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Do and Dare - A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

Horatio Alger, Jr.

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Title: Do and Dare

A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

Author: Horatio Alger, Jr.

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DO AND DARE

A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

HORATIO ALGER, JR.

NEW YORK

CHAPTER I.

THE POST OFFICE AT WAYNEBORO.

"If we could only keep the post office, mother, we should be all

right," said Herbert Carr, as he and his mother sat together in the

little sitting room of the plain cottage which the two had occupied

ever since he was a boy of five.

"Yes, Herbert, but I am afraid there won't be much chance of it."

"Who would want to take it from you, mother?"

"Men are selfish, Herbert, and there is no office, however small,

that is not sought after."

"What was the income last year?" inquired Herbert.

Mrs. Carr referred to a blank book lying on the table in which the

post-office accounts were kept, and answered:

"Three hundred and ninety-eight dollars and fifty cents."

"I shouldn't think that would be much of an inducement to an

able-bodied man, who could work at any business."

"Your father was glad to have it."

"Yes, mother, but he had lost an arm in the war, and could not

engage in any business that required both hands."

"That is true, Herbert, but I am afraid there will be more than one

who will be willing to relieve me of the duties. Old Mrs. Allen

called at the office to-day, and told me she understood that there

was a movement on foot to have Ebenezer Graham appointed."

"Squire Walsingham's nephew?"

ads:

"Yes; it is understood that the squire will throw his influence into

the scale, and that will probably decide the matter."

"Then it's very mean of Squire Walsingham," said Herbert,

indignantly. "He knows that you depend on the office for a living."

"Most men are selfish, my dear Herbert."

"But he was an old schoolfellow of father's, and it was as his

substitute that father went to the war where he was wounded."

"True, Herbert, but I am afraid that consideration won't weigh much

with John Walsingham."

"I have a great mind to go and see him, mother. Have you any

objections?"

"I have no objections, but I am afraid it will do no good."

"Mr. Graham ought to be ashamed, with the profits of his store, to

want the post office also. His store alone pays him handsomely."

"Mr. Graham is fond of money. He means to be a rich man."

"That is true enough. He is about the meanest man in town."

A few words are needed in explanation, though the conversation

explains itself pretty well.

Herbert's father, returning from the war with the loss of an arm,

was fortunate enough to receive the appointment of postmaster, and

thus earn a small, but, with strict economy, adequate income, until

a fever terminated his earthly career at middle age. Mr. Graham was

a rival applicant for the office, but Mr. Carr's services in the war

were thought to give him superior claims, and he secured it. During

the month that had elapsed since his death, Mrs. Carr had carried on

the post office under a temporary appointment. She was a woman of

good business capacity, and already familiar with the duties of the

office, having assisted her husband, especially during his sickness,

when nearly the whole work devolved upon her. Most of the village

people were in favor of having her retained, but the local influence

of Squire Walsingham and his nephew was so great that a petition in

favor of the latter secured numerous signatures, and was already on

file at the department in Washington, and backed by the congressman

of the district, who was a political friend of the squire. Mrs. Carr

was not aware that the movement for her displacement had gone so

far.

It was already nine o'clock when Herbert's conversation with his

mother ended, and he resolved to defer his call upon Squire

Walsingham till the next morning.

About nine o'clock in the forenoon our young hero rang the bell of

the village magnate, and with but little delay was ushered into his

presence.

Squire Walsingham was a tall, portly man of fifty, sleek and

evidently on excellent terms with himself. Indeed, he was but five

years older than his nephew, Ebenezer Graham, and looked the younger

of the two, despite the relationship. If he had been a United States

Senator he could not have been more dignified in his deportment, or

esteemed himself of greater consequence. He was a selfish man, but

he was free from the mean traits that characterized his nephew.

"You are the Carr boy," said the squire, pompously, looking over his

spectacles at Herbert, as he entered the door.

"My name is Herbert Carr," said Herbert, shortly. "You have known me

all my life."

"Certainly," said the squire, a little ruffled at the failure of his

grand manner to impose upon his young visitor. "Did I not call you

the Carr boy?"

Herbert did not fancy being called the Carr boy, but he was there to

ask a favor, and he thought it prudent not to show his

dissatisfaction. He resolved to come to the point at once.

"I have called, Squire Walsingham," he commenced, "to ask if you

will use your influence to have my mother retained in charge of the

post office."

"Ahem!" said the squire, somewhat embarrassed. "I am not in charge

of the post-office department."

"No, sir, I am aware of that; but the postmaster general will be

influenced by the recommendations of people in the village."

"Very true!" said the squire, complacently. "Very true, and very

proper. I do not pretend to say that my recommendation would not

weigh with the authorities at Washington. Indeed, the member from

our district is a personal friend of mine."

"You know how we are situated," continued Herbert, who thought it

best to state his case as briefly as possible. "Father was unable to

save anything, and we have no money ahead. If mother can keep the

post office, we shall get along nicely, but if she loses it, we

shall have a hard time."

"I am surprised that in your father's long tenure of office he did

not save something," said the squire, in a tone which indicated not

only surprise but reproof.

"There was not much chance to save on a salary of four hundred

dollars a year," said Herbert, soberly, "after supporting a family

of three."

"Ahem!" said the squire, sagely; "where there's a will there's a

way. Improvidence is the great fault of the lower classes."

"We don't belong to the lower classes," said Herbert, flushing with

indignation.

Squire Walmsgham was secretly ambitious of representing his district

some day in Congress, and he felt that he had made a mistake. It

won't do for an aspirant to office to speak of the lower classes,

and the squire hastened to repair his error.

"That was not the term I intended to imply," he condescended to

explain. "I meant to say that improvidence is the prevailing fault

of those whose income is small."

"We haven't had much chance to be improvident!" said Herbert "We

have had to spend all our income, but we are not in debt--that is,

we have no debts that we are unable to pay."

"That is well," said Squire Walsingham, "but, my young

constituent--I mean my young friend--I apprehend that you do not

take a right view of public office. It is not designed to support a

privileged class in luxury."

"Luxury, on four hundred a year!" replied Herbert.

"I am speaking in general terms," said the squire, hastily. "I mean

to say that I cannot recommend a person to office simply because he

or she needs the income."

"No, sir, I know that; but my mother understands the duties of the

office, and no complaint has been made that she does not make a good

postmaster."

"Possibly," said the squire, non-committally; "but I am opposed upon

principle to conferring offices upon women. Men are more efficient,

and better qualified to discharge responsible duties."

"Then, sir," said Herbert, his heart sinking, "I am to understand

that you do not favor the appointment of my mother?"

"I should be glad to hear that your mother was doing well," said the

squire, "but I cannot conscientiously favor the appointment of a

woman to be postmaster of Wayneboro."

"That means that he prefers the appointment should go to his

nephew," thought Herbert.

"If my mother were not competent to discharge the duties," he said,

his face showing his disappointment in spite of himself, "I would

not ask your influence, notwithstanding you were a schoolmate of

father's, and he lost his arm while acting as your substitute."

"I have already said that I wish your mother well," said the squire,

coloring, "and in any other way I am ready to help her and you.

Indeed, I may be able to secure you a situation."

"Where, sir?"

"Mr. Graham needs a boy in his store, and I think he will take you

on my recommendation."

"Is Tom Tripp going away?" asked Herbert.

"The Tripp boy is unsatisfactory, so Mr. Graham tells me."

Herbert knew something of what it would be to be employed by Mr.

Graham. Tom Tripp worked early and late for a dollar and a half per

week, without board, for a hard and suspicious taskmaster, who was

continually finding fault with him. But for sheer necessity, he

would have left Mr. Graham's store long ago. He had confided the

unpleasantness of his position to Herbert more than once, and

enlisted his sympathy and indignation. Herbert felt that he would

not like to work for Mr. Graham at any price, more especially as it

seemed likely that the storekeeper was likely to deprive his mother

of her office and income.

"I should not like to work for Mr. Graham, sir," he said.

"It appears to me that you are very particular, young man," said

Squire Walsingham.

"I would be willing to work for you, sir, but not for him."

"Ahem!" said the squire, somewhat mollified, "I will think of your

case."

Herbert left the house, feeling that his mother's removal was only a

matter of time.

CHAPTER II.

HERBERT'S CHANCE.

Herbert left the house of Squire Walsingham in a sober frame of

mind. He saw clearly that his mother would not long remain in

office, and without her official income they would find it hard to

get along. To be sure, she received a pension of eight dollars a

month, in consideration of her husband's services in the war, but

eight dollars would not go far towards supporting their family,

small as it was. There were other means of earning a living, to be

sure, but Wayneboro was an agricultural town mainly, and unless he

hired out on a farm there seemed no way open to him, while the

little sewing his mother might be able to procure would probably pay

her less than a dollar a week.

The blow fell sooner than he expected. In the course of the next

week Mrs. Carr was notified that Ebenezer Graham had been appointed

her successor, and she was directed to turn over the papers and

property of the office to him.

She received the official notification by the afternoon mail, and in

the evening she was favored by a call from her successor.

Ebenezer Graham was a small man, with insignificant, mean-looking

features, including a pair of weazel-like eyes and a turn-up nose.

It did not require a skillful physiognomist to read his character in

his face. Meanness was stamped upon it in unmistakable characters.

"Good-evening, Mr. Graham," said the widow, gravely.

"Good-evening, ma'am," said the storekeeper. "I've called to see

you, Mrs. Carr, about the post office, I presume you have heard--"

"I have heard that you are to be my successor."

"Just so. As long as your husband was alive, I didn't want to step

into his shoes."

"But you are willing to step into mine," said Mrs. Carr, smiling

faintly.

"Just so--that is, the gov'ment appear to think a man ought to be in

charge of so responsible a position."

"I shall be glad if you manage the office better than I have done."

"You see, ma'am, it stands to reason that a man is better fitted for

business than a woman," said Ebenezer Graham, in a smooth tone for

he wanted to get over this rather awkward business as easily as

possible. "Women, you know, was made to adorn the domestic circles,

et cetery."

"Adorning the domestic circle won't give me a living," said Mrs.

Carr, with some bitterness, for she knew that but for the grasping

spirit of the man before her she would have been allowed to retain

her office.

"I was comin' to that," said the new postmaster. "Of course, I

appreciate your position as a widder, without much means, and I'm

going to make you an offer; that is, your boy, Herbert."

Herbert looked up from a book he was reading, and listened with

interest to hear the benevolent intentions of the new postmaster."

"I am ready to give him a place in my store," proceeded Ebenezer. "I

always keep a boy, and thinks I to myself, the wages I give will

help along the widder Carr. You see, I like to combine business with

consideration for my feller creeters."

Mrs. Carr smiled faintly, for in spite of her serious strait she

could not help being amused at the notion of Ebenezer Graham's

philanthropy.

"What's going to become of Tom Tripp?" asked Herbert, abruptly.

"Thomas Tripp isn't exactly the kind of boy I want in my store,"

said Mr. Graham. "He's a harum-scarum sort of boy, and likes to

shirk his work. Then I suspect he stops to play on the way when I

send him on errands. Yesterday he was five minutes longer than he

need to have been in goin' to Sam Dunning's to carry some groceries.

Thomas doesn't seem to appreciate his privileges in bein' connected

with a business like mine."

Tom Tripp was hardly to blame for not recognizing his good luck in

occupying a position where he received a dollar and a half a week

for fourteen hours daily work, with half a dozen scoldings thrown

in.

"How do you know I will suit you any better than Tom?" asked

Herbert, who did not think it necessary to thank Mr. Graham for the

proffered engagement until he learned just what was expected of him,

and what his pay was to be.

"You're a different sort of a boy," said Ebenezer, with an attempt

at a pleasant smile. "You've been brought up different. I've heard

you're a smart, capable boy, that isn't afraid of work."

"No, sir, I am not, if I am fairly paid for my work."

The new postmaster's jaw fell, and he looked uneasy, for he always

grudged the money he paid out, even the paltry dollar and a half

which went to poor Tom.

"I always calkerlate to pay fair wages," he said; "but I ain't rich,

and I can't afford to fling away money."

"How much do you pay Tom Tripp?" asked Herbert.

He knew, but he wanted to draw Mr. Graham out.

"I pay Thomas a dollar and fifty cents a week," answered the

storekeeper, in a tone which indicated that he regarded this, on the

whole, as rather a munificent sum.

"And he works from seven in the morning till nine o'clock at night,"

proceeded Herbert.

"Them are the hours," said Ebenezer, who knew better how to make

money than to speak grammatically.

"It makes a pretty long day," observed Mrs. Carr.

"So it does, ma'am, but it's no longer than I work myself."

"You get paid rather better, I presume."

"Of course, ma'am, as I am the proprietor."

"I couldn't think of working for any such sum," said Herbert,

decidedly.

Mr. Graham looked disturbed, for he had reasons for desiring to

secure Herbert, who was familiar with the routine of post-office

work.

"Well," he said, "I might be able to offer you a leetle more, as you

know how to tend the post office. That's worth somethin'! I'll give

you--lemme see--twenty-five cents more; that is, a dollar and

seventy-five cents a week."

Herbert and his mother exchanged glances. They hardly knew whether

to feel more amused or disgusted at their visitor's meanness.

"Mr. Graham," said Herbert, "if you wish to secure my services, you

will have to pay me three dollars a week."

The storekeeper held up both hands in dismay.

"Three dollars a week for a boy!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, sir; I will come for a short time for that sum, till you get

used to the management of the post office, but I shall feel

justified in leaving you when I can do better."

"You must think I am made of money," said Ebenezer hastily.

"I think you can afford to pay me that salary."

For twenty minutes the new postmaster tried to beat down his

prospective clerk, but Herbert was obstinate, and Ebenezer rather

ruefully promised to give him his price, chiefly because it was

absolutely necessary that he should engage some one who was more

familiar with the post-office work than he was. Herbert agreed to go

to work the next morning.

CHAPTER III.

A PRODIGAL SON.

