it?" asked the doctor.

"I think," said Herbert, hotly, "that I don't want to have anything to
do with an uncle who could write such a letter as that."

"He doesn't seem to write with much feeling." acknowledged the doctor.

"Feeling!" repeated Herbert; "he writes as if I were a beggar, and asked
charity. Where is the money he inclosed, Dr. Kent?"

"I have it here in my vest pocket. I was afraid it would slip out of the
letter, and so took care of it."

"Will you let me send it back to my uncle?" asked Herbert.

"Send it back?"

"Yes, Dr. Kent; I don't want any of his charity, and I'll tell him so."

"I am afraid, Herbert, that you are giving way to your pride."

"But isn't it a proper pride, doctor?"

"I hardly know what to say, Herbert. You must remember, however, that,
as you are left quite unprovided for, even this small sum may be of use
to you."

"It isn't the smallness of the sum that I mind," said Herbert. "If Uncle
Benjamin had written a kind letter, or showed the least feeling in it
for me, or for--for mother [his voice faltered a moment], I would have
accepted it thankfully. But I couldn't accept money thrown at me in that
way. He didn't want to give it to me, I am sure, and wouldn't if he
hadn't felt obliged to."

Dr. Kent paced the room thoughtfully. He respected Herbert's feelings,
but he saw that it was not wise for him to indulge them. He was in a
dependent situation, and it was to be feared that he would have much to
suffer in time to come from the coldness and selfishness of the world.

"I will tell you what to do, Herbert," he said, after a while. "You can
accept this money as a loan, and repay it when you are able."

"With interest?"

"Yes, with interest, if you prefer it."

"I shall be willing to accept it on those terms," said Herbert; "but I
want my uncle to understand it."

"You may write to your uncle to that effect, if you like."

"Very well, Dr. Kent. Then I will write to him at once."

"You will find some paper in my desk, Herbert. I suppose you will not
object to my seeing your letter."

"No, doctor, I intended to show it to you. You won't expect me to show
much gratitude, I hope?"

"I won't insist upon it, Herbert," said the doctor, smiling.

Herbert in about half an hour submitted the following note to the
doctor's inspection. It had cost him considerable thought to determine
how to express himself, but he succeeded at last to his tolerable
satisfaction.

"UNCLE BENJAMIN [so the letter commenced]: Dr. Kent has just shown me
your reply to his letter about me. You seem to think I wish you to
support me, which is not the case. All I should have asked was your
influence to help me in obtaining a situation in the city, where I might
support myself. I am willing to work, and shall probably find some
opportunity here. The ten dollars, which you inclose, I will accept AS A
LOAN, and will repay you as soon as I am able, WITH INTEREST. HERBERT
MASON."

"Will that do?" asked Herbert.

Dr. Kent smiled.

"You were careful not to express any gratitude, Herbert," he said.

"Because I don't feel any," returned Herbert, promptly. "I feel grateful
to you, Dr. Kent, for your great kindness. I wish I could pay you for
that. I shall never forget how you attended my mother in her sickness,
when there was small prospect of your being paid."

"My dear boy," said the doctor, resting his hand affectionately on
Herbert's shoulder, "I have been able to do but very little. I wish I
could do more. If you wish to repay me, you can do it a hundred times
over by growing up a good and honorable man; one upon whom your mother
in heaven can look down with grateful joy, if it is permitted her to
watch your progress here."

"I will do my best, doctor," said Herbert.

"The world is all before you," proceeded Dr. Kent. "You may not achieve
a brilliant destiny. It is permitted to few to do that. But whether your
sphere is wide or narrow, you may exert an influence for good, AND LEAVE
THE WORLD BETTER FOR YOUR HAVING LIVED IN IT."

"I hope it may be so," said Herbert, thoughtfully. "When I am tempted to
do wrong, I will think of my mother."

"It is the very best thing you can do, Herbert. And now for your plans.
I wish I were in a situation to have you remain with me. But as that
cannot be, I will do my best to get you a place."

"I ought to be at work," said Herbert, "as I have my living to get. I
want you to take that ten dollars, doctor, as part payment of the debt I
owe you."

The doctor shook his head.

"I can't do that, Herbert, not even to oblige you. You were too proud to
accept a favor from your uncle. You will not be too proud, I hope, to
accept one from me?"

"No, doctor; I am not too proud for that. You are my friend, and my
uncle cares nothing for me."

When Herbert's letter reached New York, his uncle felt a momentary
shame, for he saw that his nephew had rightfully interpreted his own
selfishness and lack of feeling, and he could not help involuntarily
admiring the independent spirit which would not allow him to accept the
proffered money, except as a loan. But mingled with his shame was a
feeling of relief, as he foresaw that Herbert's pride would not suffer
him to become a burden upon him in the future. He hardly expected ever
to see the ten dollars returned with interest; but even if he lost it,
he felt that he should be getting off cheap.




CHAPTER III

A COLLISION


It was a week later when an incident befell Herbert which is worthy of
mention, since it brought him into collision with a man who was destined
to have some influence over his future life.

A neighboring farmer, for whom, during his mother's life, he had
occasionally gone on errands, drove up in front of the doctor's house,
and asked Herbert if he could take his horse and wagon and drive over to
the mill village to get some corn ground. Herbert was rather glad to
accept this proposal, not only because he was to receive twenty-five
cents for so doing, but also because he was fond of driving a horse.

He was only about a mile from the mill village, when he saw approaching
him a man in a light open buggy. Herbert knew every horse in Waverley,
and every man, woman, and child, for that matter, and he perceived at
once that the driver was a stranger. To tell the truth, he was not very
favorably impressed by his appearance. The man was very dark, with black
hair and an unshaven beard of three days' growth, which did not set off
his irregular and repulsive features. His mouth, partly open, revealed
several yellow tusks, stained with tobacco juice. On his head he wore a
broad-brimmed straw hat, rather the worse for wear.

It so happened that just at this point the middle of the road was much
better than the sides, which sloped considerably, terminating in gullies
which were partly full from the recent rains. The road was narrow, being
wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other, if each veered to the
side, but not otherwise.

Herbert observed that the buggy, which was now rapidly approaching, was
kept in the center of the road, and that the driver appeared to have no
intention of turning out.

"What does he mean?" thought our hero. "He cannot expect me to do the
whole of the turning out. I will turn out my half, and if he wants to
get by, he must do the same."

Accordingly, he turned partially to one side, as much as could be
reasonably expected, and quietly awaited the approach of the man in the
buggy. The latter still kept the center of the road, and did not turn
out his carriage at all. As soon as it was close at hand, the driver
leaned forward and exclaimed angrily:

"Turn out, boy!"

If he expected that Herbert would be intimidated by his tone he was much
mistaken. Our hero was bold, and not easily frightened. He looked
quietly in the man's face, and said composedly, "I have turned out."

"Then turn out more, you young vagabond! Do you hear me?"

"Yes, sir, I hear you, and should if you didn't speak half so loud."

"Curse your impudence! I tell you, turn out more!" exclaimed the
stranger, becoming more and more angry. He had expected to get his own
way without trouble. If Herbert had been a man, he would not have been
so unreasonable; but he supposed he could browbeat a boy into doing
whatever he chose to dictate. But he had met his match, as it turned
out.

"I have already given you half the road," said Herbert, firmly, "and I
don't intend to give you any more."

"You don't, eh? Young man, how old are you?"

"I am fourteen."

"I should think you were forty by the airs you put on."

"Is it putting on airs to insist on my rights?" asked our hero.

"Your rights!" retorted the other, laughing contemptuously.

"Yes, my rights," returned Herbert, quietly. "I have a right to half of
the road, and I have taken it. If I turn out any more, I shall go into
the gully."

"That makes no difference. A wetting won't do you any harm. Your
impudence needs cooling."

"That may be," said Herbert, who did not choose to get angry, but was
resolved to maintain his rights; "but I object to the wetting, for all
that, and as this wagon is not mine, I do not choose to upset it."

"You are the most insolent young scamp I ever came across!" exclaimed
the other, furiously. "I've a good mind to give you something much worse
than a wetting."

"Such as what?" asked our hero, coolly. In reply the man flourished his
whip significantly. "Do you see that?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Oh, very well," said the other, ironically; "I'm glad you do. Perhaps
you wouldn't like to feel it?"

"No, I don't think I should," said Herbert, not exhibiting the least
apprehension.

The stranger handled his whip, eyeing our hero viciously at the same
time, as if it would have afforded him uncommon pleasure to lay it over
his back. But there was something in the look of our hero which
unconsciously cowed him, and, much as he wished to strike him, he held
back.

"Well, you're a cool hand," he said, after a moment's hesitation.

To this our hero did not see fit to make any reply. But he grasped his
own whip a little tighter. So brutal had been the tone assumed by the
stranger, that he was not sure but he might proceed to carry out his
threat, and lay the whip over his back. He determined, in that case, to
give him as good as he sent. I will not express any opinion as to the
propriety of this determination, but I am certain, from what I know of
our hero's fearless spirit, that he would not have hesitated to do it,
be the consequences what they might. But he did not have the
opportunity.

"Once more," demanded the stranger, furiously; "are you going to turn
out?"

"No," said the boy, decidedly.

"Then--I'll run you down."

So saying, he brought the whip violently on the horse's back. The latter
gave a convulsive spring forward. But his driver had not taken into
consideration that the farm-wagon was the stronger of the two vehicles,
and that in any collision the buggy must come off second best. So it
happened that a wheel of the buggy was broken, and the driver, in the
shock, thrown sprawling into a puddle on the other side of the road. The
wagon suffered no damage, but the old horse, terrified, set off at a
rapid pace. Herbert looked back to see if the stranger was injured, but
seeing that he had already picked himself up unwounded, but decidedly
dirty, he concluded to keep on his way to the mill.

The driver of the overturned vehicle was considerably more angry than
hurt at this catastrophe.

It chafed his pride not a little to think that, after all his vaunts,
the boy had maintained his ground, and got the better of him. For a man
of forty-five to be worsted by a boy of fourteen was, it must be
confessed, a little mortifying. It was something like a great ship of
the line being compelled to surrender to a little monitor.

No one feels particularly dignified or good-natured when he is picking
himself out of a mud puddle. Our black-haired acquaintance proved no
exception to this remark. He shook his fist at the receding wagon and
its occupant--a demonstration of defiance which our hero did not
witness, his back being now turned to his late opponent.

Mr. Abner Holden--for this was the stranger's name--next turned his
attention to the buggy, which had been damaged to some extent, and so
was likely to involve him in expense. This was another uncomfortable
reflection. Meanwhile, as it was no longer in a fit state for travel, he
must contrive some way to have it carried back to the stable, and,
unless he could procure another vehicle, perform the rest of the journey
on foot.

Luckily, some men in a neighboring field had witnessed the collision,
and, supposing their services might be required, were now present to
lend their aid.

"Pretty bad accident," remarked one of them. "That 'ere wheel'll need
considerable tinkering afore it's fit for use. How came you to get it
broke so, squire?"

"A little rascal had the impudence to dispute the road with me, and
would not turn out at my bidding," said Mr. Holden, in a tone of
exasperation, which showed that his temper had been considerably soured
by the accident.

"Wouldn't turn out? Seems to me from the marks of the wheels, you must
have been drivin' along in the middle of the road. I guess you didn't
take the trouble to turn out, yourself."

"Well, there was room enough for the boy to turn out one side," said
Holden, doggedly.

"You are slightly mistaken, stranger," said the other, who was disgusted
at the traveler's unreasonableness. "There wasn't room; as anyone can
see that's got eyes in his head. Didn't the youngster turn out at all?"

"Yes," snapped Holden, not relishing the other's free speech.

"Then it seems you were the one that would not turn out. If you had been
a leetle more accommodating, this accident couldn't have happened. Fair
play's my motto. If a feller meets you halfway, it's all you have a
right to expect. I reckon it'll cost you a matter of ten dollars to get
that 'ere buggy fixed."