Herbert did not look forward with very joyful anticipations to the

new engagement he had formed. He knew very well that he should not

like Ebenezer Graham as an employer, but it was necessary that he

should earn something, for the income was now but two dollars a

week. He was sorry, too, to displace Tom Tripp, but upon this point

his uneasiness was soon removed, for Tom dropped in just after Mr.

Graham had left the house, and informed Herbert that he was to go to

work the next day for a farmer in the neighborhood, at a dollar and

a half per week, and board besides.

"I am glad to hear it, Tom," said Herbert, heartily. "I didn't want

to feel that I was depriving you of employment."

"You are welcome to my place in the store," said Tom. "I'm glad to

give it up. Mr. Graham seemed to think I was made of iron, and I

could work like a machine, without getting tired. I hope he pays you

more than a dollar and a half a week."

"He has agreed to pay me three dollars," said Herbert.

Tom whistled in genuine amazement.

"What! has the old man lost his senses?" he exclaimed. "He must be

crazy to offer such wages as that."

"He didn't offer them. I told him I wouldn't come for less."

"I don't see how he came to pay such a price."

"Because he wanted me to take care of the post office. I know all

about it, and he doesn't."

"As soon as he learns, he will reduce your wages."

"Then I shall leave him."

"Well, I hope you'll like store work better than I do."

The next two or three days were spent in removing the post office to

one corner of Eben-ezer Graham's store. The removal was

superintended by Herbert, who was not interfered with to any extent

by his employer, nor required to do much work in the store. Our hero

was agreeably surprised, and began to think he should get along

better than he anticipated.

At the end of the first week the storekeeper, while they were

closing the shutters, said: "I expect, Herbert, you'd just as lieves

take your pay in groceries and goods from the store?"

"No, sir," answered Herbert, "I prefer to be paid in money, and to

pay for such goods as we buy."

"I don't see what odds it makes to you," said Ebenezer. "It comes to

the same thing, doesn't it?"

"Then if it comes to the same thing," retorted Herbert, "why do you

want to pay me in goods?"

"Ahem! It saves trouble. I'll just charge everything you buy, and

give you the balance Saturday night."

"I should prefer the money, Mr. Graham," said Herbert, firmly.

So the storekeeper, considerably against his will, drew three

dollars in bills from the drawer and handed them to his young clerk.

"It's a good deal of money, Herbert," he said, "for a boy. There

ain't many men would pay you such a good salary."

"I earn every cent of it, Mr. Graham," said Herbert, whose views on

the salary question differed essentially from those of his employer.

The next morning Mr. Graham received a letter which evidently

disturbed him. Before referring to its contents, it is necessary to

explain that he had one son, nineteen years of age, who had gone to

Boston two years previous, to take a place in a dry-goods store on

Washington Street. Ebenezer Graham, Jr., or Eben, as he was

generally called, was, in some respects, like his father. He had the

same features, and was quite as mean, so far as others were

concerned, but willing to spend money for his own selfish pleasures.

He was fond of playing pool, and cards, and had contracted a

dangerous fondness for whisky, which consumed all the money he could

spare from necessary expenses, and even more, so that, as will

presently appear, he failed to meet his board bills regularly. Eben

had served an apprenticeship in his father's store, having been, in

fact, Tom Tripp's predecessor; he tired of his father's strict

discipline, and the small pay out of which he was required to

purchase his clothes, and went to Boston to seek a wider sphere.

To do Eben justice, it must be admitted that he had good business

capacity, and if he had been able, like his father, to exercise

self-denial, and make money-getting his chief enjoyment, he would no

doubt have become a rich man in time. As it was, whenever he could

make his companions pay for his pleasures, he did so.

I now come to the letter which had brought disquietude to the

storekeeper.

It ran thus:

"DEAR SIR: I understand that you are the father of Mr. Eben Graham,

who has been a boarder at my house for the last six months. I regret

to trouble you, but he is now owing me six weeks board, and I cannot

get a cent out of him, though he knows I am a poor widow, dependent

on my board money for my rent and house expenses. As he is a minor,

the law makes you responsible for his bills, and, though I dislike

to trouble you, I am obliged, in justice to myself, to ask you to

settle his board bill, which I inclose.

"You will do me a great favor if you will send me the amount--thirty

dollars--within a week, as my rent is coming due.

"Yours respectfully, SUSAN JONES."

The feelings of a man like Ebenezer Graham can be imagined when he

read this unpleasant missive.

"Thirty dollars!" he groaned. "What can the graceless boy be

thinking of, to fool away his money, and leave his bills to be

settled by me. If this keeps on, I shall be ruined! It's too bad,

when I am slaving here, for Eben to waste my substance on riotous

living. I've a great mind to disown him. Let him go his own way, and

fetch up in the poorhouse, if he chooses."

But it is not easy for a man to cast off an only son, even though he

is as poorly supplied with natural affections as Ebenezer Graham.

Besides, Eben's mother interceded for him, and the father, in

bitterness of spirit, was about to mail a registered letter to Mrs.

Jones, when the cause of his anguish suddenly made his appearance in

the store.

"How are you, father?" he said, nonchalantly, taking a cigar from

his mouth. "Didn't expect to see me, did you?"

"What brings you here, Eben?" asked Mr. Graham, uneasily.

"Well, the cars brought me to Stockton, and I've walked the rest of

the way."

"I've heard of you," said his father, frowning. "I got a letter last

night from Mrs. Jones."

"She said she was going to write," said Eben, shrugging his

shoulders.

"How came it," said his father, his voice trembling with anger,

"that you haven't paid your board bill for six weeks?"

"I didn't have the money," said Eben, with a composure which was

positively aggravating to his father.

"And why didn't you have the money? Your wages are ample to pay all

your expenses."

"It costs more money to live in Boston than you think for, father."

"Don't you get ten dollars a week, sir? At your age I got only

seven, and saved two dollars a week."

"You didn't live in Boston, father."

"I didn't smoke cigars," said his father, angrily, as he fixed his

eye on the one his son was smoking. "How much did you pay for that

miserable weed?"

"You're mistaken, father. It's a very good article. I paid eight

dollars a hundred."

"Eight dollars a hundred!" gasped Mr. Graham. "No wonder you can't

pay your board bill--I can't afford to spend my money on cigars."

"Oh, yes, you can, father, if you choose. Why, you're a rich man."

"A rich man!" repeated Mr. Graham, nervously. "It would take a rich

man to pay your bills. But you haven't told me why you have come

home."

"I lost my situation, father--some meddlesome fellow told my

employer that I occasionally played a game of pool, and my tailor

came to the store and dunned me; so old Boggs gave me a long lecture

and my walking papers, and here I am."

Ebenezer Graham was sorely troubled, and, though he isn't a favorite

of mine, I confess, that in this matter he has my sincere sympathy.

CHAPTER IV.

HERBERT LOSES HIS PLACE.

Ebenezer Graham with some difficulty ascertained from Eben that he

had other bills, amounting in the aggregate to forty-seven dollars.

This added to the board bill, made a total of seventy-seven dollars.

Mr. Graham's face elongated perceptibly.

"That is bad enough," he said; "but you have lost your income also,

and that makes matters worse. Isn't there a chance of the firm

taking you back?"

"No, sir," replied the prodigal. "You see, we had a flare up, and I

expressed my opinion of them pretty plainly. They wouldn't take me

back if I'd come for nothing."

"And they won't give you a recommendation, either?" said Ebenezer,

with a half groan.

"No, sir; I should say not."

"So you have ruined your prospects so far as Boston is concerned,"

said his father, bitterly. "May I ask how you expect to get along?"

"I have a plan," said Eben, with cheerful confidence.

"What is it?"

"I would like to go to California. If I can't get any situation in

San Francisco, I can go to the mines."

"Very fine, upon my word!" said his father, sarcastically. "And how

do you propose to get to California?"

"I can go either by steamer, across the isthmus, or over the Union

Pacific road."

"That isn't what I mean. Where are you to get the money to pay your

fare with?"

"I suppose you will supply that," said Eben.

"You do? Well, it strikes me you have some assurance," ejaculated

Mr. Graham. "You expect me to advance hundreds of dollars, made by

working early and late, to support a spendthrift son!"

"I'll pay you back as soon as I am able," said Eben, a little

abashed.

"No doubt! You'd pay me in the same way you pay your board bills,"

said Ebenezer, who may be excused for the sneer. "I can invest my

money to better advantage than upon you."

"Then, if you will not do that," said Eben, sullenly, "I will leave

you to suggest a plan."

"There is only one plan I can think of, Eben. Go back to your old

place in the store. I will dismiss the Carr boy, and you can attend

to the post office, and do the store work."

"What, go back to tending a country grocery, after being a salesman

in a city store!" exclaimed Eben, disdainfully.

"Yes, it seems the only thing you have left. It's your own fault

that you are not still a salesman in the city."

Eben took the cigar from his mouth, and thought rapidly.

"Well," he said, after a pause, "if I agree to do this, what will

you pay me?"

"What will I pay you?"

"Yes, will you pay me ten dollars a week--the same as I got at

Hanbury & Deane's?"

"Ten dollars a week!" ejaculated Ebenezer, "I don't get any more

than that myself."

"I guess there's a little mistake in your calculations, father,"

said Eben, significantly. "If you don't make at least forty dollars

a week, including the post office, then I am mistaken."

"So you are--ridiculously mistaken!" said his father, sharply. "What

you presume is entirely out of the question. You forget that you

will be getting your board, and Tom Tripp only received a dollar and

a half a week without board."

"Is that all you pay to Herbert Carr?"

"I pay him a leetle more," admitted Ebenezer.

"What will you give me?"

"I'll give you your board and clothes," said Ebenezer, "and that

seems to be more than you made in Boston."

"Are you in earnest?" asked Eben, in genuine dismay.

"Certainly. It isn't a bad offer, either."

"Do you suppose a young man like me can get along without money?"

"You ought to get along without money for the next two years, after

the sums you've wasted in Boston. It will cripple me to pay your

bills," and the storekeeper groaned at the thought of the inroads

the payment would make on his bank account.

"You're poorer than I thought, if seventy-five dollars will cripple

you," said Eben, who knew his father's circumstances too well to be

moved by this representation.

"I shall be in the poorhouse before many years if I undertake to pay

all your bills, Eben."

After all, this was not, perhaps, an exaggeration, for a spendthrift

son can get through a great deal of money.

"I can't get along without money, father," said Eben, decidedly.

"How can I buy cigars, let alone other things?"

"I don't want you to smoke cigars. You'll be a great deal better off

without them," said his father, sharply.

"I understand; it's necessary to my health," said Eben, rather

absurdly.

"You won't smoke at my expense," said Ebenezer, decidedly. "I don't

smoke myself, and I never knew any good come of it."

"All the same, I must have some money. What will people say about a

young man of my age not having a cent in his pocket? They think my

father is very mean."

"I'll allow you fifty cents a week," said Mr. Graham, after a pause.

"That won't do! You seem to think I am only six or seven years old!"

Finally, after considerable haggling, Mr. Graham agreed to pay his

son a dollar and a half a week, in cash, besides board and clothes.

He reflected that he should be obliged to board and clothe his son

at any rate, and should save a dollar and a half from Herbert's

wages.

"Well," he said, "when will you be ready to go to work?"

"I must have a few days to loaf, father. I have been hard at work

for a long time, and need some rest."

"Then you can begin next Monday morning. I'll get Herbert to show

you how to prepare the mail, so that you won't have any trouble

about the post-office work."

"By the way, father, how do you happen to have the post office? I

thought Mrs. Carr was to carry it on."

"So she did, for a time, but a woman ain't fit for a public position

of that kind. So I applied for the position, and got it."

"What's Mrs. Carr going to do?"

"She's got her pension," said Ebenezer, shortly.

"Eight dollars a month, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"That ain't much to support a family."

"She'll have to do something else, then, I suppose."

"There isn't much to do in Wayneboro."

"That isn't my lookout. She can take in sewing, or washing,"

suggested Ebenezer, who did not trouble himself much about the care

of his neighbors. "Besides there's Herbert--he can earn something."

"But I'm to take his place."

"Oh well, I ain't under any obligations to provide them a livin'.

I've got enough to take care of myself and my family."

"You'd better have let her keep the post office," said Eben. He was

not less selfish than his father, but then his own interests were

not concerned. He would not have scrupled, in his father's case, to

do precisely the same.

"It's lucky I've got a little extra income," said Ebenezer,

bitterly; "now I've got your bills to pay."

"I suppose I shall have to accept your offer, father," said Eben,

"for the present; but I hope you'll think better of my California

plan after a while. Why, there's a fellow I know went out there last

year, went up to the mines, and now he's worth five thousand

dollars!"

"Then he must be a very different sort of a person from you,"

retorted his father, sagaciously. "You would never succeed there, if

you can't in Boston."

"I've never had a chance to try," grumbled Eben.

There was sound sense in what his father said. Failure at home is

very likely to be followed by failure away from home. There have

been cases that seemed to disprove my assertion, but in such cases

failure has only been changed into success by earnest work. I say to

my young readers, therefore, never give up a certainty at home to

tempt the chances of success in a distant State, unless you are

prepared for disappointment.

When the engagement had been made with Eben, Mr. Graham called

Herbert to his presence.

"Herbert," said he, "I won't need you after Saturday night. My son

is going into the store, and will do all I require. You can tell him

how to prepare the mails, et cetery."

"Very well, sir," answered Herbert. It was not wholly a surprise,

but it was a disappointment, for he did not know how he could make

three dollars a week in any other way, unless he left Wayneboro.

CHAPTER V.

EBEN'S SCHEME.

Saturday night came, and with it the end of Herbert's engagement in

the post office.

He pocketed the three dollars which his employer grudgingly gave

him, and set out on his way home.

"Wait a minute, Herbert," said Eben. "I'll walk with you."

Herbert didn't care much for Eben's company but he was too polite to

say so. He waited therefore, till Eben appeared with hat and cane.

"I'm sorry to cut you out of your place, Herbert," said the young

man.

"Thank you," answered Herbert.

"It isn't my fault, for I don't want to go into the store,"

proceeded Eben. "A fellow that's stood behind the counter in a city

store is fit for something better, but it's the old man's fault."