Holden looked savagely at the broken wheel, but that didn't mend
matters. He would have answered the countryman angrily, but, as he stood
in need of assistance, this was not good policy.

"What would you advise me to do about it?" he inquired.

"You will have to leave the buggy where it is just now. Where did you
get it?"

"Over at the mill village."

"Well, you'd better lead the horse back--'tain't more'n a mile or so--
get another wagon, and tell 'em to send for this."

"Well, perhaps that is the best way."

"Where was you goin'?"

"Over to Waverley."

"That's where the boy came from."

"What boy?"

"The boy that upset you."

"What is his name?" asked Abner Holden, scowling.

"His name is Herbert Mason, son of the Widder Mason that died two or
three weeks since. Poor boy, he's left alone in the world."

"Where's he stopping?" asked Holden, hardly knowing why he asked the
question.

"Dr. Kent took him in after the funeral, so I heard; but the selectmen
of Waverley are trying to find him a place somewheres, where he can earn
his own livin'. He's a smart, capable boy, and I guess he can do 'most a
man's work."

Abner Holden looked thoughtful. Some plan had suggested itself to him
which appeared to yield him satisfaction, for he began to look decidedly
more comfortable, and he muttered to himself: "I'll be even with him
YET. See if I don't."

"How far am I from Waverley?" he asked, after a slight pause.

"Well, risin' three miles," drawled the other.

"If I could get somebody to go back with this horse, I don't know but
what I'd walk to Waverley. Are you very busy?"

"Well, I don't know but I could leave off for a short time," said the
other, cautiously. "Work's pretty drivin', to be sure. What do you
cal'late to pay?"

"How much would it be worth?"

"Well, there's the walk there and back, and then again there's the
time."

"You can mount the horse going."

"I guess fifty cents'll about pay me."

Mr. Holden took out his pocketbook and paid the required sum.

"By the way," he said, as if incidentally, "who is the chairman of the
selectmen in the village of Waverley?" "You ain't thinkin' of takin'
that boy, be you?" said the other, curiously.

"I've had enough to do with him; I don't want ever to lay eyes on him
again."

"Well, I dunno as I should, if I was you," said the countryman, rather
slyly.

"You haven't answered my question yet," said Holden, impatiently.

"Oh, about the cheerman of the selectmen. It's Captain Joseph Ross."

"Where does he live?"

"A leetle this side of the village. You'll know the house, well enough.
It's a large, square house painted white, with a well-sweep in front."

Without a word of thanks for the information, Abner Holden turned, and
began to walk toward Waverley. Perhaps his object in making these
inquiries has been guessed. It happened that he needed a boy, and, for
more reasons than one, he thought he should like to have Herbert bound
to him. Herbert, as he had noticed, was a stout boy, and he probably
could get a good deal of work out of him. Then, again, it would be
gratifying to him to have our hero in subjection to him. He could pay
him off then, ten times over, for his insolence, as he chose to term it.

"I'll break his proud spirit," thought Abner Holden. "He'll find he's
got a master, if I get hold of him. He don't know me yet, but he will
some time."

Mr. Holden resolved to wait on Captain Ross at once, and conclude
arrangements with him to take Herbert before our hero had returned from
the mill village. He pictured, with a grim smile, Herbert's dismay when
he learned who was to be his future master.

With the help of a handkerchief dipped into a crystal stream at the
roadside, Abner Holden succeeded in effacing some of the muddy stains
upon his coat and pantaloons, and at length got himself into presentable
trim for calling upon a "selectman."

At length he came in sight of the house which had been described to him
as that of Captain Ross. There was a woman at the well-sweep engaged in
drawing water.

"Does Captain Ross live here?" he inquired.

"Yes, sir."

"Is he at home?"

"He's over in the three-acre lot. Was you wantin' to see him?"

"I should like to. Is the field far away?"

"No, it's just behind the house."

"Then I guess I'll go and find him. I want to see him on a little matter
of business."

Mr. Holden crossed a mowing-field, and then, climbing over a stone wall,
found himself at the edge of the three-acre lot. The captain was
superintending one or two hired men, and, as he had his coat off, had
probably been assisting them.

"Captain Ross?" said Abner Holden, interrogatively.

"That's my name."

"You are chairman of the selectmen, I believe?"

"Yes, sir."

"I understand that you have a boy that you want to bind out."

"I reckon you mean Herbert Mason."

"Yes, I believe that's the name I heard."

"Are you in want of a boy?"

"Yes, I am looking out for one."

"What is your business?"

"I keep a store, but I should want him to work on land part of the
time."

"Do you live hereabouts?"

"Over at Cranston."

"If you'll come to the house, we'll talk the matter over. The boy's a
good boy, and we want to get a good place for him. His mother was a
widder, and he's her only son. He's a smart, capable lad, and good to
work."

"I've no doubt he'll suit me. I'll take him on your recommendation."

"We should want him to go to school winters. He's a pretty good scholar
already. His father was a larned man, and used to teach him before he
died. If he had lived, I reckon Herbert would certainly have gone to
college."

"I'll agree to send him to school in the winter for the next two years,"
said Holden, "and will give him board and clothes, and when he's twenty-
one a freedom suit, and a hundred dollars. Will that do?"

"I don't know but that's reasonable," said Captain Ross, slowly. "The
boy's a bit high-spirited, but if you manage him right, I guess you'll
like him."

"I'll manage him!" thought Abner Holden. "Can I take him with me to-
morrow?" he asked. "I don't come this way very often."

"Well, I guess that can be arranged. We'll go over to Dr. Kent's after
dinner, and see if they can get him ready."

"In the meantime," said Holden, afraid that the prize might slip through
his fingers, "suppose we make out the papers. I suppose you have full
authority in the matter."

Captain Ross had no objection, and thus poor Herbert was unconsciously
delivered over to the tender mercies of a man who had very little love
for him.




CHAPTER IV

A DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE


After his collision with the traveler, Herbert hurried on to the mill,
intent upon making up for lost time. He was satisfied with having
successfully maintained his rights; and, as he had no reason to suppose
he should ever again see his unreasonable opponent, dismissed him from
his thoughts.

On reaching the mill, he found he should have to remain an hour or two
before he could have his grain ground. He was not sorry for this, as it
would give him an opportunity to walk around the village.

"I wish," he thought, "I could get a place in one of the stores here.
There's more going on than there is in Waverley, and I could go over
Sundays to see Dr. Kent's family."

On the spur of the moment, he resolved to inquire if some of the
storekeepers did not require help. There was a large dry-goods store--
the largest in the village--kept by Beckford & Keyes. He entered and
inquired for the senior partner.

"Mr. Beckford is not in," said the clerk. "Mr. Keyes is standing at that
desk."

Herbert went up to the desk, and said inquiringly, "Mr. Keyes?"

"That is my name," said that gentleman, pleasantly. "Is there anything I
can do for you?"

"I am in search of a place," said our hero, "and I thought you might
have a vacancy here."

"We have none just at present," said Mr. Keyes, who was favorably
impressed by Herbert's appearance; "but it is possible we may have in a
few weeks. Where do you live? Not in the village, I suppose?"

"No, sir," said Herbert, and a shadow passed over his face, "My mother
died three weeks since, and I am now stopping at the house of Dr. Kent."

"Dr. Kent--ah, yes, I know the doctor. He is an excellent man."

"He is," said Herbert, warmly. "He has been very kind to me."

"What is your name?"

"Herbert Mason."

"Then, Herbert, I will promise to bear you in mind. I will note down
your name and address, and as soon as we have a vacancy I will write to
you. Come into the store whenever you come this way."

"Thank you," said Herbert.

He left the store feeling quite encouraged. Even if the chance never
amounted to anything, the kind words and manner of the storekeeper gave
him courage to hope that he would meet with equal kindness from others.
Kind words cost nothing, but they have a marvelous power in lightening
the burdens of the sorrowful and cheering the desponding.

Herbert left the store, feeling that he should consider himself truly
fortunate if he could obtain a place in such an establishment. But there
was a rough experience before him, of which at present he guessed
nothing.

After sauntering about the village a little longer, and buying a stick
of candy for little Mary Kent, the doctor's only daughter, who was quite
attached to Herbert, our hero got back to the mill in time to receive
his bags of meal, with which he was soon on his way homeward.

About the place where he met Mr. Holden he was hailed by a man at work
in the field--the same who had taken back that gentleman's horse to the
stable.

"Well, boy, you had a kind of scrimmage, didn't you, coming over?"

"Did you see it?" asked Herbert.

"Yes," said the other, grinning. "I seed the other feller in the mud
puddle. He was considerably riled about it."

"It was his own fault. I gave him half the road."

"I know it; but there's some folks that want more than their share."

"Was his buggy broken? I don't know but I ought to have stopped to help
him, but he had been so unreasonable that I didn't feel much like it."

"His wheel got broken. I drawed the buggy into the bushes. There 'tis
now. It'll cost him a matter of ten dollars to fix it."

"I'm sorry for that," said Herbert; "but I can't see that I was to blame
in the matter. If I had turned out as he wanted me to, I should have
tipped over, and, as the wagon didn't belong to me, I didn't think it
right to risk it."

"Of course not. You wasn't called on to give in to such
unreasonableness."

"Where did the man go?"

"He concluded to walk on to Waverley, and hired me to take the horse
back to the stable. He wanted to know who you were."

"Did he?"

"Maybe he's goin' to sue you for damages."

"I don't believe he'll get much if he does," laughed our hero. "My
property is where he can't get hold of it."

"Ho! ho!" laughed the other, understanding the joke.

After this conversation Herbert continued on his way, and, after
delivering the grain, took his way across the fields to his temporary
home. He entered by the back yard. Little Mary came running out to meet
him.

"Have oo come back, Herbert?" she said. "Where have oo been?"

"Been to buy Mary some candy," he said, lifting her up and kissing her.

"Whose horse is that at the gate?" asked Herbert, as the doctor's wife
entered the room.

"It belongs to Captain Ross," she said. "He has come on business
connected with you."

"Connected with me!" repeated Herbert, in surprise.

"Yes, my dear boy, I am afraid we must make up our minds to lose you."

"Has he found a place for me?" asked Herbert, in a tone of
disappointment.

"Yes, I believe he has bound you out to a man in Cranston."

"I am sorry," said Herbert.

"I shall be sorry to have you go, Herbert, but I thought you wanted to
go."

"So I do; but by waiting a few weeks I could probably get a place in
Beckford & Keyes' store, at the mill village."

"What makes you think so?"

Herbert detailed his interview of the morning with the junior partner.
Just at this moment the doctor entered the kitchen.

"Have you told him?" he inquired, looking at his wife.

"Yes, and he says that but for this he might probably have got a chance
to go into Beckford's store at the mill village."

"I am sorry for this. They are good men, and he would have been near us,
while Cranston is forty miles away."

"Who is the man that wants me?" asked Herbert.

"A Mr. Holden. He is in the other room with Captain Ross. It was all
arranged before they came. He wants you to go with him to-morrow
morning."

"So soon?" said Herbert, in dismay.

"Yes. At first he wished you to set off with him this afternoon; but I
told him decidedly you could not be ready."

"Quite impossible," said Mrs. Kent. "Some of Herbert's clothes are in
the wash, and I can't have them ready till evening."

"You had better come into the other room, Herbert," said the doctor. "I
will introduce you to your new employer."

Herbert followed the doctor into the sitting-room. His first glance
rested on Captain Ross, whom he knew. He went up and shook hands with
him. Next he turned to Mr. Holden, and to his inexpressible
astonishment, recognized his opponent of the morning.

"Mr. Holden, Herbert," introduced the doctor. "Mr. Holden, this is the
boy we have been speaking of."

"I have seen Mr. Holden before," said Herbert, coldly.

"Yes," said Mr. Holden, writhing his disagreeable features into an
unpleasant smile. "We have met before."

Dr. Kent looked from one to the other in surprise, as if seeking an
explanation.

"Our acquaintance doesn't date very far back," said Mr. Holden. "We met
this morning between here and the mill village."