Herbert made no comment, and Eben proceeded:

"Yes," said he, "it's the old man's fault. He's awfully stingy, you

know that yourself."

Herbert did know it, but thought it would not be in good taste to

say so.

"I suppose Wayneboro is rather dull for you after living in the

city," he remarked.

"I should say so. This village is a dull hole, and yet father

expects me to stay here cooped up in a little country store. I won't

stay here long, you may be sure of that."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know yet. I want to go to California, but I can't unless

the old man comes down with the requisite amount of tin. You'll soon

have your situation back again. I won't stand in your way."

"I'm not very particular about going back," said Herbert, "but I

must find something to do."

"Just so!" said Eben. "The place will do well enough for a boy like

you, but I am a young man, and entitled to look higher. By the way,

I've got something in view that may bring me in five thousand

dollars within a month."

Herbert stared at his companion in surprise, not knowing any short

cut to wealth.

"Do you mean it?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yes," said Eben.

"I suppose you don't care to tell what it is?"

"Oh, I don't mind--it's a lottery."

"Oh!" said Herbert, in a tone of disappointment.

"Yes," answered Eben. "You may think lotteries are a fraud and all

that, but I know a man in Boston who drew last month a prize of

fifteen thousand dollars. The ticket only cost him a dollar. What do

you say to that?"

"Such cases can't be very common," said Herbert, who had a good

share of common sense.

"Not so uncommon as you think," returned Eben, nodding. "I don't

mean to say that many draw prizes as large as that, but there are

other prizes of five thousand dollars, and one thousand, and so on.

It would be very comfortable to draw a prize of even five hundred,

wouldn't it now?"

Herbert admitted that it would.

"I'd send for a ticket by Monday morning's mail," continued Eben,

"if I wasn't so hard up. The old man's mad because I ran into debt,

and he won't give me a cent. Will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?" asked Herbert, cautiously.

"Lend me two dollars. You've got it, I know, because you were paid

off to-night. I would send for two tickets, and agree to give you

quarter of what I draw. Isn't that fair?"

"It may be," said Herbert, "but I haven't any money to lend."

"You have three dollars in your pocket at this moment."

"Yes, but it isn't mine. I must hand it to mother."

"And give up the chance of winning a prize. I'll promise to give you

half of whatever I draw, besides paying back the money."

"Thank you, but I can't spare the money."

"You are getting as miserly as the old man," said Eben, with a

forced laugh.

"Eben," said Herbert, seriously, "you don't seem to understand our

position. Mother has lost the post office, and has but eight dollars

a month income. I've earned three dollars this week, but next week I

may earn nothing. You see, I can't afford to spend money for lottery

tickets."

"Suppose by your caution you lose five hundred dollars. Nothing

risk, nothing gain!"

"I have no money to risk," said Herbert, firmly.

"Oh, well, do as you please!" said Eben, evidently disappointed. "I

thought I'd make you the offer, because I should like to see you win

a big prize."

"Thank you for your friendly intention," said Herbert, "but I am

afraid there are a good many more blanks than prizes. If there were

not, it wouldn't pay the lottery men to carry on the business."

This was common sense, and I cannot forbear at this point to press

it upon the attention of my young reader. Of all schemes of gaining

wealth, about the most foolish is spending money for lottery

tickets. It has been estimated by a sagacious writer that there is

about as much likelihood of drawing a large prize in a lottery as of

being struck by lightning and that, let us hope, is very small.

"I guess I won't go any farther," said Eben, abruptly, having become

convinced that Herbert could not be prevailed upon to lend him

money.

"Good-night, then," said Herbert "Good-night."

"Well, mother, I'm out of work," said Herbert, as he entered the

little sitting room, and threw down his week's wages. Our young hero

was of a cheerful temperament but he looked and felt sober when he

said this.

"But for the Grahams we should have a comfortable living," the boy

proceeded. "First, the father took away the post office from you,

and now the son has robbed me of my place."

"Don't be discouraged, Herbert," said his mother. "God will find us

a way out of our troubles."

Herbert had been trained to have a reverence for religion, and had

faith in the providential care of his heavenly Father, and his

mother's words recalled his cheerfulness.

"You are right, mother," he said, more hopefully. "I was feeling

low-spirited to-night, but I won't feel so any more. I don't see how

we are to live, but I won't let it trouble me tonight."

"Let us do our part, and leave the rest to God," said Mrs. Carr. "He

won't support us in idleness, but I am sure that in some way relief

will come if we are ready to help ourselves."

"God helps them that help themselves," repeated Herbert.

"Exactly so. To-morrow is Sunday, and we won't let any worldly

anxieties spoil that day for us. When Monday comes, we will think

over what is best to be done."

The next day Herbert and his mother attended church in neat apparel,

and those who saw their cheerful faces were not likely to guess the

serious condition of their affairs. They were not in debt, to be

sure, but, unless employment came soon, they were likely to be ere

long, for they had barely enough money ahead to last them two weeks.

Monday morning came, and brought its burden of care.

"I wish there was a factory in Wayneboro," said Herbert. "I am told

that boys of my age sometimes earn six or seven dollars a week."

"I have heard so. Here there seems nothing, except working on a

farm."

"And the farmers expect boys to take their pay principally in

board."

"That is a consideration, but, if possible, I hope we shall not be

separated at meals."

"I will try other things first," said Herbert. "How would you like

some fish for dinner, mother? My time isn't of any particular value,

and I might as well go fishing."

"Do so, Herbert. It will save our buying meat, which, indeed, we can

hardly afford to do."

Herbert felt that anything was better than idleness, so he took his

pole from the shed, and, after digging a supply of bait, set out for

the banks of the river half a mile away.

Through a grassy lane leading from the main street, he walked down

to the river with the pole on his shoulder.

He was not destined to solitude, for under a tree whose branches

hung over the river sat a young man, perhaps twenty-five years of

age, with a book in his hand.

CHAPTER VI.

HERBERT'S GOOD LUCK.

"Good-morning," said the young man, pleasantly.

"Good-morning," answered Herbert, politely.

He recognized the young man, though he had never seen him before, as

a visitor from the city, who was boarding at the hotel, if the

village tavern could be so designated. He seemed to be a studious

young man, for he always had a book in his hand. He had a pleasant

face, but was pale and slender, and was evidently in poor health.

"I see you are going to try your luck at fishing," said the young

man."

"Yes, sir; I have nothing else to do, and that brings me here."

"I, too, have nothing else to do; but I judge from your appearance

that you have not the same reason for being idle."

"What is that, sir?"

"Poor health."

"No, sir; I have never been troubled in that way."

"You are fortunate. Health is a blessing not to be overestimated. It

is better than money."

"I suppose it is, sir; but at present I think I should value a

little money."

"Are you in want of it?" asked the young man, earnestly.

"Yes, sir; I have just lost my place in the post office."

"I think I have seen you in the post office."

"Yes, sir; my mother had charge of the office till two weeks since,

when it was transferred to Mr. Graham. He employed me to attend to

the duties, and serve the customers in the store, till Saturday

night, when I was succeeded by his son, who had just returned from

the city."

"Your mother is a widow, is she not?"

"Yes, sir."

"I know where you live; I have had it pointed out to me. Your father

served in the war, did he not?"

"Yes, sir; and the injuries he received hastened his death."

The young man looked thoughtful. Then he said: "How much did Mr.

Graham pay you for your services?"

"Three dollars a week."

"That was not--excuse the question--all you and your mother had to

depend upon, was it?"

"Not quite; mother receives a pension of eight dollars per month."

"Five dollars a week altogether--that is very little."

"It is only two dollars now, sir."

"True; but you have health and strength, and those will bring money.

In one respect you are more fortunate than I. You have a mother--I

have neither father nor mother."

"I'm sorry for you, sir."

"Thank you; anyone is to be pitied who has lost his parents. Now, as

I have asked about your affairs, it is only fair that I should tell

you about myself. To begin with, I am rich. Don't look envious, for

there is something to counterbalance. I am of feeble constitution,

and the doctors say that my lungs are affected. I have studied law,

but the state of my health has obliged me to give up, for the

present at least, the practice of my profession."

"But if you are rich you do not need to practice," said Herbert, who

may be excused for still thinking his companion's lot a happy one.

"No, I do not need to practice my profession, so far as the earning

of money is concerned; but I want something to occupy my mind. The

doctors say I ought to take considerable out-door exercise; but I

suppose my physical condition makes me indolent, for my chief

exercise has been, thus far, to wander to the banks of the river and

read under the trees."

"That isn't very severe exercise," said Herbert, smiling.

"No; still it keeps me out in the open air, and that is something.

Now tell me, what are your plans?"

"My hope is to find something to do that will enable me to help

mother; but there doesn't seem much chance of finding anything in

Wayneboro. Do you think I could get a place in the city?"

"You might; but even if you did, you would find it difficult to earn

your own living, and there would be no chance of your helping your

mother."

Herbert, though naturally sanguine and hopeful, looked sober. Just

then he had a bite, and drew out a good-sized pickerel. This gave a

new direction to his thoughts, and he exclaimed, triumphantly:

"Look at this pickerel! He must weigh over two pounds."

"All of that," said the young man, rising and examining the fish

with interest. "Let me use your pole, and see what luck I have."

"Certainly."

The young man, some ten minutes later, succeeded in catching a

smaller pickerel, perhaps half the size of Herbert's.

"That will do for me," he said, "though it doesn't come up to your

catch."

For two hours Herbert and his friend alternately used the pole, and

the result was quite a handsome lot of fish.

"You have more fish than you want," said the young man. "You had

better bring what you don't want to the hotel. I heard the landlord

say he would like to buy some."

"That would suit me," said Herbert. "If he wants fish, I want

money."

"Come along with me, then. Really, I don't know when I have passed a

forenoon so pleasantly. Usually I get tired of my own company, and

the day seems long to me. I believe I see my way clear to a better

way of spending my time. You say you want a place. How would you

like me for an employer?"

"I am sure I should like you, but you are not in any business."

"No," said the young man, smiling; "or, rather, my business is the

pursuit of health and pleasure just now. In that I think you can

help me."

"I shall be very glad to, if I can, Mr.---"

"My name is George Melville. Let me explain my idea to you. I want

your company to relieve my solitude. In your company I shall have

enterprise enough to go hunting and fishing, and follow out in good

faith my doctor's directions. What do you say?"

Herbert smiled.

"I would like that better than being in the post office," he said.

"It would seem like being paid for having a good time."

"How much would you consider your services worth?" asked Mr.

Melville.

"I am content to leave that to you," said Herbert.

"Suppose we say six dollars a week, then?"

"Six dollars a week!" exclaimed Herbert, amazed.

"Isn't that enough?" asked Melville, smiling.

"It is more than I can earn. Mr. Graham thought he was over-paying

me with three dollars a week."

"You will find me a different man from Mr. Graham, Herbert. I am

aware that six dollars is larger pay than is generally given to boys

of your age. But I can afford to pay it, and I have no doubt you

will find the money useful."

"It will quite set us on our feet again, Mr. Melville," said

Herbert, earnestly. "You are very generous."

"Oh, you don't know what a hard taskmaster you may find me," said

the young man, playfully. "By the way, I consider that you have

already entered upon your duties. To-day is the first day. Now come

to the hotel with me, and see what you can get for the fish. I

happen to know that two of the guests, a lady and her daughter, are

anxious for a good fish dinner and, as there is no market here, I

think the landlord will be glad to buy from you."

Mr. Melville was right. Mr. Barton, the landlord, purchased the fish

that Herbert had to sell, for sixty cents, which he promptly paid,

"Don't that pay you for your morning's work?" asked Melville.

"I don't know but the money ought to go to you, Mr. Melville," said

Herbert, "as I am now in your employ. Besides, you caught a part of

them."

"I waive all claim to compensation," said the young man, "though it

would be a novel sensation to receive money for services rendered.

What will you say, Herbert, when I tell you that I never earned a

dollar in my life?"

Herbert looked incredulous.

"It is really true," said George Melville, "my life has been passed

at school and college, and I have never had occasion to work for

money."

"You are in luck, then."

"I don't know that; I think those who work for the money they

receive are happy. Tell me, now, don't you feel more satisfaction in

the sixty cents you have just been paid because you have earned it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I thought so. The happiest men are those who are usefully employed.

Don't forget that, and never sigh for the opportunity to lead an

idle life. But I suppose your dinner is ready. You may go home, and

come back at three o'clock."

"Very well, sir."

Herbert made good time going home. He was eager to tell his mother

the good news of his engagement.

CHAPTER VII.

EBEN GROWS ENVIOUS.

"Well, mother," said Herbert, as he entered the house, "I have

brought you enough fish for dinner."

"I waited to see what luck you would have, Herbert, and therefore

have not got dinner ready. You will have to wait a little while."

"I shall be all the hungrier, mother," said Herbert,

Mrs. Carr could not help noticing the beaming look on her som's

face.

"You look as if you had received a legacy, Herbert," she said.

Herbert laughed.

"There it is," he said, displaying the sixty cents he had received

from the landlord.

"There are ten cents more than I should have received for a whole

day's work at the store," he said.

"Where did you get it, Herbert?"

"I sold a mess of fish to Mr. Barton, of the hotel."

"You must have had good luck in fishing," said his mother, looking

pleased.

"I had help, mother. Mr. Melville, the young man from the city, who

boards at the hotel, helped me fish."

"Well, Herbert, you have made a good beginning. I couldn't help

feeling a little depressed when you left me this morning, reflecting

that we had but my pension to depend upon. It seemed so unlucky that

Eben Graham should have come home just at this time to deprive you

of your place in the store."

"It was a piece of good luck for me, mother."

"I don't see how," said Mrs. Carr, naturally puzzled.

"Because I have a better situation already."

Then Herbert, who had been saving the best news for the last, told

his mother of his engagement as Mr. Melville's companion, and the

handsome compensation he was to receive.

"Six dollars a week!" repeated his mother. "That is indeed generous.

Herbert, we did well to trust in Providence."

"Yes, mother; and we have not trusted in vain."