"Indeed," said the doctor; "you passed each other, I suppose."

"Well, no; I can't say we did exactly," said Mr. Holden, with the same
unpleasant smile, "We tried to, but the road being narrow, there was a
collision, and I came off second-best."

"I hope there was no accident."

"Oh, nothing to speak of. I got tipped out, and my clothes, as you may
observe, suffered some. As for my young friend here, he rode on
uninjured."

"You must excuse my not stopping to inquire if I could help you," said
Herbert; "but my horse was frightened by the collision, and I could not
easily stop him."

"Oh, it's of no consequence," said Mr. Holden, in an off-hand manner. He
was determined not to show himself out in his true colors until he had
got Herbert absolutely under his control.

"But where is your horse, Mr. Holden?" asked Captain Ross. "I think you
were walking when you came to my house."

"I sent it back to the village by a man I met on the road, my buggy
being disabled."

"Your carriage wasn't much injured, I hope."

"Oh, no, not much."

"I don't see exactly how it could happen," said Captain Ross. "I thought
the road from here to the mill village was broad enough at any point for
carriages to pass each other."

"I didn't dream," said Mr. Holden, not noticing this remark, "that the
young man I had engaged was my young acquaintance of the morning."

Herbert looked at him, puzzled by his entire change of manner--a change
so sudden that he suspected its genuineness.

The more he thought of it, the more unwilling he felt to live with Mr.
Holden. But could it be avoided? He resolved to try. He accordingly told
the doctor and Captain Ross of the promise that Mr. Keyes had made him.

"It would be a good place," said the captain; "but it ain't certain.
Now, here's Mr. Holden, ready to take you at once."

"If I was in the mill village I could come over and see my friends here
now and then. Besides, I think I should like being in a store."

"Oh, I've got a store, too," said Mr. Holden, "and I should expect you
to tend there part of the time. I don't think I can let you off, my
young friend," he added, with a disagreeable smile. "I think we shall
get along very well together."

Herbert did not feel at all sure of this, but he saw that it would do no
good to remonstrate farther, and kept silence. Soon after, Mr. Holden
and Captain Ross rose to go.

"I'll call round for my young friend about nine to-morrow morning," said
Abner Holden, with an ingratiating smile.

"We will endeavor to have him ready," said the doctor.

After they went away Herbert wandered about in not the best of spirits.
He was convinced that he should not be happy with Mr. Holden, against
whom he had conceived an aversion, founded partly upon the occurrences
of the morning, and partly on the disagreeable impression made upon him
by Abner Holden's personal appearance.




CHAPTER V

THE ENVELOPE


Herbert woke up early the next morning, and a feeling of sadness came
over him as he reflected that it was his last morning in Waverley. He
was going out into the world, and, as he could not help thinking, under
very unfavorable auspices. New scenes and new experiences usually have a
charm for a boy, but Mr. Holden's disagreeable face and unpleasant smile
rose before him, and the prospect seemed far from tempting.

When he came downstairs, he found Mrs. Kent in the kitchen.

"You are up early, Mrs. Kent," said Herbert.

"Yes, Herbert; I want you to have a good breakfast before you go."

It certainly was a nice breakfast. Tender beefsteak, warm biscuit,
golden butter, potatoes fried crisp and brown, and excellent coffee,
might have tempted any appetite. Herbert, in spite of his sadness, did
full justice to the bountiful meal.

The family had hardly risen from breakfast when the sound of wheels was
heard outside, and directly there was a knock at the door.

"It's Mr. Holden," said the doctor, looking from the front window.

"Must we part from you so soon, Herbert?" said Mrs. Kent,
affectionately.

"Where oo goin', Herbert?" asked little Mary, clinging to his knee,

"Herbert's going away, Mary," said he, stooping and kissing his little
friend.

"Herbert mustn't go 'way," said the little girl, in discontent.

"Herbert come back soon, and bring candy for Mary," he said, wishing
that his words might come true.

By that time Mr. Holden had entered, and was surveying the scene with
his disagreeable smile.

"Little Mary is quite attached to Herbert," said the doctor.

"I am sorry," said Mr. Holden, "that I have no little girls, as Herbert
seems fond of them."

Herbert doubted if he could become attached to anyone related to Mr.
Holden.

"I'm a bachelor," said Mr. Holden, "though perhaps I ought to be ashamed
to say so. If I had had the good fortune early in life to encounter a
lady like your good wife here, it might have been different."

"It isn't too late yet, Mr. Holden," said the doctor.

"Well, perhaps not. If Mrs. Kent is ever a widow, I may try my luck."

"What a disagreeable man," thought the doctor's wife, not propitiated by
the compliment. "Herbert," she said, "here are a couple of handkerchiefs
I bought in the village yesterday. I hope you will find them useful."

"Yes; no doubt he will," said Mr. Holden, laughing. "He will think of
you whenever he has a bad cold."

Nobody even smiled at this witty sally, and, Mr. Holden, a little
disappointed, remarked: "Well, time's getting on. I guess we must be
going, as we have a long journey before us."

The whole family accompanied Herbert to the road. After kissing Mary and
Mrs. Kent, and shaking the doctor cordially by the hand, Herbert jumped
into the wagon. Just before the horse started the doctor handed our hero
a sealed envelope, saying, "You can open it after a while."

Though, like most boys of his age, Herbert had a great horror of making
a baby of himself, he could hardly help crying as he rode up the street,
and felt that he had parted from his best friends. His eyes filled with
tears, which he quietly wiped away with the corner of his handkerchief.

"Come, come, don't blubber, boy," said Mr. Holden, coarsely.

Herbert was not weak enough to melt into tears at an unkind word. It
roused his indignation, and he answered, shortly, "When you see me
blubbering, it'll be time enough to speak, Mr. Holden."

"It looked a good deal like it, at any rate," said Abner. "However, I'm
glad if I'm mistaken. There's nothing to cry about that I can see."

"No, perhaps not," said Herbert; "but there's something to be sorry
for."

"Something to be sorry for, is there?" said Abner Holden.

"Yes."

"Well, what is it?"

"I've left my best friends, and I don't know when I shall see them
again."

"Nor I," said Mr. Holden. "But I think it's high time you left them."

"Why?" asked Herbert, indignantly.

"Because they were petting you and making too much of you. You won't get
such treatment as that from me."

"I don't expect it," said our hero.

"That's lucky," said Abner Holden, dryly. "It's well that people
shouldn't expect what they are not likely to get."

Here a sense of the ludicrous came over Herbert as he thought of being
Mr. Holden's pet, and he laughed heartily. Not understanding the reason
of his sudden mirth, that gentleman demanded, in a tone of irritation,
"What are you making a fool of yourself about?"

"What am I laughing at?" said Herbert, not liking the form of the
question.

"Yes," snarled Abner.

"The idea of being your pet," explained Herbert, frankly.

Mr. Holden did not appreciate the joke, and said roughly, "You better
shut up, if you know what's best for yourself."

They rode along in silence for a few minutes. Then Abner Holden,
thinking suddenly of the envelope which Dr. Kent had placed in Herbert's
hand at parting, and feeling curious as to its contents, asked:

"What did the doctor give you just as you were starting?"

"It was an envelope."

"I know that; but what was there in it?"

"I haven't looked," said our hero.

He felt a little satisfaction in snubbing Mr. Holden, whom he saw he
would never like.

"Why don't you open it?"

"I didn't think of it before."

"I suppose there is some present inside."

Herbert decided to open the envelope, out of respect for Dr. Kent. On
opening it, he drew out a five-dollar bill, and a few penciled words,
which were as follows:

"DEAR HERBERT: I would gladly give you more if I had the means. I hope
you will use the inclosed money in any way that may be most serviceable
to you. You must write to me often. Be a good boy, as you always have
been; let your aims be noble; try to do right at all hazards, and may
God bless your efforts, and make you a good and true man. Such is the
prayer of your affectionate friend, GEORGE KENT."

Herbert read these lines with emotion, and inwardly resolved that he
would try to carry out the recommendations laid down. His thoughts were
broken in upon by Mr. Holden, whose sharp eyes detected the bank-note.

"There's money in the letter, isn't there?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"Five dollars."

"Five dollars, hey?" he said. "You'd better give it to me to keep for
you."

"Thank you, Mr. Holden; I can take care of it, myself."

"It isn't a good plan for boys to have so large a sum of money in their
possession," said Abner Holden, who was anxious to secure it himself.

"Why not?" asked Herbert.

"Because they are likely to spend it improperly."

"Dr. Kent didn't seem to think I was likely to do that."

"No; he trusted you too much."

"I hope it won't prove so."

"You'd better keep out of the way of temptation. You might lose it,
besides."

"I don't often lose things."

"Come, boy," said Mr. Holden, getting impatient; "Dr. Kent, no doubt,
intended that I should take care of the money for you. You'd better give
it up without further trouble."

"Why didn't he give it to you, then?" demanded Herbert.

"He supposed you would give it to me."

Mr. Holden's motive for getting the money into his own hands was
twofold. First, he knew that without money Herbert would be more
helpless and more in his power. Secondly, as he had agreed to supply
Herbert with clothing, he thought he might appropriate the money towards
this purpose, and it would be so much of a saving to his own pocket.
Perhaps Herbert suspected some such design. At any rate, he had no
intention of gratifying Mr. Holden by giving up the money.

"Well, are you going to give me the money?" blustered Abner Holden,
taking out his pocketbook, ready to receive it.

"No," said Herbert.

"You'll repent this conduct, young man," said Holden, scowling.

"I don't think I shall," said our hero. "I don't understand why you are
so anxious to get hold of the money."

"It is for your good," said Abner.

"I'd rather keep it," said Herbert.

Abner Holden hardly knew what to do. The money was by this time safely
stowed away in Herbert's pocket, where he could not very well get at it.
However, he had a plan for getting it which he resolved to put into
practice when they stopped for dinner.




CHAPTER VI

ON THE WAY


By the time they had ridden twenty miles both Herbert and Mr. Holden
felt hungry. The fresh air had produced a similar effect upon both. They
approached a broad, low building with a swinging sign and a long piazza
in front, which it was easy to see was a country tavern.

"Do you feel hungry, boy?" inquired Abner Holden.

"Yes, sir," returned our hero.

"So do I. I think I shall get some dinner here. You can get some, too,
if you like."

"Thank you, sir."

"Oh, there's no occasion to thank me," said Mr. Holden, dryly. "I shall
pay for my dinner, and if you want any, you can pay for yours."

Herbert looked surprised. As he had entered Mr. Holden's employ, he
supposed of course that the latter would feel bound to provide for him,
and it certainly seemed mean that he should be compelled to pay for his
own dinner. However, he was beginning to suspect that his new employer
was essentially a mean man.

"How much will it cost?" asked Herbert, at length.

"Thirty-seven cents," was the reply.

It must be remembered that this was in the day of low prices, when gold
was at par, and board could be obtained at first-class city hotels for
two dollars and a half a day, and in country villages at that amount by
the week.

"Thirty-seven cents!" Herbert hardly liked to break in upon his scanty
hoard, but the morning air had sharpened his appetite, and he felt that
he must have something to eat. Besides, he remembered one thing which
fortunately Mr. Holden did not know, that in addition to the five
dollars which Dr. Kent had given him he had the ten dollars sent him by
his uncle, and not only that, but a little loose change which he had
earned.

"Well, are you going to get out?" asked Abner Holden. "It's nothing to
me whether you take dinner or not."

"Yes, I guess I will."

"Very well," said Holden, who had a reason for being pleased with his
decision.

Both went into the tavern. There were two or three loungers on a settle,
who gazed at them curiously. One of them at once appeared to recognize
Abner Holden.

"How dy do, Holden?" he said. "Who've you got with you?"

"A boy I've taken," said Holden, shortly.

"A pretty smart-looking boy. Where'd you pick him up?"

"Over in Waverley. He's got some pretty high notions, but I guess I'll
take 'em out of him in time."

"Yes," chuckled the other; "I warrant you will."