After dinner Herbert did some chores for his mother, and then went

to the hotel to meet his new employer. He found him occupying a

large and pleasant room on the second floor. The table near the

window was covered with books, and there were some thirty or forty

volumes arranged on shelves.

"I always bring books with me, Herbert," said the young man. "I am

very fond of reading, and hitherto I have occupied too much time,

perhaps, in that way--too much, because it has interfered with

necessary exercise. Hereafter I shall devote my forenoon to some

kind of outdoor exercise in your company, and in the afternoon you

can read to me, or we can converse."

"Shall I read to you now, Mr. Melville?" asked Herbert.

"Yes; here is a recent magazine. I will select an article for you to

read. It will rest my eyes, and besides it is pleasanter to have a

companion than to read one's self."

The article was one that interested Herbert as well as Mr. Melville,

and he was surprised when he had finished to find that it was nearly

five o'clock.

"Didn't the reading tire you, Herbert?" asked Melville.

"No, sir; not at all."

"It is evident that your lungs are stronger than mine."

At five o'clock Melville dismissed his young companion.

"Do you wish me to come this evening?" asked Herbert.

"Oh, no. I wouldn't think of taking up your evenings."

"At the post office I had to stay till eight o'clock."

"Probably it was necessary there; I won't task you so much."

"When shall I come to-morrow?"

"At nine o'clock."

"That isn't very early," said Herbert, smiling.

"No, I don't get up very early. My health won't allow me to

cultivate early rising. I shall not be through breakfast much before

nine."

"I see you don't mean to overwork me, Mr. Melville."

"No, for it would involve overworking myself."

"I shall certainly have an easy time," thought Herbert, as he walked

homeward.

He reflected with satisfaction that he was being paid at the rate of

a dollar a day, which was quite beyond anything he had ever before

earned. Indeed, to-day he had earned sixty cents besides. The sum

received for the fish.

After supper Herbert went to the store to purchase some articles for

his mother. He was waited on by Mr. Graham in person. As the

articles called for would amount to nearly one dollar, the

storekeeper said, cautiously: "Of course, you are prepared to pay

cash?"

"Certainly, sir," returned Herbert.

"I mentioned it because I knew your income was small," said

Ebenezer, apologetically.

"It is more than it was last week," said Herbert, rather enjoying

the prospect of surprising the storekeeper.

"Why, you ain't found anything to do, have you?" asked Mr. Graham,

his face indicating curiosity.

"Yes, sir; I am engaged as companion by Mr. Melville, who is staying

at the hotel."

"I don't know what he wants of a companion," said the storekeeper,

with that disposition to criticise the affairs of his neighbors

often found in country places.

"He thinks he needs one," answered Herbert.

"And how much does he pay you now?" queried Ebenezer.

"Six dollars a week."

"You don't mean it!" ejaculated the storekeeper. "Why, the man must

be crazy!"

"I don't think he is," said Herbert, smiling.

"Got plenty of money, I take it?" continued Ebenezer, who had a good

share of curiosity.

"Yes; he tells me he is rich."

"How much money has he got?"

"He didn't tell me that."

"Well, I declare! You're lucky, that's a fact!"

There was an interested listener to this conversation in the person

of Eben, who had been in the store all day, taking Herbert's place.

As we know, the position by no means suited the young man. He had

been employed in a store in Boston, and to come back to a small

country grocery might certainly be considered a descent. Besides,

the small compensation allowed him was far from satisfying Eben.

He was even more dissatisfied when he learned how fortunate Herbert

was. To be selected as a companion by a rich young man was just what

he would have liked himself, and he flattered himself that he should

make a more desirable companion than a mere boy like Herbert.

As our hero was leaving the store, Eben called him back.

"What was that you were telling father about going round with a

young man from the city?" he asked.

Herbert repeated it.

"And he pays you six dollars a week?" asked Eben, enviously.

"Yes; of course, I shouldn't have asked so much, but he fixed the

price himself."

"You think he is very rich?" said Eben, thoughtfully.

"Yes, I think so."

"What a splendid chance it would be for me!" thought Eben. "If I

could get intimate with a man like that, he might set me up in

business some day; perhaps take me to Europe, or round the world!"

"How much of the time do you expect to be with this Mr. Melville?"

he asked.

Herbert answered the question.

"Does he seem like a man easy to get along with?"

"Very much so."

Eben inwardly decided that, if he could, he would oust Herbert from

his desirable place, and substitute himself. It was a very mean

thought, but Eben inherited meanness from his father.

"Herbert," he said, "will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?" asked our hero.

"Will you take my place in the store this evening? I am not feeling

well, and want to take a walk."

"Yes," answered Herbert, "as soon as I have run home to tell mother

where I am."

"That's a good fellow. You shan't lose anything by it. I'll give you

ten cents."

"You needn't pay me anything, Eben. I'll do it as a favor."

"You're a trump, Herbert. Come back as soon as you can."

When Eben was released from the store, he went over to the hotel,

and inquired for Mr. Melville, leaving his unsuspecting young

substitute in the post office.

CHAPTER VIII.

EBEN'S ASSURANCE.

"A young man wishes to see you, Mr. Melville," said the servant.

George Melville looked up in some surprise from his book, and said:

"You may show him up."

"It must be Herbert," he thought.

But when the door was opened, and the visitor shown in, Mr. Melville

found it was an older person than Herbert. Eben, for it was he,

distorted his mean features into what he regarded as a pleasant

smile, and, without waiting to receive a welcome, came forward with

extended hand.

"I believe you are Mr. Melville," he said, inquiringly.

"Yes, that is my name," said Melville, looking puzzled; "I don't

remember you. Have I met you before?"

"You saw me in father's store, very likely," said Eben. "I am Eben

Graham, son of Ebenezer Graham, the postmaster."

"Indeed! That accounts for your face looking familiar. You resemble

your father very closely."

"I'm a chip off the old block with modern improvements," said Eben,

smirking. "Father's always lived in the country, and he ain't very

stylish. I've been employed in Boston for a couple of years past,

and got a little city polish."

"You don't show much of it," thought Melville, but he refrained from

saying so.

"So you have come home to assist your father," he said, politely.

"Well, no, not exactly," answered Eben, "I feel that a country store

isn't my sphere."

"Then you propose to go back to the city?"

"Probably I shall do so eventually, but I may stay here in Wayneboro

a while if I can make satisfactory arrangements. I assure you that

it was not my wish to take Herbert Carr's place."

"Herbert told me that you had assumed his duties."

"It is only ad interim. I assure you, it is only ad interim. I am

quite ready to give back the place to Herbert, who is better suited

to it than I."

"I wonder what the fellow is driving at," thought Melville. Eben did

not long leave him in doubt.

"Herbert tells me that he has made an engagement with you,"

continued Eben, desiring to come to his business as soon as

possible.

"Yes, we have made a mutual arrangement."

"Of course, it is very nice for him; and so I told him."

"I think I am quite as much a gainer by it as he is," said Melville.

"Herbert was right. He is easily suited," said Eben, to himself.

"Of course," Eben added, clearing his throat, "Herbert isn't so much

of a companion to you as if he were a few years older."

"I don't know that; it seems to me that he is a very pleasant

companion, young as he is."

"To be sure, Herbert is a nice boy, and father was glad to help him

along by giving him a place, with a larger salary than he ever paid

before."

"What is he driving at?" thought Melville.

"To come to the point, Mr. Melville," said Eben, "I have made bold

to call upon you to suggest a little difference in your

arrangements."

"Indeed!" said Melville, coldly. Though he had no idea what his

singular visitor was about to propose, it struck him emphatically

that Eben was interfering in an unwarrantable manner with his

affairs.

"You see," continued Eben, "I'm a good deal nearer your age than

Herbert, and I've had the advantage of residing in the city, which

Herbert hasn't, and naturally should be more company to you. Then,

again, Herbert could do the work in the post office and store, which

I am doing, nearly as well as I can. I'll undertake to get father to

give him back his place, and then I shall be happy to make an

arrangement with you to go hunting and fishing, or anything else

that you choose. I am sure I should enjoy your company, Mr.

Melville," concluded Eben, rubbing his hands complacently and

surveying George Melville with an insinuating smile.

"You have certainly taken considerable trouble to arrange this

matter for me," said Melville, with a sarcasm which Eben did not

detect.

"Oh, no trouble at all!" said Eben, cheerfully. "You see, the idea

came into my head when Herbert told me of his arrangements with you,

and I thought I'd come and see you about it."

"Did you mention it to Herbert?" asked George Melville, with some

curiosity.

"Well, no, I didn't. I didn't know how Herbert would look at it. I

got Herbert to take my place in the store while I ran over to see

you about the matter. By the way, though I am some years older than

Herbert, I shan't ask more than you pay him. In fact, I am willing

to leave the pay to your liberality."

"You are very considerate!" said Melville, hardly knowing whether to

be amused or provoked by the cool assurance of his visitor.

"Oh, not at all!" returned Eben, complacently. "I guess I've fetched

him!" he reflected, looking at Mr. Melville through his small,

half-closed eyes.

"You have certainly surprised me very much, Mr. Graham," said

Melville, "by the nature of your suggestion. I won't take into

consideration the question whether you have thought more of your own

pleasure or mine. So far as the latter is concerned, you have made a

mistake in supposing that Herbert's youth is any drawback to his

qualification as a companion. Indeed, his youth and cheerful

temperament make him more attractive in my eyes. I hope, Mr. Graham,

you will excuse me for saying that he suits me better than you

possibly could."

Eben's countenance fell, and he looked quite discomfited and

mortified.

"I didn't suppose a raw, country boy would be likely to suit a

gentleman of taste, who has resided in the city," he said, with

asperity.

"Then you will have a chance to correct your impression," said

Melville, with a slight smile.

"Then you don't care to accept my offer?" said Eben, regretfully.

"Thank you, no. If you will excuse me for suggesting it, Mr. Graham,

it would have been more considerate for you to have apprised Herbert

of your object in asking him to take your place this evening.

Probably he had no idea that you meant to supersede him with me."

Eben tossed his head.

"You mustn't think, Mr. Melville," he said, "that I was after the

extra pay. Six dollars doesn't seem much to me. I was earning ten

dollars a week in Boston, and if I had stayed, should probably have

been raised to twelve."

"So that you were really consenting to a sacrifice in offering to

enter my employment at six dollars a week?"

"Just so!"

"Then I am all the more convinced that I have decided for the best

in retaining Herbert. I do not wish to interfere with your prospects

in the city."

"Oh, as for that," said Eben, judging that he had gone too far, "I

don't care to go back to the city just yet. I've been confined

pretty steadily, and a few weeks in the country, hunting and

fishing, will do me good."

George Melville bowed, but said nothing.

Eben felt that he had no excuse for staying longer, and reluctantly

rose.

"If you should think better of what I've proposed," he said, "you

can let me know."

"I will do so," said Melville.

"He's rather a queer young man," muttered Eben, as he descended the

stairs. "It's funny that he should prefer a country boy like Herbert

to a young man like me who's seen life, and got some city polish--at

the same price, too! He don't seem to see his own interest. I'm

sorry, for it would have been a good deal more interesting to me,

going round with him a few hours a day, than tending store for

father. There's one thing sure, I won't do it long. I'm fitted for a

higher position than that, I hope."

"For downright impudence and cool assurance, I think that young man

will bear off the palm," thought George Melville, as his unwelcome

visitor left the room. "Herbert is in no danger from him. It would

probably surprise him if he knew that I should consider his company

as an intolerable bore. I will tell Herbert to-morrow the good turn

his friend has tried to do him."

CHAPTER IX

THE SOLITARY FARMHOUSE.

If Eben had been sensitive, the cool reception which he met with at

the hands of Mr. Melville would have disturbed him. As it was, he

felt angry and disappointed, and desirous of "coming up with"

Herbert, as he expressed it, though it was hard to see in what way

the boy had injured him. It did not seem quite clear at present how

he was to punish Herbert, but he only waited for an occasion.

When Herbert learned, the next morning, from Mr. Melville, in what

manner Eben had tried to undermine him, and deprive him of his

situation, he was naturally indignant.

"I didn't think Eben Graham could be so mean," he exclaimed.

"It was certainly a mean thing to do, Herbert," said George

Melville; "but you can afford to treat young Graham with contempt,

as he has been unable to do you any injury."

"What shall we do this morning, Mr. Melville?" asked Herbert.

"I should like a row on the river," said Melville. "Do you know of

any boat we can have?"

"Walter Ingalls has a boat; I think we can hire that."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you may go and ascertain whether we can have it, or I will go

with you to avoid loss of time."

The boat was readily loaned, and the two were soon on the river. Mr.

Melville first took the oars, but he was quickly fatigued, and

resigned them to Herbert, who was strong and muscular for his age.

As his companion observed his strong and steady strokes, he said:

"Herbert, I am disposed to envy you your strength and endurance. I

get tired very easily."

"Were you not strong when a boy?" asked Herbert.

"I never had much endurance. My mother had a feeble constitution and

was consumptive, and I inherit something of her weakness."

"It is fortunate that you have money, Mr. Melville, so that you are

not obliged to work."

"True; but I would give half my fortune to be strong and well."

Herbert noticed the hectic flush upon Mr. Melville's cheeks, and his

white, transparent hands, and his sympathy was aroused.

"I see," he said, thoughtfully, "that I am more fortunate than I

thought in my health and strength."

"They are blessings not to be overestimated, Herbert. However, my

lot is, on the whole, a happy one, even though my life will probably

be brief, and I have still many sources of satisfaction and

enjoyment."

The river led away from the village, flowing between wooded banks,

with here and there a cottage set in the midst of the fields. Lying

back in the stern, Melville enjoyed their tranquil passage, when

their attention was suddenly attracted by a boy who stood on the

bank, frantically waving his hat. Melville was the first to see him.

"What can that boy want?" he asked.

Herbert immediately looked around, and exclaimed in surprise:

"It's Tom Tripp!"

"Row to shore, and see what he wants," said Melville, quickly.

They were already near, and in a brief space of time they touched

the bank.

"What's the matter, Tom?"