While this conversation was going on Herbert had entered the tavern, but
he could not avoid hearing what was said, including Mr. Holden's reply.
He was not frightened, but inwardly determined that he would do his
duty, and then if Mr. Holden saw fit to impose upon him, he would make
what resistance he was able.

"I wonder what high notions he means," thought our hero. "If he expects
to make a slave of me, he will be mistaken, that's all."

"Sit down there, and I'll go and order dinner," said Mr. Holden,
entering.

Just then, however, the landlord came in and greeted Abner Holden, whom
he appeared to know.

"I want dinner for two, Mr. Robinson," he said.

"For two! You haven't brought your wife along with you, Holden?" he
said, jocosely.

"No, I haven't come across any such lady yet. I've got a boy here who is
bound to me. And hark you, landlord," he added, in a lower voice, that
Herbert might not hear, "he will pay you for his dinner out of a five-
dollar bill which he has with him. YOU NEEDN'T GIVE BACK THE CHANGE TO
HIM, BUT TO ME."

"Yes, I understand," said the landlord, winking.

"I prefer to keep the money for him. He has refused to give it up and
this will give me a chance to get hold of it without any fuss."

"All right."

"If he kept it himself he'd spend it in some improper way."

"Just so. I'll attend to it."

Now our hero was gifted with pretty sharp ears, and he caught enough of
this conversation to understand Mr. Holden's plot, which he straightway
determined should not succeed.

"You shan't take me in this time, Mr. Holden," he thought.

He opened his pocketbook to see if he had enough small change to pay for
his dinner without intrenching upon his bill. There proved to be a
quarter and two half-dimes, amounting, of course, to thirty-five cents.
This would not be quite sufficient.

"I must change the bill somewhere," he said to himself.

Looking out of the tavern window, he saw the village store nearly
opposite. He took his cap and ran over. There was a clerk leaning with
his elbows upon the counter, appearing unoccupied.

It occurred to Herbert that he might want some paper and envelopes. He
inquired the price.

"We sell the paper at a penny a sheet, and the envelopes will cost you
eight cents a package."

"Then you may give me twelve sheets of paper and a package of
envelopes," said Herbert.

The package was done up for him and in payment he tendered the bill.

The clerk gave him back four dollars and eighty cents in change. He put
the money in his pocketbook, and the paper and envelopes in his jacket-
pocket, and returned to the tavern well pleased with his success. Mr.
Holden was in the barroom, taking a glass of "bitters," and had not
noticed the absence of our hero.

Dinner was soon ready.

There was some beefsteak and coffee and a whole apple pie. Herbert
surveyed the viands with satisfaction, having a decidedly good appetite.
He soon found, however, that hungry as he was, he stood a poor chance
with Abner Holden; that gentleman, being a very rapid eater, managed to
appropriate two-thirds of the beefsteak and three-quarters of the pie.
However, the supply being abundant, Herbert succeeded in making a
satisfactory repast, and did not grudge the amount which he knew he
should have to pay for it before leaving.

"Now," said Abner Holden, his eyes twinkling at the thought of our
hero's coming discomfiture, "we'll go and settle our bill."

"Very well," said Herbert, quietly.

They entered the public room and advanced to the bar.

"This boy wants to pay for his dinner, Mr. Robinson," said Abner,
significantly.

"How much will it be?" asked Herbert.

"Thirty-seven cents."

Herbert took out of his vest pocket a quarter, a dime and two cents, and
handed them over.

To say that Abner Holden looked amazed is not sufficient. He looked
disgusted and wronged, and glared at Herbert as if to inquire how he
could have the face to outrage his feelings in that way.

"Ho! ho!" laughed the landlord, who, having no interest in the matter,
was amused at the course affairs had taken.

Herbert suppressed his desire to laugh, and looked as if he had no
knowledge of Mr. Holden's plans.

"Where did you get that money?" growled Abner, with a scowl.

"Out of my vest pocket," said Herbert, innocently.

"I know that, of course, but I thought you had only a bill."

"Oh, I got that changed at the store."

"How dared you go over there without my permission?" roared Abner.

"I didn't think it necessary to ask your permission to go across the
street."

"Well, you know it now. Don't you go there again without my knowledge."

"Very well, sir."

"Did you buy anything at the store?" continued Mr. Holden.

"Yes, sir."

"What was it?"

"Some paper and envelopes."

"Humph!" muttered Abner, discontentedly.

He proceeded to pay his own bill and in a few minutes got into the wagon
and drove off rather sulkily. Herbert saw that Mr. Holden was disturbed
by the failure of his little plan, and felt amused rather than
otherwise. But when he reflected that he was going to live with this
man, and be, to a considerable extent under his control, he felt
inclined to be sad. One thing he resolved that he would not submit to
tyranny. The world was wide, and he felt able to earn his own living. He
would give Mr. Holden a trial, and if he treated him with reasonable
fairness he would remain with him. But he was not going to be any man's
slave.

Meanwhile they were getting over the road, and a few more hours brought
them to their journey's end.

Abner Holden's house stood in considerable need of paint. It had no
great pretensions to architectural beauty, being about as handsome for a
house as Abner Holden was for a man. There was a dilapidated barn, a
little to one side, and the yard was littered up with a broken wagon, a
woodpile and various odds and ends, giving the whole a very untidy look.

"Is this where you live, Mr. Holden?" asked Herbert, looking about him.

"Yes, and I'm glad to get home. Do you know how to unharness a horse?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then jump out and unharness this horse. A man will come for it to-
morrow."

Herbert did as directed. Then he took his little trunk from the wagon,
and went with it to the back door and knocked.




CHAPTER VII

A NEW HOME


The door was opened by an elderly woman, rather stout, who acted as
Abner Holden's housekeeper. Though decidedly homely, she had a pleasant
look, which impressed Herbert favorably. He had feared she might turn
out another edition of Mr. Holden, and with two such persons he felt
that it would be difficult to get along.

"Come right in," said Mrs. Bickford, for that was her name. "Let me help
you with your trunk. You can set it down here for the present."

"Thank you," said Herbert.

"You must be tired," said the housekeeper.

"No, not very," said our hero. "We rode all the way."

"Well, it's tiresome riding, at any rate, when it's such a long
distance. You came from Waverley, Mr. Holden tells me."

"Yes."

"And that is more than thirty miles away, isn't it?"

"Yes, I believe so."

"So you've come to help Mr. Holden?" she added, after a pause.

"Yes, I suppose so," said Herbert, rather seriously.

"What is your name?"

"Herbert Mason."

"I hope, Herbert, we shall be able to make you comfortable."

"Thank you," said Herbert, a little more cheerful, as he perceived that
he was to have one friend in Mr. Holden's household.

"Has Mr. Holden generally kept a boy?" he asked.

"Yes, he calculates to keep one most of the time."

"Who was the last one?"

"His name was Frank Miles."

"Was he here long?" asked Herbert, in some curiosity.

"Well, no," said the housekeeper, "he did not stay very long."

"How long?"

"He was here 'most a month."

"'Most a month? Didn't he like it?"

"Well, no; he didn't seem to like Mr. Holden much."

Herbert was not much surprised to hear this. He would have thought Frank
Miles a singular sort of a boy if he had liked Abner Holden.

"Have any of the boys that have been here liked Mr. Holden?" he asked.

"I can't say as they have," said Mrs. Bickford, frankly; "and somehow
they don't seem to stay long."

"Why didn't they like him?"

"Sh!" said the housekeeper, warningly.

Herbert looked round and saw his employer entering the room.

"Well, boy, have you put up the horse?" he asked, abruptly.

"Yes sir."

"Did you give him some hay?"

"Yes, sir."

"And some grain?"

"No, I didn't know where it was kept. If you'll tell me, I'll do it
now."

"No, you needn't. He isn't to have any. He's only a hired horse."

Considering that the hired horse had traveled over thirty miles, Herbert
thought he was entitled to some oats; but Mr. Holden was a mean man, and
decided otherwise.

"Where is Herbert to sleep, Mr. Holden?" asked the housekeeper.

"Up garret."

"There's a small corner bedroom in the second story," suggested Mrs.
Bickford, who knew that the garret was not very desirable.

"I guess he won't be too proud to sleep in the garret," said Mr. Holden.
"Shall you?" he continued, turning to Herbert.

"Put me where you please," said Herbert, coldly.

"Then it shall be the garret. You can take your trunk up now. Mrs.
Bickford will show you the way."

"It's too heavy for you, Herbert," said the housekeeper; "I will help
you."

"Oh, he can carry it alone," said Abner Holden. "He isn't a baby."

"I'd rather help him," said the housekeeper, taking one handle of the
trunk. "You go first, Herbert, You're young and spry, and can go faster
than I."

On the second landing Herbert saw the little bedroom in which the
housekeeper wanted to put him. It was plainly furnished, but it was
light and cheerful, and he was sorry he was not to have it.

"You could have had that bedroom just as well as not," said Mrs.
Bickford. "It's never used. But Mr. Holden's rather contrary, and as
hard to turn as a--"

"A mule?" suggested Herbert, laughing.

"It's pretty much so," said the housekeeper, joining in the laugh.

They went up a narrow staircase and emerged into a dark garret, running
the whole length of the house without a partition. The beams and rafters
were visible, for the sloping sides were not plastered. Herbert felt
that he might as well have been in the barn, except that there was a
small cot bedstead in the center of the floor.

"It isn't very pleasant," said the housekeeper.

"No," said Herbert, "I don't think it is."

"I declare, it's too bad you should have to sleep here. Mr. Holden isn't
very considerate."

"I guess I can stand it," said our hero, "though I should rather be
downstairs."

"I'll bring up the trap and set it before you go to bed," said Mrs.
Bickford.

"The trap!" repeated Herbert, in surprise.

"Yes, there's rats about, and I suppose you'd rather have a trap than a
cat."

"Yes; the cat would be about as bad as the rats."

At this moment Abner Holden's voice was heard at the bottom of the
stairs, and Mrs. Bickford hurried down, followed by our hero.

"I thought you were going to stay up there all day," said Mr. Holden.
"What were you about up there?"

"That is my business," said Mrs. Bickford, shortly.

The housekeeper was independent in her feelings, and, knowing that she
could readily obtain another situation, did not choose to be browbeaten
by Mr. Holden. He was quite aware of her value, and the difficulty he
would experience in supplying her place, and he put some constraint over
himself in the effort not to be rude to her. With Herbert, however, it
was different. HE was BOUND to him, and therefore in his power. Abner
Holden exulted in this knowledge, and with the instinct of a petty
tyrant determined to let Herbert realize his dependence.

"You may go out and saw some wood," he said. "You'll find the saw in the
woodshed."

"What wood shall I saw?"

"The wood in the woodpile, stupid."

"Very well, sir," said our hero, quietly.

Herbert thought Mr. Holden was losing no time in setting him to work.
However, he had resolved to do his duty, unpleasant as it might be, as
long as Abner Holden only exacted what was reasonable, and Herbert was
aware that he had a right to require him to go to work at once. Mrs.
Bickford, however, said a word in his favor.

"I've got wood enough to last till to-morrow, Mr. Holden," she said.

"Well, what of it?"

"It's likely the boy is tired."

"What's he done to make him tired, I should like to know? Ridden thirty
miles, and eaten a good dinner!"

"Which I paid for myself," said Herbert.

"What if you did?" said Abner Holden, turning to him. "I suppose you'll
eat supper at my expense, and you'd better do something, first, to earn
it."

"That I am willing to do."

"Then go out to the woodpile without any more palavering."

"Mr. Holden," said the housekeeper, seriously, after Herbert had gone
out, "if you want to keep that boy, I think you had better be careful
how you treat him."

"Why do you say that?" demanded Abner, eying her sharply. "Has he been
saying anything to you about me?"

"No."

"Then why did you say that?"

"Because I can see what kind of a boy he is."

"Well, what kind of a boy is he?" asked Abner, with a sneer.

"He is high-spirited, and will work faithfully if he's treated well, but
he won't allow himself to be imposed upon."

"How do you know that?"

"I can read it in his face. I have had some experience with boys, and
you may depend upon it that I am not mistaken."

"He had better do his duty," blustered Abner, "if he knows what's best
for himself."

"He will do his duty," said the housekeeper, firmly, "but there is a
duty which you owe to him, as well as he to you."

"Don't I always do my duty by boys, Mrs. Bickford?"

"No, Mr. Holden, I don't think you do. You know very well you can never
get a boy to stay with you."

"This boy is bound to me, Mrs. Bickford--legally bound."

"That may be; but if you don't treat him as he ought to be treated, he
will run away, take my word for it."

"If he does, he'll be brought back, take my word for that, Mrs.
Bickford. I shall treat him as I think he deserves, but as to petting
and pampering the young rascal I shall do nothing of the kind."

"I don't think you will," said the housekeeper. "However, I've warned
you."

"You seem to take a good deal of interest in the boy," said Abner,
sneeringly.

"Yes, I do."

"After half an hour's acquaintance."

"I've known him long enough to see that he's better than the common run
of boys, and I hope that he'll stay."

"There's no doubt about that," said Abner Holden, significantly. "He'll
have to stay, whether he wants to or not."




CHAPTER VIII

THE GHOST IN THE ATTIC


After working two hours at the woodpile, Herbert was called in to tea.
There was no great variety, Abner Holden not being a bountiful provider.
But the bread was sweet and good, and the gingerbread fresh. Herbert's
two hours of labor had given him a hearty appetite, and he made a good
meal. Mrs. Bickford looked on approvingly. She was glad to see that our
hero enjoyed his supper.

There was tea on the table, and, after pouring out a cup for Mr. Holden,
the housekeeper was about to pour out one for Herbert.

"He don't want any tea," said Abner, noticing the action. "Keep the cup
for yourself, Mrs. Bickford."

"What do you mean, Mr. Holden?" asked the housekeeper, in surprise.

"Tea isn't good for a growing boy. A glass of cold water will be best
for him."

"I don't agree with you, Mr. Holden," said the housekeeper, decidedly.
"Herbert has been hard at work, and needs his tea as much as you or I
do."

Therefore, without waiting for his permission, she handed the cup to
Herbert, who proceeded to taste it.

Abner Holden frowned, but neither Herbert nor the housekeeper took much
notice of it. The latter was somewhat surprised at this new freak on the
part of Abner, as he had never tried to deprive any of Herbert's
predecessors of tea or coffee. But the fact was, Mr. Holden disliked
Herbert, and was disposed to act the petty tyrant over him. He had
neither forgotten nor forgiven the boy's spirited defiance when they
first met, nor his refusal to surrender into his hands the five dollars
which the doctor had given him.

Feeling tired by eight o'clock, Herbert went up to his garret room and
undressed himself. An instinct of caution led him to take out the money
in his porte-monnaie, and put it in his trunk, which he then locked, and
put the key under the sheet, so that no one could get hold of it without
awakening him. This precaution proved to be well taken.

Herbert lay down upon the bed, but did not immediately go to sleep. He
could not help thinking of his new home, and the new circumstances in
which he was placed. He did not feel very well contented, and felt
convinced from what he had already seen of Mr. Holden, that he should
never like him. Then thoughts of his mother, and of her constant and
tender love, and the kind face he would never more see on earth, swept
over him, and almost unmanned him. To have had her still alive he would
have been content to live on dry bread and water.

He thought, too, of the doctor's family and their kindness. How
different it would have been if he might have continued to find a home
with them! But when he was tempted to repine, the thought of his
mother's Christian instructions came to him, and he was comforted by the
reflection, that whatever happened to him was with the knowledge of his
Father in heaven, who would not try him above his strength.

Try and trust! That was almost the last advice his mother had given him,
as the surest way of winning the best success.

"Yes," he thought, "I will try and trust, and leave the rest with God."

Meanwhile Mr. Holden had not been able to keep out of his head the five
dollars which he knew Herbert possessed. He was a mean man, and wished
to appropriate it to his own use. Besides this, he was a stubborn man,
and our hero's resistance only made him the more determined to triumph
over his opposition by fair means or foul. It struck him that it would
be a good idea to take advantage of our hero's slumber, and take the
money quietly from his pocketbook while he was unconscious.

Accordingly, about eleven o'clock, he went softly up the attic stairs
with a candle in his hand, and, with noiseless steps, approached the
bed. Herbert's regular breathing assured him that he was asleep. Abner
Holden took up his pants and felt for his pocketbook. He found it, and
drew it out with exultation.

"Aha!" he thought; "I've got it."

But this brief exultation was succeeded by quick disappointment. The
pocketbook proved to be quite empty.

"Curse it!" muttered Abner, "what has the boy done with his money?"

It was at this moment that Herbert, his eyes possibly affected by the
light, awoke, and he discovered his employer examining his pocketbook.

His first feeling was indignation, but the sight of Abner Holden's
disappointed face amused him, and he determined not to reveal his
wakefulness, but to watch, him quietly.

"Perhaps he's got two pocketbooks," thought Abner. But in this he was
mistaken.

Next he went to Herbert's trunk, and tried it, but found it locked.

"I wonder where he keeps the key," was his next thought.

He searched Herbert's pockets, but the search was in vain.

"Plague take the young rascal!" he muttered, loud enough for Herbert to
hear.

Herbert turned in bed, and Abner Holden, fearing that he might wake up,
and being on the whole, rather ashamed of his errand, and unwilling to
be caught in it, went downstairs.

"Well, he didn't make much," thought our hero. "It's lucky I thought to
put the money in my trunk. If he only knew I had fifteen dollars,
instead of five, he would be all the more anxious to get hold of it."

"How did you sleep last night, Herbert?" inquired the housekeeper at
breakfast.

"Very well, thank you, Mrs. Bickford."

He was resolved not to drop a hint of what had happened, being curious
to see if Mr. Holden would make any further attempts to obtain his
money. As his employer might possibly find a key that would unlock the
trunk, he thought it prudent, during the day, to carry the money about
with him.

He hardly knew whether to expect a visit from Abner the next night, but
formed a little plan for frightening him if such a visit should take
place.

It so happened that he had in his trunk a fish horn which had been given
him by someone in Waverley. This he took out of the trunk before
retiring and hid it under his pillow. It was about nine o'clock when he
went to bed, but by considerable effort he succeeded in keeping awake
for an hour or two.

About eleven o'clock, Abner Holden, before going to bed himself, decided
to make one more attempt to obtain possession of Herbert's money. He
reflected that possibly our hero had only put away his money by chance
on the previous evening, and might have neglected to do so on the
present occasion. He desired to get possession of it before any part of
it was spent, as, judging from what he knew of boys, it would not remain
long unexpended.

Once more, therefore, he took his candle, and removing his thick-soled
shoes, which might betray him by their sound, crept softly up the steep
and narrow staircase.

But Herbert heard him, and moreover was warned of his visit by the light
of the candle which he carried. He closed his eyes, and awaited his
coming in silent expectation.

Abner Holden looked towards the bed. Herbert's eyes were closed, and his
breathing was deep and regular.

"He's sound asleep," thought Abner, with satisfaction.

He set down the candle on a chair beside the bed, and began to examine
our hero's pocketbook once more. But it proved to be empty as before. In
the pocketbook, however, he found a key, the key, as he supposed, to
Herbert's trunk. It was not, however, being only a key which Herbert had
picked up one day in the street, and kept. He had put it in his pocket
with a view to mislead his employer.

That gentleman uttered a low exclamation of satisfaction when his
fingers closed upon the key, never doubting for a moment that it would
open the trunk.

Leaving the candle in its place, he rose from his recumbent position,
threw the pants on the bed, and went round on the other side, to try the
key.

He got down on his knees before the trunk, and had inserted the key in
the lock, or rather had made an ineffectual attempt to do so, when
suddenly the candle was extinguished, and a horrible blast on the fish
horn resounded through the garret.

Now, Abner Holden was not a very courageous man. In fact, he was
inclined to superstition. He knew that he was engaged in a dishonorable
attempt to rob a boy who was placed in his charge, and there is an old
proverb that says "conscience makes cowards of us all." It must be
admitted that it was rather calculated to affect the nerves to find
one's self suddenly in the dark, and at the same time to hear such a
fearful noise proceeding from an unknown quarter.

Abner Holden jumped to his feet in dire dismay, and, without stopping to
reflect on the probable cause of this startling interruption, "struck a
bee line" for the staircase, and descended quicker, probably, than he
had ever done before, narrowly escaping tumbling the entire distance, in
his headlong haste.

Herbert had to stuff the bedclothes into his mouth to keep from bursting
into a shout of laughter, which would have revealed his agency in
producing the mysterious noise.

"I thought I heard a frightful noise last night soon after I went to
bed," said Mrs. Bickford, at the breakfast table. "Didn't you hear
anything, Mr. Holden?"

"No," said Abner, "I heard nothing. You were probably dreaming."

"Perhaps I was. Didn't you hear anything, Herbert?"

"I sleep pretty sound," said Herbert, quietly.

Abner Holden watched him as he said this, and was evidently more
perplexed than ever. But that was the last visit he paid to the garret
at night.




CHAPTER IX

EXPOSING A FRAUD


It would be hard to tell what Abner Holden's precise occupation was. He
had thirty or forty acres of land, but only cultivated enough to produce
supplies of vegetables for his own table, and grain for his horses. He
kept four cows, and he had, at this time, three horses. He had the
Yankee propensity for "swapping," and from time to time traded horses,
generally managing to get the best of the bargain, for he was tolerably
sharp and not much troubled by conscientious scruples about misstating
the merits of his horses.

But, about two months before Herbert came into his employ, he had
himself been overreached, and found himself the possessor of a horse of
excellent outward appearance, but blind of one eye, and with a very
vicious temper. He accepted the situation with a bad grace, and
determined, as soon as possible, to "trade" the horse to another party.

One day, about a fortnight after Herbert's arrival, a gentlemanly-
looking stranger knocked at Abner Holden's door.

The call was answered by the housekeeper.

"Is Mr. Holden at home?" he inquired.

"Yes, sir," was the reply.

"I should like to see him."

Abner Holden soon made his appearance.

"Mr. Holden." said the stranger "I am in search of a good family horse.
I am told that you have some animals for sale, and called on you,
thinking I might get suited through you."

"You've come to the right place," said Abner, glibly. "I've got just the
animal that will suit you."

"I should like to see it."

"He's in the pasture now. If you don't object to walking a short
distance, I will show him to you. I feel sure he will suit you."

"Very well, I will go with you."

"This way, then."

The two walked down a green lane at the back of the house to the
entrance of the pasture, where the three horses, at present comprising
Abner Holden's entire stock, were grazing leisurely.

Now, it happened that, of the three, the blind and vicious horse was
much the best looking. He held his head erect, had a graceful form, and
was likely to attract favorable notice at first sight.

Abner Holden paused at a little distance, and pointed him out.

"What do you think of that horse, Mr. Richmond?" he said.

"A very good-looking animal," said the stranger, with an approving
glance; "but I must explain that I want such an animal as my wife can
drive. It is absolutely necessary that he should be good-tempered and
gentle. If, with this, he is handsome, and of good speed, all the
better. Now you know what I am in search of. Can you recommend this
horse of yours?"

"Yes," said Abner, confidently, "he will just suit you. I did calculate
to keep him for my own use, but I'm rather short of money, and I shall
have to let him go."

"You say he is gentle?"

"Oh, yes, as gentle as need be."

"Could a woman drive him?"

"Oh, no trouble about that," said Abner.

"And he has no serious defect?"

"No."

"Well, that seems satisfactory. I like his appearance. He would look
well in harness. What is your price?"

"Two hundred and fifty dollars, cash down," said Abner. "That's too
cheap. He's worth a cool hundred more, but I got him cheap, and can
afford to sell him cheap."

The horse had cost Mr. Holden just a hundred and ten dollars, and at
this price he considered himself decidedly taken in; but this he did not
particularly care to mention.