"There's a tramp in the house, stealing all he can lay hands on,"

answered Tom, in excitement.

"What house?"

"Farmer Cole's."

Mr. Cole was the farmer for whom Tom Tripp was working.

Tom explained that the farmer was gone to the village, leaving his

wife alone. A tramp had come to the door and asked for a meal. While

Mrs. Cole was getting something for him, the visitor looked about

him and, finding that there was no man about, boldly demanded money,

after unceremoniously possessing himself of the silver spoons.

"Is he armed?" asked Melville.

"I don't know; I don't think so."

"Does he know that you have gone for help?"

"No; he did not see me. I came from the fields, and saw him through

the window. Mrs. Cole thinks I am in the field and there is no help

near."

Physical courage and physical strength do not always go together,

and a weak man often excels a strong man in bravery. George Melville

was thoroughly roused. For injustice or brutality he had a hearty

contempt, and he was not one to stand by and see a ruffian triumph.

"Come, Herbert," he said; "let us go to the help of this poor

woman."

"With all my heart," answered Herbert, his eyes flashing.

Before describing the appearance of Herbert and George Melville upon

the scene, I will go back a few minutes and relate what happened at

the farmhouse.

Mrs. Cole was engaged in ironing when she heard a knock at the door.

Answering the summons, she found herself confronted by an

ill-looking fellow whose dusty and travel-soiled garments revealed

the character of the wearer.

"What is it you wish?" asked the farmer's wife.

"I'm hungry!" said the tramp. "Can you give me something to eat?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Cole, cheerfully, for the good woman could not

find it in her heart to turn away a fellow creature suffering from

hunger. "We have enough and to spare. Come in, and sit down at the

table."

The visitor followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the

table, while the farmer's wife went to the pantry and brought out

half a loaf of bread and a plate of cold meat.

The tramp was not long in attacking it, but after a few mouthfuls

laid down his knife and fork.

"Where's the coffee?" he asked.

"I have no warm coffee," she answered.

"Don't you drink coffee in the morning?"

"Yes, but breakfast was over two or three hours since. Shall I get

you a glass of water?"

"Haven't you any cider?"

"It seems to me you are particular," said Mrs. Cole, growing

indignant.

"All the same I want some cider," said the tramp, impudently.

"I have no cider," answered Mrs. Cole, shortly.

"A pretty farmhouse this is, without cider," growled the tramp. "You

can make me some coffee, then!"

"Who are you to order me round in my own house?" demanded Mrs. Cole,

angrily. "One would think you took this for a hotel."

"I take it for what I please," said the tramp.

"If my husband were here you wouldn't dare to talk to me like this!"

It was an unguarded admission, made on the impulse of the moment,

and Mrs. Cole felt its imprudence as soon as she had uttered the

words, but it was too late to recall them.

"Where is your husband?" asked the tramp, his face lighting up with

a gleam of exultation.

"Near by," answered Mrs. Cole, evasively; but her visitor saw that

this was not correct.

"How much money have you in the house?" he demanded, abruptly.

"Money?" gasped the farmer's wife, turning pale.

"Yes, money! Didn't I speak plain enough?" asked the tramp, angrily.

"Are you a thief, then?"

"Don't you dare to call me a thief!" said the tramp, menacingly.

"Then, if you are an honest man, why do you ask that question?"

"Because I am going to borrow what money you have."

"Borrow!"

"Yes," said the man, with a grin. "I'll hand it back when I come

around again."

Under ordinary circumstances there would not have been money enough

in the farmhouse to be anxious about, but it so happened that Farmer

Cole had sold a yoke of oxen, and the money received, a hundred

dollars, was upstairs in a bureau drawer. The thought of this,

though she didn't suppose the tramp to be aware of it, was enough to

terrify Mrs. Cole, and she sank back in the chair in a panic. Of

course the tramp inferred that there was a considerable sum in the

house.

"Come, hurry up!" he said, roughly, "I can't wait here all day.

Where do you keep the money?"

"It is my husband's," said Mrs. Cole, terrified out of all prudence.

"All right! I'll pay it back to him. While you're about it, you may

collect all the spoons, too. I'm going to open a boarding house," he

continued, with a chuckle, "and I shall need them."

"Oh, heavens! What shall I do?" ejaculated the frightened woman.

CHAPTER X.

AN EXCITING SCENE.

"You'd better go upstairs and get that money, or I will go up

myself," said the tramp, boldly.

"I will go," said Mrs. Cole, terrified.

It was at this time that Tom Tripp, looking in at the window, got an

idea of the situation, but he was unobserved. The river bank was

near, and he ran down to it, hoping, but not expecting, to see some

one who could interfere with the impudent robber. We have already

seen that he was luckier than he anticipated.

Meanwhile Mrs. Cole went upstairs, not knowing how to save the money

from being carried away. She wished heartily that her husband had

taken it with him. One hundred dollars, as she well knew, would be a

serious loss to her husband, who was only moderately well to do. She

thought it possible that the tramp might know how large a sum there

was in the house, but could not be sure. She resolved, however, to

make an effort to save the larger part of the money. From the wallet

she took two five-dollar bills, and then, removing it from the

drawer, put it between the beds. She lingered as long as she dared,

and then went downstairs with the two bills in her hand.

"Well, have you got the money?" growled the tramp.

"Don't take it," she said; "be satisfied with the breakfast I have

given you."

"You're a fool!" said the tramp, rudely. "How much have you got

there?"

"Ten dollars."

"Ten dollars!" said the tramp, disdainfully. "What do you take me

for?"

"It is a large sum of money to me and my husband, sir," said the

poor woman, nervously.

"It isn't enough for me! You have got more money in the house. Don't

lie to me! You know you have."

"I am not used to be talked to in that way," said Mrs. Cole,

forgetting her timidity for the moment.

"I can't help what you are used to; you'd better not trifle with me.

Go upstairs and bring down the rest of the money--do you hear?"

"Oh, sir!"

"'Oh, sir!'" repeated the tramp, impatiently. "I can't stay here all

day. Are you going to do as I tell you?"

"I suppose I must," said the poor woman.

"That's sensible. You'll find out after a while that nothing is to

be gained by trying to fool me. I'll give you just three minutes to

find that money and bring it down."

"You'll leave the spoons, then?"

"No; I want them, as I've already told you. Come, two minutes are

passed. I don't want to kill you, but--"

Mrs. Cole uttered a shriek of dismay, and turned to obey the command

of her unwelcome visitor, when a loud, clear voice was heard from

just outside the window.

"Stay where you are, Mrs. Cole! There is help at hand. This ruffian

shall not harm you."

It was the voice of George Melville. The tramp turned swiftly and

stared in ill-disguised dismay at Melville and Herbert.

"What business is it of yours?" he demanded, in a blustering tone.

"We make it our business to defend this lady from your thievish

designs," said Melville.

"You!" exclaimed the tramp, contemptuously. "Why, I could twist

either of you round my little finger."

"You'd better not try it!" said Melville, not showing the least

trepidation. "Mrs. Cole, has this man anything of yours in his

possession?"

"He has my spoons and I have just handed him ten dollars."

George Melville turned to the tramp.

"Be kind enough to lay the spoons on the table," he said, "and give

back the ten dollars Mrs. Cole handed you."

"You must think I'm a fool!" said the tramp.

"No; but I think you are a prudent man. If you do as I say we will

let you go; if not--"

"Well, if not?" blustered the tramp.

"If not, you may regret it."

All this time George Melville had spoken in his usual tone of voice,

and the tramp was puzzled to know whether he had any weapon with

him. For himself, he was unarmed, and this made him feel rather ill

at ease, notwithstanding his superiority in physical strength. He

was rather disposed to think that George Melville had a pistol, for

he could not understand how otherwise he should dare to confront a

man of twice his size and strength.

"I don't care for the spoons," he said, "but I will take the money."

"No, you will return the money," said Melville, calmly.

"Who will make me?" demanded the tramp, defiantly.

"I will."

"We'll see about that!" said the tramp, desperately, and he sprang

towards Melville, who had in the meantime entered the house and

stood only six feet distant.

"Stay where you are!" exclaimed Melville, resolutely, and he drew a

pistol, which he leveled at his formidable antagonist.

"That settles it, stranger!" said the tramp, "You've got the

advantage of me this time. Just wait till we meet again."

"I am willing to wait for some time," said Melville, shrugging his

shoulders. "I have no desire to cultivate your acquaintance, my

friend."

"There are the spoons!" said the tramp, throwing them down on the

table.

"Now for the money!"

The tramp looked at George Melville. Melville still held the pistol

in his hand leveled at his breast. The thief was a large man, but he

was not a brave one. He cowered before the resolute glance of his

small opponent.

"Won't you interfere with me if I give back the money?" he asked.

"No."

"Will you let me go without firing at me?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you won't keep your agreement," suggested the tramp,

nervously.

"I am a man of my word," said Melville, calmly.

His calm, resolute tone, free from all excitement, impressed the

tramp with confidence. He drew the notes from his vest pocket, where

he had thrust them, and threw them on the table.

"Now, may I go?" he said.

In answer, George Melville, who stood between him and the door, drew

aside, still, however, holding the pistol in position, and the tramp

passed out, not sorry, it may be said, to get out of range of the

weapon.

They watched him striding through the yard, and when he was fairly

gone Mrs. Cole said:

"Oh, how can I thank you for saving me from this wretch?"

"I am glad to have been the instrument of deliverance," said

Melville, politely.

"It was fortunate you had the pistol with you, Mr. Melville," said

Herbert.

"Well, yes, perhaps it was," said Melville, smiling.

"Pray, put it up, Mr. Melville," said the farmer's wife, "it always

makes me nervous to see a loaded pistol."

Melville bowed, and put back the pistol in his pocket.

"As your unpleasant visitor has gone," he said, "I may as well

relieve your fears by saying that the pistol is not loaded."

"Not loaded!" exclaimed Herbert and Tom Tripp in concert.

"No; it has not been loaded to my knowledge for a year."

"Then how could you stand up against that man?" asked the farmer's

wife, in wonder.

"He thought it was loaded!" replied Melville, "and that answered the

purpose. I should be very reluctant to use a loaded pistol, for I

have a high idea of the sacredness of human life, but I have no

objection to playing upon the fears of a man like that."

Melville and Herbert remained at the farmhouse for half an hour,

till the return of the farmer, when they resumed their river trip.

They returned about noon. When they were walking through the main

street, Herbert saw the town constable approaching with the air of a

man who had business with him.

"Did you wish to speak to me, Mr. Bruce?" he asked.

"Yes, Herbert. I have a warrant for your arrest."

"For my arrest!" exclaimed Herbert, in amazement. "What for?"

"On complaint of Eben Graham, for abstracting postage stamps and

money from the post office last evening."

CHAPTER XI.

TRIED FOR THEFT.

Herbert stared at the constable in blank amazement.

"I am charged with stealing stamps and money from the post office?"

he said.

"Yes."

"Who makes the charge?" demanded Herbert, in great excitement.

"Eben Graham."

"I don't know what it means," said our hero, turning to George

Melville.

"It means," said Melville, "that the fellow is envious of you, and

angry because he cannot supersede you with me. He evidently wants to

do you an injury."

"It must be so; but I did not imagine that Eben could be so mean.

Mr. Bruce, do you believe that I am a thief?"

"No, I don't, Herbert," said the constable, "and it was very much

against my will that I started out to arrest you, you may be sure."

"When do you want me to go with you?" asked Herbert.

"You will go before Justice Slocum at two o'clock."

"Is it necessary for me to go to the lockup?" asked Herbert,

shrinking, with natural repugnance, from entering the temporary

house of tramps and law breakers.

"No, Herbert," answered the constable, in a friendly tone. "I'll

take it upon myself to let you go home to dinner. I will call for

you at quarter of two. Of course I shall find you ready to accompany

me?"

"Yes, Mr. Bruce, I am impatient to meet Eben Graham, and tell him to

his face that he has been guilty of a mean and contemptible

falsehood, in charging me with theft. Not a person in the village

who knows me will believe it."

"I will also call at your house, Herbert," said George Melville,

"and accompany you to the office of the justice. I shall ask leave

to give the details of Eben Graham's visit to me last evening."

"Thank you, Mr. Melville," said Herbert, "I am glad you do not

believe a word of this story."

"I am not so easily deceived, Herbert. It is quite possible that

stamps and money have been stolen, but, if so, it is your false

friend and accuser who is guilty."

Of course Herbert had to tell his mother what had happened. She was

agitated and alarmed, but became calmer when Herbert told her what

was Eben's probable motive in making the charge.

"How can he behave so shamefully!" exclaimed the indignant parent.

"I didn't think him capable of it, myself, mother, although I had a

poor opinion of him."

"Suppose that you can't prove that you are innocent, Herbert?" said

Mrs. Carr, anxiously.

"It is for him to prove that I am guilty, mother," answered Herbert,

who knew this much of law.

At a quarter of two Constable Bruce and Mr. Melville walked to the

house together.

The door was opened for them by Herbert himself.

"So you haven't taken leg bail, Herbert," said the constable,

jocosely.

"No, Mr. Bruce, I am on hand; I am in a hurry to meet Mr. Eben

Graham and see whether he can look me in the face after his shameful

behavior."

"Oh, Mr. Bruce, I never thought you would call at my home on such an

errand," said Mrs, Carr, on the point of breaking down.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Carr," said the constable; "anybody may be

charged with theft, however innocent. Your son has good friends who

won't see him treated with injustice."

Herbert's mother was desirous of accompanying them to the office of

the justice, but was persuaded to remain behind. Herbert knew that

in her indignation she would not be able to be silent when she saw

Eben Graham.

Justice Slocum was an elderly man, with a mild face and gray hair.

When Herbert entered he greeted him in a friendly way.

"I am sorry to see you here, my boy," he said, "but I am sure there

is some mistake. I have known you ever since you were a baby, and I

don't believe you are guilty of theft now."

"I submit, Judge Slocum," said Eben Graham, who sat in a corner, his

mean features looking meaner and more insignificant than usual, "I

submit that you are prejudging the case."