"Two hundred and fifty dollars!" mused the stranger. "It is a little
more than I intended to pay. Still, if the animal is what you describe,
I don't know that I shall object on that score."

"You had better take him," said Abner. "It'll be the best bargain you
ever made, I'll warrant. You'll pay cash down, I suppose?"

"Of course."

"Then shall we say it's a bargain?"

"Not quite yet. I'll take till the afternoon to think about it."

"Better decide now. The fact is, Mr. Richmond, I ought not to let the
horse go at that figure, and I may change my mind."

"I think I shall take your horse, but I have agreed to look at another,
and must see that first."

"Whose?"

"It belongs to a man named Nichols."

"Sam Nichols?"

"I believe so."

"I wouldn't advise you to have anything to do with him."

"Why not?"

"He's a regular sharper. You can't depend on anything he says."

"Thank you for the caution. I will be on my guard. But I promised to
take a look at his horse before deciding. If I don't come to terms with
him, and I don't think I shall, I will come round some time this
afternoon and make a bargain with you."

Mr. Holden thought it was hardly politic to urge him farther. With a
renewed caution as to dealing with Sam Nichols, he let him go.

"Well," thought Abner, after he was gone, "it will be a pretty good
thing if I get rid of Spitfire"--he had named him thus--"for two hundred
and fifty dollars. He's a bad-tempered brute, and blind into the
bargain. But I'm not bound to tell Mr. Richmond that, and so spoil my
trade. I've put a flea in his ear about Nichols, and I guess he will be
back again."

The prospect of making a good bargain caused Abner to be unusually
pleasant and good-humored, so much so that Mrs. Bickford regarded him
with surprise. He voluntarily asked her if she did not wish something at
the store, volunteering to bring home whatever was needed.

"What's come over the man?" thought the housekeeper. "It's too good to
last."

She was quite correct there. Mr. Holden was naturally crabbed, and fair
weather with him was the exception rather than the rule. On the present
occasion it did not last many hours.

Abner Holden went to the store, but made other calls on the way, so that
he was three hours absent, and did not return till twelve o'clock, the
usual dinner hour in his household.

Meanwhile, Mr. Richmond, his caller of the morning, had been to see Sam
Nichols, and inspected the horse he had for sale. He did not altogether
like its appearance, and, moreover, he was prejudiced against him by
what he had heard from Abner Holden, and came away without effecting a
purchase.

"I don't think I can do better," he reflected, "than to take that horse
of Holden's. Let me see, it is only half-past ten. I shall have time to
go up there this morning. I suppose I might as well settle matters at
once."

Accordingly, eleven o'clock found him again in Abner Holden's yard.

Herbert was out in the yard, engaged in splitting wood.

"Is Mr. Holden at home?" inquired the stranger, pausing.

"No, sir."

"Will he be at home soon?"

"Yes, sir, I think so. He only went out to the store. He ought to be
home now."

"Then I think I will wait. I was here once before this morning. I was
talking with him about buying one of his horses. If you can spare the
time, I would like to have you go with me to the pasture, and I will
take another look at the one I saw this morning."

"Certainly, sir," said Herbert, driving the ax into the block upon which
he had been splitting, prepared to accompany Mr. Richmond to the
pasture.

They reached the bars dividing the pasture from the next field. Spitfire
was cropping the grass just on the other side.

"There," said the stranger, pointing him out, "that is the horse I was
looking at."

"THAT ONE!" repeated Herbert, in a tone of surprise.

"Yes, he is a fine-looking animal."

"Ye-es," said Herbert, hesitatingly.

"However, I don't so much care about that, as for his being gentle. I
want him for a family horse, such as my wife may drive, without fear,
while I am away."

"Did Mr. Holden say he's gentle?" asked Herbert.

"Yes. He recommended him highly for that, and told me he had no serious
defect."

"Are you sure this is the horse?" asked Herbert.

"Certainly. I am not likely to be mistaken in it. I suppose it is all as
he says?"

Herbert was in a perplexing position. He knew that if he told the truth
he should incur Abner Holden's anger, but his conscience revolted at
suffering the stranger to be taken in, and thus, perhaps, exposing his
wife to serious danger.

"I am afraid I cannot confirm what Mr. Holden says," he answered,
reluctantly. "The horse is very ill-tempered, and is blind of one eye."

"Is it possible? Then I have had a narrow escape. You have done me a
good service, my boy, in telling me the truth, for I am, myself, unused
to horses, and should have taken the animal on your employer's
recommendation. Accept this acknowledgment of my indebtedness."

He would have placed a five-dollar bill in Herbert's hand, but our hero
firmly refused to receive it.

"I have only done my duty, sir. I cannot accept money for doing that.
Thank you all the same."

"Perhaps you are right, my lad. If I ever have a chance to serve you,
don't hesitate to let me know it."

"There'll be a storm if Mr. Holden hears of this," thought Herbert. "But
I could not do otherwise."




CHAPTER X

THE CLOUDS GATHER


At twelve o'clock Abner Holden returned home, still in good humor. As he
did not anticipate another call from his expected customer until the
afternoon, he made no inquiries.

"Perhaps he won't hear about it," thought Herbert, and as he did not
wish to have any trouble with Mr. Holden, he hoped it might prove so.

Abner was so elated at the thought of his good bargain in prospect, that
he could not keep it to himself.

"I've about sold Spitfire, Mrs. Bickford," he said to the housekeeper.

"Sold Spitfire! Who wants to buy him?"

"A man that called here this morning. What do you think he wants him
for?"

"To break his neck," suggested the housekeeper.

"He wants him for a good family horse for his wife to drive," and Abner
Holden burst into a laugh.

"Perhaps he's anxious to become a widower," said Mrs. Bickford.

"No; the fact is he thinks the horse is gentle."

"You told him so, I suppose?"

"Of course, I did."

"Knowing it to be false?"

"Shut up, Mrs. Bickford. You know all is fair in trade."

"No, I don't, Mr. Holden. To my mind, a lie's just as much a lie in
trade as in anything else. I suppose the man trusted to your
recommendation."

"Suppose he did. I got cheated on the horse, and I've got to get rid of
it, somehow. As it is, I shall make a handsome profit."

"Well, Mr. Holden, all I've got to say is, I am glad I haven't got as
tough a conscience as you have."

"You don't know anything about business, Mrs. Bickford."

"Well, manage things your own way. I ain't responsible, but I pity the
poor man if he buys Spitfire."

"So do I," chuckled Abner. "That's where you and I agree, Mrs.
Bickford."

Herbert listened in silence. He was disgusted with the utter disregard
of fair dealing exhibited by Abner Holden, though he was not surprised
at it. He felt glad that he had been the means of saving Mr. Richmond
from being overreached, though he know very well that Mr. Holden's rage
would be furious when he learned what had interfered with the trade. He
did not feel under any obligations to reveal his own agency in the
matter, unless direct inquiry was made of him. In that case, he would
manfully stand by his acts.

"I'm expecting the man this afternoon, Mrs. Bickford," said Mr. Holden,
"and shall stay around home to see him. When he comes, call me at once;
and mind, not a word about Spitfire."

"Just as you say. I wash my hands of the whole affair."

"Washing your hands won't do you any harm," said Abner, with a laugh at
what he supposed to be a witticism.

Mrs. Bickford took no notice of this remark. It was not quite easy to
say why she remained in charge of Mr. Holden's household, for certainly,
she had no respect for her employer. However, he did not meddle with
her, or, if he did, he got the worst of it, and it was perhaps the
independence that she enjoyed which led her to remain in the house.
Knowing Abner's character, she was not particularly shocked at this last
evidence of it, but went about her work as usual, with scarcely a
thought of what had passed.

Abner Holden sat at the window, and looked up the road, awaiting
anxiously the appearance of the customer.

"I hope he'll bring the money with him," he thought. "I'd like to have
matters all arranged to-day, before he smells a rat. If I get the money
once in my hands, he may scold all he pleases about the horse. It won't
disturb my rest."

But the old clock in the corner kept ticking--minute after minute
passed--and still the stranger did not appear.

"He can't have struck a bargain with Sam Nichols," muttered Abner,
apprehensively. "If he has, it'll be sort of a swindle on me. Maybe
Nichols has been telling him lies about me."

Abner waxed so angry over this supposition, that although it was merely
conjecture, he already began to consider in what way he could "come up
with Sam Nichols."

"That money would come very handy," thought Abner. "There's a horse
worth two of Spitfire, I can get for a hundred and fifty, and that would
leave me a hundred. I wish he would come."

He looked out of the window, and, not content with that, went out of the
front door, and, shading his eyes with his hands, looked up the road.
But he could see nothing of Mr. Richmond. Abner began to fear that he
had lost his bargain.

"I guess I'll put on my hat and go round to the tavern," he said to Mrs.
Bickford. "If the gentleman I spoke of should call while I am away, just
send the boy around after me as quick as possible."

"Very well."

Abner Holden walked hurriedly to the tavern, determined to bring about a
bargain, which would be so desirable for him, if it were a possible
thing. He must and would get rid of Spitfire, however many falsehoods he
might have to tell. What was truth in comparison to two hundred and
fifty dollars! Suppose Spitfire should run away with the stranger's wife
and break her limbs, or even her neck, it was everybody's duty to look
out for himself in this world.

Thus reasoned Abner Holden. There is no particular need of my commenting
upon the fallacy of this reasoning, since it is not likely that any of
my young readers will sufficiently admire his character to be in any
danger of being led into imitation of it.

At the end of a very few minutes, Abner stood on the piazza, of the
tavern, a little out of breath with rapid walking.

"Is Mr. Richmond still here?" he inquired of the landlord, anxiously.

"Yes, but he means to leave in five minutes."

"Where is he?"

"In his room."

"I want to see him on particular business--I wish you would send up and
ask him to come down."

"Very well."

"William," said the landlord, summoning his son, "go up and tell Mr.
Richmond that Mr. Holden wishes to see him."

"You don't know of his having bought a horse of Sam Nichols, do you?"
asked Abner, nervously, of the landlord.

"No, I am sure he has not."

Abner felt somewhat relieved by this. As long as he was still unprovided
with a horse, there was still a chance of Spitfire. He resolved, if
necessary, to abate something from the rather high price he had demanded
in the morning.

Mr. Richmond followed William downstairs.

"You wish to see me?" he asked, glancing toward Mr. Holden.

"Yes, about the horse you were looking at this morning."

"I have concluded not to take him," said the other, coldly.

"You didn't buy of Sam Nichols, did you?"

"No; his horse did not suit me."

"You haven't any other in your eye, have you?" asked Mr. Holden.

"No."

"Then, hadn't you better look at mine again?" he said, persuasively.

"It would be of no use."

"If the price is any objection," said Abner, insinuatingly, "I don't
know but I might say a LEETLE less, though the animal's wuth more'n I
ask for it."

"It isn't the price that stands in the way, Mr. Holden."

"What is it, then? Sam Nichols hain't been slandering me, I hope. If he
has, I'll be even with him."

"Spare your anger against Sam Nichols. He said nothing against you;
though I believe you warned me against him."

"Yes, I did. I felt it my duty to caution you, so you might not be
overreached by him."

"You prefer to overreach me yourself," said the other, quietly.

Abner started, and changed color.

"What do you mean?" he said. "Who told you I wanted to overreach you?"

"Why, this is the way the matter stands. I asked you for a good family
horse, such as my wife might drive with safety. Didn't you understand me
so?"

"Of course."

"And you tried to sell me an ill-tempered brute, blind of one eye, for
an extortionate price. Can you deny it?"

"Somebody's been telling you a pack of lies," said Abner, hoarsely.

"I don't think they are lies. I have every reason to think they are
true. By the way, what is the animal's name?"

"Spitfire," said Abner, rather reluctantly.

"A good name for a family horse," said the stranger, sarcastically.

"Where did you learn all this?" demanded Abner. "Who's been slandering
the horse?"

"I got my information at your place, from one who ought to know."

A light dawned upon Abner Holden's mind.

"Herbert told him," muttered Abner to himself. "That cursed boy has
spoiled my bargain, and he shall smart for it."

In a furious rage, he retraced his steps homeward, breathing threats of
vengeance dire against our hero.




CHAPTER XI

A CRISIS


Abner Holden's disappointment was excessive at the sudden falling
through of his horse trade, and his feeling of anger against Herbert for
his agency in the matter was in proportion to his disappointment. His
chief thought, as he hurried home from the tavern, was that he would
make the boy smart for his interference.

"I'll give him a good flogging," muttered Abner to himself, and he felt
that this would be some slight compensation for the injury and slight
loss which Herbert had caused him to sustain.

"I'll teach him to spoil my bargains," he said, while his face wore an
expression decidedly ugly. "I reckon he won't do it a second time."

It was in this frame of mind that he reached home.

Herbert had just entered the kitchen with an armful of wood for the
housekeeper, and having thrown down his burden, was about to go back,
when, on turning, he confronted the stormy and wrathful face of his
employer.

"He's found out," Herbert concluded at once, and he braced his nerves
for the storm which he knew must come.

"Well, young man, I've an account to settle with you," said Abner,
abruptly.

Herbert did not reply, but waited for Mr. Holden to state the matter.
But in Abner's present angry condition, he chose to construe his silence
into cause of offense.

"Why don't you speak?" he said. "What do you mean by looking me
impudently in the face?"

"I have no intention of being impudent," said Herbert. "I think you are
mistaken, Mr. Holden."

"Do you dare to tell me I am mistaken?" roared Holden, lashing himself
into a rage.

"I don't mean to do or say anything that is not perfectly respectful,"
said Herbert, manfully, looking steadily in his employer's face.

"Why did you tell a pack of lies about my horse this morning, and so
make me lose my trade?"

"I didn't tell a pack of lies," said Herbert.

"Didn't you tell the man who came here that he was an ill-tempered
brute, and blind of one eye?"

Abner Holden glared upon the boy as if he wanted to spring upon him, and
give him a thrashing on the spot.

"I told him that Spitfire was not suitable for a family horse."

"What did you tell him that for?"

"Because it was true."

"Supposing it was true, didn't you know that you were spoiling my
trade?"

"I am sorry for that, Mr. Holden, but if he had bought the horse,
supposing it to be gentle, it might have broken his wife's neck."

"What business was that of yours? That was his lookout."

"I didn't look upon it in that way. I thought he ought to buy the horse
with his eyes open."

"You did, did you?" roared Abner. "Then I advise you to open your own
eyes, for you're going to get one of the worst lickings you ever had."

Abner Holden's anger now reached an ungovernable pitch. Looking about
him for a weapon, he espied the broom resting against the wall. He
seized it, and with a scream of rage, made for Herbert, shaking off the
grasp of the housekeeper, who tried to stay him.

Herbert, perceiving the peril in which he stood, ran round the table,
which stood, with leaves open, in the middle of the floor. Abner pursued
him with headlong haste.

"Lord preserve us! The man is mad!" ejaculated the housekeeper, trying
to get out of the way. But in this she was not successful. The kitchen
was small, and before she could guard against a collision, Abner had
stumbled over Mrs. Bickford, and both came down together. She uttered a
succession of piercing shrieks, and, with a view of relieving Herbert,
pretended that her life was in danger, grasping Abner by the hair and
holding him fast.

Herbert saw that this was the favorable moment for escape, and, seizing
his hat, dashed out of the house. He ran across the fields as fast as
his limbs could carry him, expecting that he would be pursued. Before we
follow him, we will describe the scene that took place after his flight.

"Let go my hair, Mrs. Bickford!" exclaimed Abner, tugging vainly to
break from the housekeeper's grasp.

"I dare not," she said. "I'm afraid you'll murder me."

"You are making a fool of yourself," retorted Abner. "What should I
murder you for? But I will, if you don't let go!"

"Hello, who's talking of murder?" demanded a rough voice.

The speaker was a neighbor, who chanced to be passing, and was led to
enter by the uproar, which was plainly audible outside.

"Save me!" exclaimed Mrs. Bickford. "He's threatened to murder me."

"Stop your nonsense, you old fool!" retorted Abner, vexed at the
equivocal position in which he was placed.

"What's all this row about? Mr. Holden, you ought to be ashamed of
yourself for attacking a defenseless woman."

"I didn't intend to," said Abner, sullenly. "She got in my way, and I
stumbled over her; and then she seized me by the hair."

"What were you going to do with that broom?" demanded the other,
suspiciously.

"What was I going to do? I was going to thrash that rascally boy of
mine, and Mrs. Bickford knew it perfectly well."

"What has he done?"

"He? He's spoiled a trade of mine by his lying, and I was going to flog
him for it, when Mrs. Bickford got in my way."

"Well, said the visitor, shrugging his shoulders, "I don't want to
interfere in your affairs. I suppose that you've a right to flog the
boy. but it strikes me that a broom handle is rather an ugly weapon."

"It isn't half heavy enough," said Abner, savagely; "but where is the
boy? Did you see him?"

"Given leg-bail, I reckon, and I don't wonder at it."

"Run away?" ejaculated Abner, disappointed. "Did you see where he went?"

"No, I didn't, and if I had, I'm not sure that I would tell you."

Abner would like to have thrashed the man who showed so little sympathy
with his anger, but he felt that it would hardly be prudent. He went to
the door and looked out. But there was no trace of Herbert to be
discovered.

"He'll get it when he does come back," he said to himself.

The idea that Herbert might not come back at all never once occurred to
him. He resolved that the flogging should lose nothing by being
deferred.

We must now return to Herbert, whom we left running across the fields.

His departure had been so sudden, that his prominent idea was to get out
of the way of his employer's violence. He was at first under the
impression that he was pursued, but when, after running perhaps a
quarter of a mile, he ventured to look around, he saw, to his great
relief, that there was no one on his track. Being out of breath, he
stopped, and, throwing himself down on the grass in the shadow of a
stone wall, began to consider his plans for the future.

Everything was in doubt except one point. He felt that he had broken,
finally, the tie that bound him to Mr. Holden. He would not return to
him. He had experienced enough of Abner's ugly and unreasonable temper
to feel that there could be no harmony between them, and as to
submitting to personal violence from such a man as that, his blood
boiled at the thought. He knew that he should resist with all the
strength he possessed, and what the result might be he did not dare to
think. What lay before him in the future he could not conjecture, but
whatever it might be, he felt that it was better than to remain an
inmate of Abner Holden's household, and in his power.

But where should he go? That was a question not easily answered. After
his experience of his uncle's indifference to him, he did not wish to
appeal to him for aid, yet he felt that he should like to go to New York
and try his fortune there. Thousands of people lived there, and earned
enough to support them comfortably. Why not he? It was a thousand miles
off, and he might be some time in getting there. He might have to stop
and work on the way. But, sooner or later, he resolved that he would
find his way to the great metropolis.

But there was one difficulty which presented itself at the outset. This
difficulty related to his clothing. He had on a pair of overalls and a
ragged vest which Abner had provided for him, intending that he should
save the good suit he brought with him for Sundays. His present suit,
which had been worn by half a dozen of his predecessors, Herbert
decidedly objected to wearing, as, in addition to being faded and worn,
it was by no means a good fit. He must get his other suit.

But this was in Mr. Holden's attic, and it would hardly be prudent to
venture back for it, as Abner was on the lookout for him, and there
would be a collision, and perhaps he might be forcibly detained.
Fortunately, his money he had about him. This amounted, as the reader
already knows, to nearly fifteen dollars, and would, no doubt, be of
essential service to him in the project which he had undertaken. As to
the clothes, he must think of a way of securing them, before setting out
on his journey to New York.




CHAPTER XII

RALPH THE RANGER


One thing was certain. There was no chance of obtaining the clothes at
present. Probably his best course would be to wait till night, and then
come back to the house on the chance of gaining Mrs. Bickford's
attention. In the meantime, probably, the best thing to be done was to
conceal himself temporarily in a belt of woods lying about a mile back
of Abner Holden's house.

As soon as his breath was recovered, Herbert got up, and headed for
these woods. A few minutes found him in the midst of them. He made his
way with some difficulty through the underbrush, parting the thick stems
with his hands, until he reached a comparatively open space of perhaps
an acre in extent. In the midst of this space a rude hut was visible,
constructed of logs, and covered with the branches of trees. In front of
it, sitting on the stump of a tree, which perhaps had been spared for
that purpose, sat a tall man, with very brown complexion, clad in a
rough hunting suit. His form, though spare, was tough and sinewy, and
the muscles of his bare arms seemed like whipcords. A short, black pipe
was in his mouth. The only covering of his head was the rough, grizzled
hair, which looked as if for months it had never felt the touch of a
comb or brush.

Herbert, though he had never before seen this singular being, recognized
him at once as Ralph the Ranger, as he was properly called in the
village. For years he had lived a hermit-like existence in the forest,
supporting himself mainly by his rifle. This was not difficult, for his
wants were few and simple. What cause led him to shun the habitations of
his kind, and make his dwelling in the woods, no one knew, and perhaps
no one ever would know, for of himself he was silent, and it was not
easy to draw him out.

He looked up as he heard Herbert's step, and said, abruptly: "Well, boy,
what do you want?"

His manner was rough, but our hero was not afraid. He answered frankly,
"I am hiding."

"Hiding? Who from?"

"From Abner Holden."

"Humph! Why should you hide from him? What has he to do with you?"

"I am bound to him, and he is angry with me because he thinks I
interfered in a trade of his. He wanted to beat me, so I ran away."

"Good!" said Ralph, approvingly. "Tell me about it."

Herbert drew near, and told his story.

Ralph listened attentively.

"Boy," said he, "I think you are honest. There are not many that can be
said of. As for Abner Holden, I know him. He's a mean skinflint. Pah!"
and he spit, contemptuously. "You'd better not go back to him."

"I don't mean to," said Herbert, promptly.

"What are your plans? Have you formed any?"

"I want to go to New York."

"To New York," repeated Ralph, thoughtfully. "You wish to get into the
crowd, while I seek to avoid it. But it is natural to youth. At your
age, it was so with me. I hope, my boy, the time will not come when you,
like me, will wish to shun the sight of men."

Herbert listened in sympathy, not unmingled with surprise, to the speech
of this man, which was quite superior to what might have been expected
from one of his appearance.

"When do you wish to start?" asked Ralph, after a pause.

"First, I want to get my clothes."

"Where are they?"

"In my room, at Mr. Holden's house."

"How do you expect to get them?"

"Mrs. Bickford, the housekeeper, is a friend of mine. I thought I might
go there to-night, and attract her attention without rousing Mr. Holden.
She would get them for me."

"Good! I will go with you."

"Will you?" asked Herbert, gladly.

He had felt a little doubt as to the result of his expedition, as, if
Mr. Holden should be awake and start in pursuit, he would stand a good
chance of being captured, which, above all things, he most dreaded. But
with so able an auxiliary as Ralph, he knew he could bid easy defiance
to Abner, however much the latter might desire to molest him.

"Yes, I will stand by you, and you shall share my cabin with me as long
as you like. You are not afraid of me?"

"No," said Herbert, quickly.

Ralph looked kindly at him.

"Some of the children run from me," he said. "It is not strange,
perhaps, for I look savage, I suppose, but you do well to trust me. I
will be your friend, and that is something I have not said to any living
being for years. I like your face. It is brave and true."

"Thank you for your favorable opinion, Mr.--" Here Herbert paused in
uncertainty, for he had never heard Ralph's surname.

"Call me Ralph. I have done with the title of \ civilization. Call me
Ralph. That will suit me best."

"Thank you for your kindness, then, Ralph."

"What is your name?"

"Herbert--Herbert Mason."

"Then, Herbert, I think you must be hungry. Have you eaten your dinner?"

"No," said Herbert.

"Then you shall share mine. My food is of the plainest, but such as it
is, you are welcome. Come in."