"Silence, sir!" said Judge Slocum, warmly. "How dare you impugn my

conduct? Though Herbert were my own son, I would give you a chance

to prove him guilty."

"I hope you'll excuse me, judge," said Eben, cringing. "I am as

sorry as you are to believe the boy guilty of stealing."

"Do your worst and say your worst, Eben Graham!" said Herbert,

contemptuously, "but be very careful that you do not swear falsely."

"I don't need any instructions from you, Herbert Carr, considering

that you are a criminal on trial," said Eben, maliciously.

"You are mistaken, sir," said George Melville. "To be under arrest

does not make a man or boy a criminal."

"I am sure I am much obliged for the information, Mr. Melville,"

said Eben, spitefully. "You've chosen a nice companion."

"There you are right," said Melville, gravely. "I have done much

better than if I had hired you."

Eben winced, but did not reply.

George Melville whispered to Herbert:

"Are you willing to accept me as your lawyer? I am not much of one,

to be sure, but this case is very simple."

"I am very grateful for your offer, and accept it," said Herbert.

I do not propose to record the whole scene in detail, but only to

give a general idea of the proceedings.

Eben Graham was sworn as a witness, and deposed that he had left

Herbert in charge of the post office the previous evening. On his

return he examined the stamps and contents of the money drawer, and

found, to his surprise, that five dollars in money and six dollars'

worth of stamps were missing.

"How did you know they were missing?" asked Melville.

"Because I knew precisely how much money was in the drawer and how

many stamps were there."

"Then you counted them just before you went out?"

"Yes, sir."

"That was rather a singular time to make the count, was it not?"

"I don't know that it was, sir."

"I should suppose the end of the day would be a more appropriate

time."

"I don't think so," answered Eben, shortly.

"Were you led to make the count because you suspected Herbert's

honesty?" asked Mr. Melville.

"That was the very reason I did it," said Eben, with a malicious

glance at Herbert.

"Isn't it a little curious that you should have selected a boy whose

honesty you doubted, to fill your place?" asked George Melville,

carelessly.

"There wasn't anybody else; he knew all about post-office work."

answered Eben.

"Very good! Now, Mr. Graham, if you have no objection, will you tell

why you wanted to get away from the post office last evening?"

Eben fidgeted, for he saw what was coming, and it made him nervous.

"I wanted a little rest," he answered, after a pause.

"Where did you go?"

"Why do you ask me that question?" asked Eben, moving about

uneasily.

"Because I desire an answer."

"You know where I went," returned Eben, sullenly.

"Yes, but I wish you to tell me."

"Answer the question, witness!" said the judge, briefly.

"I went to the hotel," replied Eben, evasively.

"On whom did you call?"

"On you!" answered Eben, reluctantly.

"We have come to it at last. Now, what was your business with me?"

"To tell you that Herbert would not suit you as a companion," said

the witness, who thought this answer rather a clever one.

"Whom did you recommend in his place?" pursued the questioner,

relentlessly.

Eben hesitated, but his cleverness came again to his aid.

"I told you that I would be willing to come just to oblige you," he

said.

"Did Herbert know that you were going to make this proposal?"

"No."

"You asked him, then, to remain in the post office while you

absented yourself with a view of depriving him of the position he

had just secured in my employ?"

"I would have got father to take him again in the store and post

office," said Eben, defending himself from the implied charge of

treachery.

"Yes, you told me so."

Eben nodded triumphantly. Even Melville had to admit that he was not

treating Herbert meanly.

"By the way," said Melville, "isn't it rather strange that you

should have been ready to recommend in your place a boy whose

honesty you doubted?"

"I didn't know he was a thief," said Eben, somewhat abashed.

"No, but you suspected his honesty. That was your reason for

counting the money and stamps before you left the office. At least,

that is the reason you have given."

"He had been in the office before I was there," said Eben, uneasily.

"While he was there, were any stamps missing? Was he suspected of

taking any stamps or money?"

"Not that I know of."

"Now, Mr. Graham, what answer did I make to your application?"

"What application?"

"To take you into my employ instead of Herbert."

"You wanted to keep him," said the witness, sullenly.

"Precisely. Having failed, then, in your application, you went home

and discovered that some money and stamps had been stolen."

"Yes, sir. I was very much surprised--"

"That will do, sir. Your discovery was remarkably well-timed.

Herbert having obtained the position you sought, you straightway

discovered proof of his dishonesty."

Eben colored, for the insinuation was plain enough for even him to

understand.

"The two things had nothing to do with each other!" he said.

"That may be, but I call the attention of the judge to a very

remarkable coincidence. Have the missing stamps or money been found

on the person of the defendant?"

"He hasn't been searched."

"I will take it upon me to say that he is ready to submit to an

examination," said Melville.

Herbert said, emphatically, "I am."

"Oh, it isn't likely you'd find anything now." said Eben, with a

sneer.

"Why not?"

"He has had plenty of time to put 'em away."

"I am willing to have my mother's house searched," said Herbert,

promptly.

"Oh, they ain't there!" said Eben, significantly.

"Where are they, then?"

Eben's answer took Herbert and his lawyer, and the judge himself, by

surprise.

CHAPTER XII.

EBEN'S TRUMP CARD.

"I guess they're--a part of them--inside this letter," he said.

As he spoke he produced a letter, stamped and sealed, but not

postmarked. The letter was addressed:

"Messrs. Jones & Fitch,

"---Chestnut Street,

"Philadelphia."

"What makes you think this letter contains money or postage stamps,

Mr. Graham?" asked George Melville.

"Because I've seen an advertisement of Jones & Fitch in one of the

weekly papers. They advertise to send several articles to any

address on receipt of seventy-five cents in postage stamps."

"Very well. What inference do you draw from this?"

"Don't you see?" answered Eben, in malicious triumph. "That's where

part of the stamps went. This letter was put into the post office by

Herbert Carr this morning."

"That is not true," said Herbert, quietly.

"Maybe it isn't, but I guess you'll find Herbert Carr's name signed

to the letter," said Eben.

"Have you seen the inside of the letter, Mr. Graham?"

"No, sir."

"Then how do you know Herbert Carr's name is signed to it?"

"I don't know, but I am pretty sure it is."

"You think Herbert Carr wrote the letter?"

"Yes, sir."

"If there is no objection," said Melville, "I will settle the matter

by opening it."

"That's what I want you to do." said Eben Graham.

"And I also," said Herbert.

Mr. Melville deliberately cut open one end of the envelope with a

small penknife, and drew out the folded sheet which it contained. As

he did so, a small sheet of postage stamps fell upon the floor.

"There, do you see that?" said Eben in triumph.

The sheet of stamps contained twenty-five three-cent stamps,

representing in value seventy-five cents.

"Shall I read the letter, sir?" asked Melville, of the judge.

"If there is no objection."

Melville read it aloud, as follows:

"WAYNEBORO, August 2lst. MESSRS. JONES & FITCH: I inclose

seventy-five cents in stamps, and will be glad to have you send me

the articles you advertise in the Weekly Gazette. Yours truly,

"HERBERT CARR."

Herbert listened to the reading of this letter in amazement.

"I never wrote that letter," he said, "and I never heard of Jones &

Fitch before."

"That's a likely story!" sneered Eben Graham. "I submit to Judge

Slocum that I have proved my case. I haven't found out when all the

stamps left, but I have shown where some are. One who will steal

seventy-five cents' worth of stamps will steal six dollars' worth."

"I agree with you there, Mr. Graham," said George Melville. "Will

you be kind enough to sit down at that table, and write to my

dictation?"

"What should I do that for?" asked Eben, suspiciously.

"Never mind. Surely you can have no objection."

"Well, no; I don't know as I have, though I think it's all

foolishness."

He sat down, and a pen was handed him.

"What shall I write?" he asked.

"Write 'Messrs. Jones & Fitch.'"

"What for?" demanded Eben, looking discomposed.

"That's my affair. Write."

Eben wrote the words, but he seemed to find some difficulty in doing

so. It was clear that he was trying to disguise his handwriting.

"What next?" he asked.

"'I inclose seventy-five cents in stamps,'" proceeded George

Melville.

"Do you want to throw suspicion on me?" asked Eben, throwing down

the pen.

"Keep on writing!" said the judge.

Eben did so, but was very deliberate about it, and seemed very

particular as to how he penned his letter.

"Very well!" said Melville. "Now, I wish Herbert Carr to take the

pen, and I will dictate the same letter."

Herbert readily took the seat just vacated by Eben, and rapidly

wrote the words dictated to him.

When he had finished his task, Mr. Melville took the two copies,

and, first examining them himself, handed them, together with the

original letter, to Justice Slocum.

"I have only to ask your honor," he said, "to compare these three

notes and decide for yourself whether the original was written by

Herbert Carr or Mr. Eben Graham, the witness against him."

Eben Graham looked very ill at ease, flushing and paling by turns

while the examination was going on.

"I submit," he said, "that this is a very extraordinary way of

treating a witness."

Justice Slocum, after a pause, said: "I find that Mr. Eben Graham's

copy is unmistakably in the same handwriting as the original letter,

purporting to be written by Herbert Carr."

"It's not so!" faltered Eben.

"Then," said George Melville, triumphantly, "as it seems clear that

my young client is the victim of a base conspiracy, engineered by

the man who has brought this charge of dishonesty against him, I

have only to ask that he be honorably discharged."

"The request is granted," said Justice Slocum. "Herbert, you can go.

It is clear that you are innocent of the charge made against you."

"I protest," began Eben Graham.

"As for you, Mr. Graham," said the justice, severely, "I have no

words to express my scorn and detestation of your conduct in

deliberately contriving a plot to ruin the reputation of an innocent

boy, who has never done you any harm. Should Herbert Carr desire it,

he is at liberty to sue you for having him arrested on a false

charge trumped up by yourself."

Eben began to look frightened.

"I do not wish to punish Mr. Graham," said Herbert. "It is enough

for me that my honesty has been vindicated."

"Go, then," said the justice to Eben. "It is fortunate for you that

this boy is so forbearing."

Eben Graham slunk out of the justice's office, looking meaner and

more contemptible than ever, while Herbert was surrounded by his

friends, who congratulated him upon the happy issue of the trial.

CHAPTER XIII.

EBEN'S LAST HOPE FAILS.

Ebenezer Graham had taken no stock in his son's charge against

Herbert. He was not prejudiced in favor of Herbert, nor did he feel

particularly friendly to him, but he was a man of shrewdness and

common sense, and he knew that Herbert was not a fool. When Eben

made known to him the fact that the stamps and money were missing,

he said keenly: "What has become of 'em?"

"I don't know," answered Eben, "but I can guess well enough."

"Guess, then," said his father, shortly.

"You know Herbert Carr took my place last evening?"

"Well?"

"There's no doubt that he took the stamps and money."

"That isn't very likely."

"I feel sure of it--so sure that I mean to charge him with it."

"Well, you can see what he says."

Ebenezer did not understand that Eben intended to have the boy

arrested, and would not have consented to it had he known. But Eben

slipped out of the store, and arranged for the arrest without his

father's knowledge. Indeed, he did not learn till the trial had

already commenced, Eben having made some excuse for his absence.

When Eben returned his father greeted him in a tone very far from

cordial.

"Well, Eben, I hear you've gone and made a fool of yourself?"

"I have only been defending your property, father," said Eben,

sullenly. "I thought you'd appreciate it better than this."

"You've charged an innocent boy with theft, and now all his friends

will lay it up agin' us."

"Were you going to be robbed without saying a word?" asked Eben.

"No, I'm not, Eben Graham; I'm goin' to say a word, and now's the

time to say it. You can't pull wool over my eyes. The money's gone,

and the stamps are gone, and somebody's got 'em."

"Herbert Carr!"

"No, it isn't Herbert Carr. It's somebody nearer to me, I'm ashamed

to say, than Herbert Carr."

"Do you mean to say I took them?" asked Eben.

"I won't bring a charge unless I can prove it, but I shall watch you

pretty closely after this."

"In that case, I don't wish to work for you any longer; I throw up

the situation," said Eben, loftily.

"Verv well. When are you going to leave town?"

"I ain't going to leave town at present."

"Where are you going to board, then?"

Eben regarded his father in dismay.

"You're not going to send me adrift, are you?" he asked, in

consternation.

"I'm not going to support you in idleness; if you give up your

situation in the store, you'll have to go to work for somebody

else."

"I wish I could," thought Eben, thinking of the rich young man at

the hotel, from whom he had sought a position as companion.

"Then I shall have to leave Wayneboro," he said; "there's nothing to

do here."

"Yes, there is; Farmer Collins wants a hired man."

"A hired man!" repeated Eben, scornfully. "Do you think I am

going--to hire out on a farm?"

"You might do a great deal worse," answered Ebenezer, sensibly.

"After being a dry-goods salesman in Boston, I haven't got down to

that, I beg to assure you," said Eben, with an air of consequence.

"Then you will have to work in the store if you expect to stay at

home," said his father. "And hark you, Eben Graham," he added,

"don't report any more losses of money or stamps. I make you

responsible for both."

Eben went back to his work in an uneasy frame of mind. He saw that

he had not succeeded in imposing upon his father, and that the

clear-sighted old gentleman strongly suspected where the missing

articles had gone. Eben might have told, had he felt inclined, that

the five-dollar bill had been mailed to a lottery agent in New York

in payment for a ticket in a Southern lottery, and that the stamps

were even now in his possession, and would be sold at the first

opportunity. His plan to throw suspicion upon Herbert had utterly

failed, and the cold looks with which he had been greeted showed

what the villagers thought of his attempt.

"I won't stay in Wayneboro much longer," Eben inwardly resolved.

"It's the dullest hole in creation. I can get along somehow in a

large place, but here there's positively nothing. Hire out on a

farm, indeed! My father ought to be ashamed to recommend such a

thing to his only son, when he's so well off. If he would only give

me two hundred dollars, I would go to California and trouble him no

more. Plenty of people make money in California, and why shouldn't

I? If that ticket draws a prize--"

And then Eben went into calculations of what he would do if only he

drew a prize of a thousand dollars. That wasn't too much to expect,

for there were several of that amount, and several considerably

larger. He pictured how independent he would be with his prize, and

how he would tell his father that he could get along without him,

displaying at the same time a large roll of bills. When he reached

California he could buy an interest in a mine, and perhaps within

three or four years he could return home twenty times as rich as his

father. It was pleasant to think over all this, and almost to

persuade himself that the good luck had actually come. However, he

must wait a few days, for the ticket had not yet come, and the

lottery would not be drawn for a week.

The ticket arrived two days later; Eben took care to slip the

envelope into his pocket without letting his father or anyone else

see it, for unpleasant questions might have been asked as to where

he got the money that paid for it, Mr. Graham knowing very well that

his son had not five dollars by him.

For a few days Eben must remain in Wayneboro, until the lottery was

drawn. If he was unlucky, he would have to consider some other plan

for raising money to get away from Wayneboro.

It was not till the day after the trial and his triumphant

acquittal, that Herbert saw Eben. He came to the store to buy some

groceries for his mother.

"Good-evening, Herbert," said Eben.

"Eben," said Herbert, coldly, "except in the way of business, I

don't want to speak to you."

"You don't bear malice on account of that little affair, do you,

Herbert?" said Eben, smoothly.

"That little affair, as you call it, might have been a very serious

affair to me."

"I only did my duty," said Eben.

"Was it your duty to charge an innocent person with theft?"

"I didn't see who else could have taken the things," said Eben.

"Probably you know as well as anybody," said Herbert,

contemptuously.

"What do you mean?" demanded Eben, coloring.

"You know better than I do. How much do I owe you?"

"Thirty-three cents."

"There is your money," said Herbert, and walked out of the store.

"I hate that boy!" said Eben, scowling at Herbert's retreating

figure. "He puts on too many airs, just because a city man's taken

him in charity and is paying his expenses. Some time I'll be able to

come up with him, I hope."

Herbert was not of an unforgiving nature, but he felt that Eben had

wronged him deeply, and saw no reason why he would not repeat the

injury if he ever got the chance. He had at least a partial

understanding of Eben's mean nature and utter selfishness, and felt

that he wished to have nothing to do with him. Ebenezer Graham was

very "close," but he was a hard-working man and honest as the world

goes. He was tolerably respected in Wayneboro, though not popular,

but Eben seemed on the high road to become a rascal.

A week slipped by, and a circular containing the list of prizes

drawn was sent to Eben.

He ran his eyes over it in a flutter of excitement. Alas! for his

hopes. In the list of lucky numbers the number on his ticket was not

included.

"I have drawn a blank! Curse the luck!" he muttered, savagely. "The

old man needn't think I am going to stay here in Wayneboro. If he

won't give me money to go out West, why, then--"

But he did not say what then.

CHAPTER XIV.

A TRIP TO BOSTON.

"To-morrow, Herbert," said George Melville, as they parted for the

day, "I shall propose a new excursion to you."

Herbert regarded him inquiringly.

"I want to go to Boston to make a few purchases, but principally to

consult my physician."

"I hope you are not feeling any worse, Mr. Melville," said Herbert,

with genuine concern, for he had come to feel a regard for his

employer, who was always kind and considerate to him.

"No, I am feeling as well as usual; but I wish to consult Dr. Davies

about the coming winter--whether he would advise me to spend it in

Massachusetts."

"If Mr. Melville goes away, I shall have to look for another place,"

thought Herbert, soberly. It was hardly likely, he knew, that he

would obtain a position so desirable as the one he now filled.

"I hope he will be able to do so, Mr. Melville," he said, earnestly.

"I hope so; but I shall not be surprised if the doctor ordered me

away."

"Then you won't want me to come to-morrow?"

"Certainly, unless you object to going to Boston with me."

"Object?" repeated Herbert, eagerly. "I should like nothing better."

In fact, our hero, though a well-grown boy of sixteen, had never

been to Boston but three times, and the trip, commonplace as it may

seem to my traveled young readers, promised him a large amount of

novelty and pleasurable excitement.

"I shall be glad of your company, Herbert. I hardly feel the

strength or enterprise to travel alone, even for so trifling a trip

as going to Boston."

"At what hour will you go, Mr. Melville?"

"I will take the second train, at nine o'clock. It will afford me

time enough, and save my getting up before my usual time."

Herbert would have preferred going by the first train, starting at

half-past seven, as it would have given him a longer day in the

city, but of course he felt that his employer had decided wisely.

"It will be quite a treat to me, going to Boston," he said. "I have

only been there three times in my life."

"You certainly have not been much of a traveler, Herbert," said

George Melville, smiling. "However, you are young, and you may see a

good deal of the world yet before you die."

"I hope I will. It must be delightful to travel."

"Yes, when you are young and strong," said Melville, thoughtfully.

"That makes a great deal of difference in the enjoyment."

Herbert did not fail to put in an appearance at the hotel

considerably before it was time to leave for the train. George

Melville smiled at his punctuality.

"I wish, Herbert," he said, "that I could look forward with as much

pleasure as you feel to our trip to-day."

"I wish so, too, Mr. Melville."

"At any rate, I shall enjoy it better for having a companion."

The tickets were bought, and they took their places in one of the

passenger cars.

Just as the train was ready to start, Herbert saw a young man with a

ticket in his hand hurrying along the platform.

"Why, there's Eben Graham!" he said, in surprise.

"Is he entering the cars?"

"Yes, he has just got into the car behind us."

"I wonder if he is going to leave Wayneboro for good?"

"Probably he is only going to Boston for the day, perhaps to buy

goods."

Herbert thought it doubtful whether Ebenezer Graham would trust his

son so far, but did not say so. Eben, on his part, had not seen

Herbert on board the train, and was not aware that he was a fellow

passenger.

The journey was a tolerably long one--forty miles--and consumed an

hour and a half. At last they rolled into the depot, and before the

train had fairly stopped the passengers began to crowd toward the

doors of the car.

"Let us remain till the crowd has passed out," said George Melville.

"It is disagreeable to me to get into the throng, and it saves very

little time."

"Very well, sir."

Looking out of the car window, Herbert saw Eben Graham walking

swiftly along the platform, and could not forbear wondering what had

brought him to the city.

"My doctor's office is on Tremont Street," said Mr. Melville. "I

shall go there immediately, and may have to wait some time. It will

be tiresome to you, and I shall let you go where you please. You can

meet me at the Parker House, in School Street, at two o'clock."

"Very well, sir."

"Do you know where the hotel is?"

"No, but I can find it," answered Herbert, confidently.

"I believe I will also get you to attend to a part of my business

for me."

"I shall be very glad to do so," said Herbert, sincerely. It made

him feel more important to be transacting business in Boston.

"Here is a check for a hundred and fifty dollars on the Merchants'

Bank," continued George Melville. "It is payable to the bearer, and

you will have no trouble in getting the money on it. You may present

it at the bank, and ask for fives and tens and a few small bills."

"Very well, sir."

Herbert felt rather proud to have so much confidence reposed in him,

for to him a hundred and fifty dollars seemed a large sum of money,

and he felt that George Melville was a rich man to draw so much at

one time.

"Had I better go to the bank at once?" he asked.

"Yes, I think so; of course, I need not caution you to take good

care of the money."

"I'll be sure to do that, sir."

They walked together to Tremont Street, and Mr. Melville paused at a

doorway opposite the Common.

"My doctor's office is upstairs," he said. "We will part here and

meet at the hotel. If you are late, I may go into the dining room;

so if you don't see me in the reading room, go to the door of the

dining room and look in."

"Very well, sir; but I think I shall be on time."

"The bank is open now, and you can cash the check if you go down

there."

Left to himself, Herbert walked slowly along, looking into shop

windows and observing with interested attention the people whom he

met.

"It must be very pleasant to live in the city," he thought; "there

is so much going on all the time."

It is no wonder that country boys are drawn toward the city, and

feel that their cup of happiness would be full if they could get a

position in some city store. They do not always find the reality

equal to their anticipations. The long hours and strict discipline

of a city office or mercantile establishment are not much like the

freedom they pictured to themselves, and after they have paid their

board bill in some shabby boarding house they seldom find much left

over, either for amusement or needful expenses. The majority of boys

would do better to remain in their country homes, where at least

they can live comfortably and at small expense, and take such

employment as may fall in their way. They will stand a much better

chance of reaching a competence in middle life than if they helped

to crowd the ranks of city clerks and salesmen. There is many a

hard-working clerk of middle age, living poorly, and with nothing

laid by, in the city, who, had he remained in his native village,

might have reached a modest independence. It was hardly to be

expected, however, that Herbert would feel thus. Upon him the show

and glitter of the city shops and streets produced their natural

effect, and he walked on buoyantly, seeing three times as much as a

city boy would have done.

He turned down School Street, passing the Parker House, where he was

to meet Mr. Melville. Just before he reached it he saw Eben Graham

emerge from the hotel and walk towards Washington Street. Eben did

not look behind him, and therefore did not see Herbert.

"I wonder where he is going?" thought our hero, as he followed a few

steps behind Eben.

CHAPTER XV.

AN OBLIGING GUIDE.

On Washington Street, not far from Old South Church, is an office

for the sale of railroad tickets to western points. It was this

office which Eben entered.

"He is going to inquire the price of a ticket to some western city,"

thought Herbert. "I heard him say one day that he wanted to go

West."

Our hero's curiosity was naturally aroused, and he stood at the

entrance, where he could not only see but hear what passed within.

"What do you charge for a ticket to Chicago?" he heard Eben ask.

"Twenty-two dollars," was the answer of the young man behind the

counter.

"You may give me one," said Eben.

As he spoke he drew from his vest pocket a roll of bills, and began

to count off the requisite sum.

Herbert was surprised. He had supposed that Eben was merely making

inquiries about the price of tickets. He had not imagined that he

was really going.

"Can Mr. Graham have given him money to go?" he asked himself.

"When can I start?" asked Eben, as he received a string of tickets

from the clerk.

"At three this afternoon."

Eben seemed well pleased with this reply. He carefully deposited the

tickets in an inside vest pocket, and turned to go out of the

office. As he emerged from it he caught sight of Herbert, who had

not yet started to go. He looked surprised and annoyed.

"Herbert Carr!" he exclaimed. "How came you here?"

Mingled with his surprise there was a certain nervousness of manner,

as Herbert thought.

"I came to Boston with Mr. Melville," said Herbert, coldly.

"Oh!" ejaculated Eben, with an air of perceptible relief. "Where is

Mr. Melville?"

"He has gone to the office of his physician, on Tremont Street."

"Leaving you to your own devices, eh?"

"Yes."

"Look out you don't get lost!" said Eben, with affected gayety. "I

am here on a little business for the old man."

Herbert did not believe this, in view of what he had seen, but he

did not think it necessary to say so.

"Good-morning!" said Herbert, in a tone polite but not cordial.

"Good-morning! Oh, by the way, I have just been inquiring the cost

of a ticket to St. Louis," said Eben, carelessly.

"Indeed! Do you think of going out there?"

"Yes, if the old man will let me," said Eben.

"Do you prefer St. Louis to Chicago?" asked Herbert, watching the

face of Eben attentively.

Eben's face changed, and he looked searchingly at our hero, but

could read nothing in his face.

"Oh, decidedly!" he answered, after a slight pause. "I don't think I

would care for Chicago."

"And all the while you have a ticket for Chicago in your pocket!"

thought Herbert, suspiciously, "Well, that's your own affair

entirely, not mine."

"What train do you take back to Wayneboro?" asked Eben, not without

anxiety.

"We shall not go before four o'clock."

"I may be on the train with you," said Eben, "though possibly I

shall get through in time to take an earlier one."

"He is trying to deceive me," thought Herbert.

"Good-morning," he said, formally, and walked away.

"I wish I hadn't met him," muttered Eben to himself. "He may give

the old man a clew. However, I shall be safe out of the way before

anything can be done."

Herbert kept on his way, and found the bank without difficulty.

He entered and looked about him. Though unaccustomed to banks, he

watched to see where others went to get checks cashed, and presented

himself in turn.

"How will you have it?" asked the paying teller.

"Fives and tens, and a few small bills," answered Herbert, promptly.

The teller selected the requisite number of bank bills quickly, and

passed them out to Herbert. Our hero counted them, to make sure that

they were correct, and then put them away in his inside pocket. It

gave him a feeling of responsibility to be carrying about so much

money, and he felt that it was incumbent on him to be very careful.

"Where shall I go now?" he asked himself.

He would have liked to go to Charlestown, and ascend Bunker Hill

Monument, but did not know how to go. Besides, he feared he would

not get back to the Parker House at the time fixed by Mr. Melville.

Still, he might be able to do it. He addressed himself to a rather

sprucely dressed man of thirty-five whom he met at the door of the

bank.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but can you tell me how far it is to Bunker

Hill Monument?"

"About a mile and a half," answered the stranger.

"Could I go there and get back to the Parker House before one

o'clock."

"Could you?" repeated the man, briskly. "Why, to be sure you could!"

"But I don't know the way."

"You have only to take one of the Charlestown horse cars, and it

will land you only a couple of minutes' walk from the monument."

"Can you tell me what time it is, sir?"

"Only a little past eleven. So you have never been to Bunker Hill

Monument, my lad?"

"No sir; I live in the country, forty miles away and seldom come to

Boston."

"I see, I see," said the stranger, his eyes snapping in a very

peculiar way. "Every patriotic young American ought to see the place

where Warren fell."

"I should like to if you could tell me where to take the cars."

"Why, certainly I will," said the other, quickly. "In fact--let me

see," and he pulled out a silver watch from his vest pocket, "I've a

great mind to go over with you myself."

"I shouldn't like to trouble you, sir," said Herbert.

"Oh, it will be no trouble. Business isn't pressing this morning,

and I haven't been over for a long time myself. If you don't object

to my company, I will accompany you."

"You are very kind," said Herbert. "If you are quite sure that you

are not inconveniencing yourself, I shall be very glad to go with

you--that is, if you think I can get back to the Parker House by one

o'clock."