Herbert entered the cabin. The only table was a plank supported at each
end by a barrel. From a box in the corner Ralph drew out some corn-bread
and some cold meat. He took a tin measure, and, going out of the cabin,
filled it with water from a brook near by. This he placed on the rude
table.

"All is ready," he said. "Take and eat, if my food is not too rude."

Herbert did eat, and with appetite. He was a growing boy, whose appetite
seldom failed him, and he had been working hard since breakfast, which
he had taken at six, while it was now one o'clock. No wonder he was
hungry.

Ralph looked on with approval.

"You are the first that has shared my meal for many a long day," he
said. "Day after day, and year after year, I have broken my fast alone,
but it seems pleasant, after all," he said, musingly. "Men are
treacherous and deceitful, but you," he said, resting his glance on the
frank, ingenuous face of his youthful guest, "you must be honest and
true, or I am greatly deceived."

"I hope you will find me so," said Herbert, interested more and more in
the rough-looking recluse, about whose life he suspected there must be
some sad secret, of which the world knew nothing.

After dispatching the meal provided by his hospitable entertainer,
Herbert sat down on the grass just outside the cabin, and watched lazily
the smoke which issued from Ralph's pipe, as it rose in many a fantastic
curl.

"How long have you lived here, Ralph?" asked our hero at length.

"Ten years," said the recluse, removing his pipe from his lips.

"It is a long time."

"Yes, boy, a long time in the life of one as young as you, but to me it
seems but yesterday that I built this cabin and established myself
here."

"Are you not often lonely?"

"Lonely? Yes, but not more so than I should be in the haunts of men. I
have company, too. There are the squirrels that leap from bough to bough
of the tall trees. Then there are the birds that wake me with their
singing. They are company for me. They are better company than men.
They, at least, will not deceive me."

He paused, and bent his eyes upon the ground. He was thinking, not of
the boy beside him, but of some time in the past, and the recollection
apparently was not pleasant.

The afternoon wore away at length, and the shadows deepened in the
woods. Herbert wandered about, and succeeded in gathering some nuts,
which he carried to Ralph's cabin. When eight o'clock came, the Ranger
said: "You had better lie down and rest, my boy; I will wake you up at
twelve, and we will go together to Holden's place, and see if we can get
your clothes."

To this proposal Herbert willingly assented, as he began to feel tired.

He slept, he knew not how long, when he was gently shaken by Ralph.

"Where am I?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

The sight of the Ranger bending over him soon brought back the
recollection of his position, and he sprang up promptly. Ralph showed
him an easier way out of the woods than that by which he had entered,
and less embarrassed by the growth of underbrush.

In half an hour they were standing by Abner Holden's house. It was
perfectly dark, the inmates probably being fast asleep.

"I know where the housekeeper sleeps," said Herbert. "I'll throw up a
pebble at her window, and perhaps it will wake her up."

He did as proposed. Mrs. Bickford, who was a light sleeper, heard, and
went to the window.

"Who's there?" she asked.

"It is I, Mrs. Bickford," said Herbert.

"What, Herbert? Shall I let you in?"

"No; I don't want to come in. All I want is my clothes. They are up in
my trunk."

"I'll go up and get them for you."

She went upstairs and quickly returned with the clothes, which she let
down from the window.

"Are you hungry, Herbert?" she asked. "Let me bring you something to
eat."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Bickford; I am stopping with Ralph the Ranger. He
has kindly given me all the food I want."

"What are you going to do? Are you going to stop with him?"

"No, I am going East in a day or two. I am going to New York. I will
write to you from there."

"I am sorry to have you go, Herbert. I wish things could have been
pleasanter, so that you might have stayed. But I think I hear Mr. Holden
stirring. Good-by, and may God be with you!"

She closed the window hastily, and Herbert, not wishing to get into a
collision with Abner Holden, who he suspected might have heard
something, withdrew swiftly. Ralph, who was standing near by, joined
him, and both together went back to the woods.




CHAPTER XIII

A MOMENT OF PERIL


Abner Holden did not suspect that Herbert actually intended to leave him
permanently; but when evening came, and he did not return, he became
apprehensive that such was the case. Now, for more than one reason, he
objected to our hero's leaving. First, because he was a strong, capable
boy, and his services were worth considerable, and, secondly, because he
disliked Herbert, and it was a satisfaction to tyrannize over him, as
his position enabled him to do. There are some men in whom the instinct
of petty tyranny exists to such an extent that they cannot feel happy
without someone to exercise their authority over. Such a man was Abner
Holden. He was a bully and a tyrant by nature, and decidedly objected to
losing one so completely in his power as Herbert was.

When night came and Herbert did not return, he decided to search for
him, and bring him back, if found, the very next day. He did not impart
his purpose to Mrs. Bickford, for he was at no loss to discover that the
sympathies of the kind-hearted housekeeper were not with him, but with
the boy whom he wished to abuse. When breakfast was over, therefore, he
merely said: "Mrs. Bickford, I am going out for a short time. If Herbert
should return while I am absent, you may tell him to finish hoeing those
potatoes in the garden."

"Do you think he will come back, Mr. Holden?" asked the housekeeper.

"Yes; he will soon be tired of wandering about. He will learn to prize a
good home after he has slept out of doors one night."

Mrs. Bickford did not reply; but she did not feel quite so much
confidence as her employer appeared to do in the excellence of the home
which Herbert had enjoyed under Abner Holden's roof.

"It's just as well he doesn't suspect Herbert's plan," she thought, and
without further words, began to clear away the breakfast dishes.

Abner was not long in deciding that Herbert was hidden in the woods.
That, indeed, seemed the most natural place of refuge for one placed in
his circumstances. He determined, therefore, to seek there first.

We must now return to Herbert.

"If you will wait till nightfall," said Ralph, "you will be more safe
from pursuit, and I will accompany you for a few miles."

This seemed plausible, and our hero consented.

Ralph went off on a hunting expedition, but Herbert remained behind,
fearing that he might tear or stain his clothes, of which it was
necessary, now, to be careful. How to pass the time was the question. To
tell the truth, the hunter's cabin contained little that would help him.
There were no books visible, for Ralph seemed to have discarded
everything that would remind him of that civilization which he had
forsaken in disgust.

Herbert went outside, and watched the squirrels that occasionally made
their appearance flitting from branch to branch of the tall trees. After
a while his attention was drawn to a bird, which flew with something in
its beak nearly to the top of a tall tree not far off.

"I shouldn't wonder," thought Herbert, interested, "if she's got a nest,
and some young ones up there. I have a great mind to climb up and see
whether she has or not."

He measured the tree with his eye. It was very tall, exceeding in its
height most of its forest neighbors.

"I don't know as I can climb it," he said to himself, a little
doubtfully; "but anyway, I am going to try. There's nothing like
trying."

This was a lucky determination for Herbert, as will speedily appear.

It was twenty feet to the first branching off, and this was, of course,
the most difficult part of the ascent, since it was necessary to "shin
up," and the body of the tree was rather too large to clasp comfortably.
However, it was not the first time that Herbert had climbed a tree, and
he was not deficient in courage as well as skill. So he pushed on his
way, and though once or twice in danger of falling, he at length
succeeded in reaching the first bough. From this point the ascent was
comparatively easy.

In a short time our hero was elated to find himself probably fifty feet
from the ground, so high it made him feel a little dizzy to look down.
He reached the nest, and found the young birds--three in number. The
parent bird hovered near by, evidently quite alarmed for the safety of
her brood. But Herbert had no intention of harming them. He only climbed
up to gratify his curiosity, and because he had nothing more important
to do. Though he did not know it, his own danger was greater than that
which threatened the birds. For, just at that moment, Mr. Holden, in his
wanderings, had reached Ralph's cabin, and Herbert, looking down,
beheld, with some anxiety, the figure of the unwelcome visitor. He saw
Abner enter the cabin, and, after a few moments' interval, issue from it
with an air of disappointment and dissatisfaction.

"How lucky," thought our hero, "that he did not find me inside!"

Abner Holden looked about him in every direction but the right one. He
little dreamed that the object of his pursuit was looking down upon him,
securely, from above.

"I don't think he'll find me," thought Herbert. "Wouldn't he give
something, though, to know where I am?"

But our young hero was doomed to disappointment. Just at that moment--
the unluckiest that could have been selected--he was seized with a
strong inclination to sneeze.

Alarmed lest the sound should betray him, he made desperate efforts to
suppress it but Nature would have its way, and probably did so with
greater violence than if no resistance had been made.

"Ker-chew!" sneezed Herbert, violently.

As he anticipated, Abner's attention was attracted by the loud noise,
which he rightly concluded could hardly proceed from a bird or squirrel.
He had just been on the point of leaving the cabin for some other part
of the woods, but at this sound he stood still. Looking up to discover
whence it proceeded, his keen eyes detected Herbert in his lofty perch.
His eyes sparkled with joy.

"Ha, you young rascal!" he exclaimed. "So you are there, are you? You
were going to run away, were you?"

Now that Herbert was actually discovered, his fear left him, and he
became perfectly self-possessed and confident.

"Yes, Mr. Holden," he answered, quietly; "such is my intention."

"Boldly spoken," said Abner, provoked by our hero's coolness, for he had
hoped to find him terrified and pleading for forgiveness. "I admire your
frankness, and will try to equal it. I suppose you'll give it up as a
bad job now."

"No, sir," said Herbert, firmly.

"Take care, sir," said Abner, in anger and astonishment. "Take care how
you defy me. Come down here at once."

"What for?" inquired Herbert, without stirring.

"What for?" repeated Abner Holden. "That I may flog you within an inch
of your life."

"That's no inducement," said our hero, coolly.

"Do you refuse to obey me?" shouted Abner, stamping angrily.

"I refuse to be flogged. You don't get me down for any such purpose, Mr.
Holden."

"Then, by Heaven, if you won't come otherwise, I'll come up and help you
down."

The angry man at once commenced the ascent. Anger gave him strength,
and, though he was unaccustomed to climbing, he continued to mount up
about halfway to the first branching off, somewhat to Herbert's
uneasiness, for he felt there was a chance that he might fall into
Abner's clutches.

But Abner's success was only temporary. At the height of a dozen feet he
began to slip, and, despite his frantic struggles, he slid gradually to
the ground, tearing his coat, which he had not taken the precaution to
remove, and blistering his hands.

What was to be done?

In his anger and excitement, he drew a pistol from his breast pocket,
and pointed upward, saying menacingly, "Come down at once, you young
rascal, or I will fire!"

Herbert was startled. He did not believe the pistol to be loaded. Still
it might be.

"Will you come down?" repeated Abner, fiercely. "Quick, or I fire."

Herbert's cheek was pale, but in a resolute voice he answered, "I will
not."

Abner Holder, laid his finger upon the trigger, and would, in his anger,
have carried his threat into execution; but at the critical moment he
was conscious of a violent blow, and the pistol was wrenched from his
hand.

Turning quickly, he met the stern glance of Ralph the Ranger.




CHAPTER XIV

TAKEN PRISONER


"What does all this mean?" demanded Ralph, in a tone of command.

"What right have you to interfere?" said Abner Holden, sulkily.

"The right that any man has to prevent murder," said Ralph, briefly.

"I wasn't going to murder him."

"What were you going to do?" asked Ralph, looking keenly at Abner. "Why
were you pointing the pistol at him?"

"I wanted to frighten him."

"You meant to have him think you were going to fire. I believe you
were."

"Why didn't he come down when I bade him?"

"I'll answer that question," said Herbert, from the top of the tree.
"Mr. Holden promised to beat me if I would come down, but I didn't think
that a sufficient inducement."

"I have a right to beat you," said Abner, doggedly. "Ain't you bound to
me; tell me that?"

"I was," said Herbert, "and if you had treated me well, I would have
stayed with you; but I don't mean to remain to be abused."

"You hear the lad's answer," said Ralph. "I like his spirit, and I'll
stand by him. He won't return with you."

While this conversation had been going on, Abner had been slowly edging
himself toward the spot upon which Ralph had thrown the pistol, which he
had