"I will guarantee that you do," said the stranger, confidently. "My

young friend, I am glad to see that you are particular to keep your

business engagements. In a varied business experience, I have

observed that it is precisely that class who are destined to win the

favor of their employer and attain solid success."

"He seems a very sensible man," thought Herbert; "and his advice is

certainly good."

"Come this way," said the stranger, crossing Washington Street.

"Scollay's Square is close at hand, and there we shall find a

Charlestown horse car."

Of course Herbert yielded himself to the guidance of his new friend,

and they walked up Court Street together.

"That," said the stranger, pointing out a large, somber building to

the left, "is the courthouse. The last time I entered it was to be

present at the trial of a young man of my acquaintance who had

fallen into evil courses, and, yielding to temptation, had stolen

from his employer. It was a sad sight," said the stranger, shaking

his head.

"I should think it must have been," said Herbert.

"Oh, why, why will young men yield to the seductions of pleasure?"

exclaimed the stranger, feelingly.

"Was he convicted?" asked Herbert.

"Yes, and sentenced to a three years term in the State prison,"

answered his companion. "It always makes me feel sad when I think of

the fate of that young man."

"I should think it would, sir."

"I have mentioned it as a warning to one who is just beginning

life," continued the stranger. "But here is our car."

A Charlestown car, with an outside sign, Bunker Hill, in large

letters, came by, and the two got on board.

They rode down Cornhill, and presently the stranger pointed out

Faneuil Hall.

"Behold the Cradle of Liberty," he said. "Of course, you have heard

of Faneuil Hall?"

"Yes, sir," and Herbert gazed with interest at the building of which

he had heard so much.

It was but a short ride to Charlestown. They got out at the foot of

a steep street, at the head of which the tall, granite column which

crowns the summit of Bunker Hill stood like a giant sentinel ever on

guard.

CHAPTER XVI.

A NEW BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.

Just opposite the monument is a small, one-story structure, where

views of the shaft may be purchased and tickets obtained.

"There is a small admission fee," said Herbert's companion.

"How much is it?" asked our hero.

"Twenty cents."

As Herbert thrust his hand into his pocket for the necessary money,

his companion said:

"You had better let me pay for both tickets."

Though he said this, he didn't make any motion to do so.

"No, I will pay for both," said Herbert.

"But I really cannot permit you to pay for mine."

And still the speaker made no movement to purchase his ticket.

Herbert settled the matter by laying half a dollar on the desk, and

asking for two tickets. He began to see that, in spite of his

disclaimer, his guide intended him to do so. On the whole, this

didn't please him. He would rather have had his offer frankly

accepted.

"I didn't mean to have you pay," said the young man, as they passed

through the door admitting them to an inner apartment, from which

there was an exit into a small, inclosed yard, through which they

were to reach the entrance to a spiral staircase by which the ascent

was made.

Herbert did not answer, for he understood that his guide was not

telling the truth, and he did not like falsehood or deceit.

They entered the monument and commenced the ascent.

"We have a tiresome ascent before us," said the other.

"How many steps are there?" asked Herbert.

"About three hundred," was the reply.

At different points in the ascent they came to landings where they

could catch glimpses of the outward world through long, narrow,

perpendicular slits in the sides of the monument.

At last they reached the top.

Herbert's guide looked about him sharply, and seemed disappointed to

find a lady and gentleman and child also enjoying the view.

Herbert had never been so high before. Indeed, he had never been in

any high building, and he looked about him with a novel sense of

enjoyment.

"What a fine view there is here!" he said.

"True," assented his companion. "Let me point out to you the

different towns visible to the naked eye."

"I wish you would," said the boy.

So his guide pointed out Cambridge, Chelsea, Malden, the Charles and

Mystic Rivers, gleaming in the sunshine, the glittering dome of the

Boston State House and other conspicuous objects. Herbert felt that

it was worth something to have a companion who could do him this

service, and he felt the extra twenty cents he had paid for his

companion's ticket was a judicious investment.

He noticed with some surprise that his companion seemed annoyed by

the presence of the other party already referred to. He scowled and

shrugged his shoulders when he looked at them, and in a low voice,

inaudible to those of whom he spoke, he said to Herbert: "Are they

going to stay here all day?"

"What does it matter to me if they do?" returned Herbert, in

surprise.

Indeed, to him they seemed very pleasant people, and he was

especially attracted by the sweet face of the little girl. He wished

he had been fortunate enough to possess such a sister.

At last, however, they finished their sightseeing, and prepared to

descend. Herbert's companion waited till the sound of their

descending steps died away, and then, turning to Herbert, said in a

quick, stern tone: "Now give me the money you have in your pocket."

"What do you mean?" he said.

Herbert recoiled, and stared at the speaker in undisguised

astonishment.

"I mean just what I say," returned the other. "You have one hundred

and fifty dollars in your pocket. You need not deny it, for I saw

you draw it from the bank and put it away."

"Are you a thief, then?" demanded Herbert.

"No matter what I am, I must have that money," said the stranger. "I

came over with you exclusively to get it, and I mean business."

He made a step towards Herbert, but the boy faced him unflinchingly,

and answered resolutely: "I mean business, too. The money is not

mine, and I shall not give it up."

"Take care!" said the other, menacingly, "we are alone here. You are

a boy and I am a man."

"I know that; but you will have to fight to get the money," said

Herbert, without quailing.

He looked to the staircase, but his treacherous guide stood between

him and it, and he was practically a prisoner at the top of the

monument.

"Don't be a fool!" said the stranger. "You may as well give up the

money to me first as last."

"I don't propose to give it up to you at all," said Herbert. "My

employer trusted me with it, and I mean to be true to my trust."

"You can tell him that it was taken from you--that you could not

help yourself. Now hand it over!"

"Never!" exclaimed Herbert, resolutely.

"We'll see about that," said his companion, seizing the boy and

grappling with him.

Herbert was a strong boy for his age, and he accepted the challenge.

Though his antagonist was a man, he found that the boy was powerful,

and not to be mastered as easily as he anticipated.

"Confound you!" he muttered, "I wish I had a knife!"

Though Herbert made a vigorous resistance, his opponent was his

superior in strength, and would ultimately have got the better of

him. He had thrown Herbert down, and was trying to thrust his hand

into his coat pocket, when a step was heard, and a tall man of

Western appearance stepped on the scene.

"Hello!" he said, surveying the two combatants in surprise. "What's

all this? Let that boy alone, you skunk, you!"

As he spoke, he seized the man by the collar and jerked him to his

feet.

"What does all this mean?" he asked, turning from one to the other.

"This boy has robbed me of one hundred and fifty dollars," said the

man, glibly. "I fell in with him in the Boston cars, and he relieved

me of a roll of bills which I had drawn from a bank in Boston."

"What have you got to say to this?" asked the Western man, turning

to Herbert, who was now on his feet.

"Only this," answered Herbert, "that it is a lie. It was I who drew

the money from the Merchants' Bank in Boston. This man saw me cash

the check, followed me, and offered to come here with me, when I

asked him for directions."

"That's a likely story!" sneered the young man. "My friend here is

too sharp to believe it."

"Don't call me your friend!" said the Western man, bluntly. "I'm

more than half convinced you're a scamp."

"I don't propose to stay here and be insulted. Let the boy give me

my money, and I won't have him arrested."

"Don't be in too much of a hurry, young man! I want to see about

this thing. What bank did you draw the money from?"

"From the Merchants' Bank--the boy has got things reversed. He saw

me draw it, inveigled himself into my confidence, and picked my

pocket."

"Look here--stop right there! Your story doesn't hang together!"

said the tall Westerner, holding up his finger. "You said you met

this boy in a horse car."

"We came over together in a Charlestown horse car," said the rogue,

abashed.

"You've given yourself away. Now make yourself scarce! Scoot!"

The rascal looked in the face of the tall, resolute man from the

West, and thought it prudent to obey. He started to descend, but a

well-planted kick accelerated his progress, and he fell down several

steps, bruising his knees.

"Thank you, sir!" said Herbert, gratefully. "It was lucky you came

up just as you did. The rascal had got his hand on the money."

"He is a miserable scamp!" answered Herbert's new friend. "If

there'd been a police-man handy, I'd have given him in charge. I've

come clear from Wisconsin to see where Warren fell, but I didn't

expect to come across such a critter as that on Bunker Hill."

Herbert pointed out to his new friend the objects in view, repeating

the information he had so recently acquired. Then, feeling that he

could spare no more time, he descended the stairs and jumped on

board a horse car bound for Boston.

CHAPTER XVII.

AN ACCEPTABLE PRESENT.

As the clock at the Old South Church struck one, Herbert ascended

the steps of Parker's Hotel, and walked into the reading room.

George Melville was already there.

"You are on time, Herbert," he said, with a smile, as our hero made

his appearance.

"Yes, sir; but I began to think I should miss my appointment."

"Where have you been?"

"To Bunker Hill."

"Did you ascend the monument?"

"Yes, sir, and had a fight at the summit."

Mr. Melville looked at Herbert in amazement.

"Had a fight at the top of Bunker Hill Monument?" he ejaculated.

"Yes, sir; let me tell you about it."

When the story was told, Mr. Melville said: "That was certainly a

remarkable adventure, Herbert. Still, I am not sorry that it

occurred."

It was Herbert's turn to look surprised.

"I will tell you why. It proves to me that you are worthy of my

confidence, and can be trusted with the care of money. It has also

taught you a lesson, to beware of knaves, no matter how plausible

they may be."

"I haven't got over my surprise yet, sir, at discovering the real

character of the man who went with me. I am sorry I met him. I don't

like to distrust people."

"Nor I. But it is not necessary to distrust everybody. In your

journey through the world you will make many agreeable and

trustworthy acquaintances in whom it will be safe to confide. It is

only necessary to be cautious and not give your confidence too

soon."

"Oh, I didn't mention that I met somebody from Wayneboro," said

Herbert.

"Was it Eben Graham?"

"Yes."

"I met him myself on Washington Street. Did you speak to him?"

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose he goes back to-night?"

"I don't think he will go back at all, Mr. Melville."

His employer looked at him inquiringly.

"I saw him buy a ticket to Chicago, though he does not know it,"

continued Herbert. "When he spoke with me he didn't admit it, but

spoke of going back by an afternoon train."

"I am afraid he has appropriated some of his father's funds," said

Melville. "I doubt if Ebenezer Graham would voluntarily furnish him

the means of going West."

"That was just what occurred to me," said Herbert; "but I didn't

like to think that Eben would steal."

"Perhaps he has not. We shall be likely to hear when we return. But

you must be hungry. We will go in to dinner."

Herbert followed Mr. Melville into the dining room, where a good

dinner was ordered, and partaken of. Herbert looked over the bill of

fare, but the high prices quite startled him. He was not used to

patronizing hotels, and it seemed to him that the price asked for a

single dish ought to be enough to pay for a whole dinner for two. He

knew about what it cost for a meal at home, and did not dream that

it would amount to so much more at a hotel.

When the check was brought Herbert looked at it.

"Two dollars and a half!" he exclaimed.

"It costs an awful amount to live in Boston."

"Oh a dinner can be got much cheaper at most places in Boston," said

George Melville, smiling, "but I am used to Parker's, and generally

come here."

"I am glad it doesn't cost so much to live in Wayneboro," said

Herbert. "We couldn't afford even one meal a day."

"You haven't asked me what the doctor said," remarked Melville, as

they left the dining room.

"Excuse me, Mr. Melville. It wasn't from any lack of interest."

"He advises me to go West by the first of October, either to

Colorado or Southern California."

Herbert's countenance fell. The first of October would soon come,

and his pleasant and profitable engagement with Mr. Melville would

close.

"I am sorry," he said, gravely.

"I am not so sorry as I should have been a few weeks ago," said

Melville. "Then I should have looked forward to a journey as lonely

and monotonous. Now, with a companion, I think I may have a pleasant

time."

"Who is going with you, Mr. Melville?" asked Herbert, feeling, it

must be confessed, a slight twinge of jealousy.

"I thought perhaps you would be willing to accompany me," said

Melville.

"Would you really take me, Mr. Melville?" cried Herbert, joyfully.

"Yes, if you will go."

"I should like nothing better. I have always wanted to travel. It

quite takes my breath away to think of going so far away."

"I should hardly venture to go alone," continued George Melville. "I

shall need some one to look after the details of the journey, and to

look after me if I fall sick. Do you think you would be willing to

do that?"

"I hope you won't fall sick, Mr. Melville; but if you do, I will

take the best care of you I know how."

"I am sure you will, Herbert, and I would rather have you about me

than a man. Indeed, I already begin to think of you as a younger

brother."

"Thank you, Mr. Melville," said Herbert, gratefully. "I am glad you

do."

"Do you think your mother will object to your leaving home,

Herbert?"

"Not with you. She knows I shall be well provided for with you. Can

I arrange to send money regularly to mother?" asked the boy. "I

shouldn't like to think of her as suffering for want of it."

"Yes, but to guard against emergencies, we can leave her a sum of

money before you start."

After dinner Mr. Melville proposed to Herbert to accompany him on a

walk up Washington Street, They walked slowly, Herbert using his

eyes diligently, for to him the display in the shop windows was

novel and attractive.

At length they paused at the door of a large and handsome jewelry

store--one of the two finest in Boston.

"I want to go in here, Herbert," said his employer.

"Shall I stay outside?"

"No, come in with me. You may like to look about."

Though Herbert had no idea of the cost of the fine stock with which

the store was provided, he saw that it must be valuable, and

wondered where purchasers enough could be found to justify keeping

so large a supply of watches, chains, rings and the numberless other

articles in gold and silver which he saw around him.

"I would like to look at your watches," said Melville to the

salesman who came forward to inquire his wishes.

"Gold or silver, sir?"

"Silver."

"This way, if you please."

He led the way to a case where through the glass covering Herbert

saw dozens of silver watches of all sizes and grades lying ready for

inspection.

"For what price can I get a fair silver watch?" asked Melville.

"Swiss or Waltham?"

"Waltham. I may as well patronize home manufactures."

"Here is a watch I will sell you for fifteen dollars," said the

salesman, drawing out a neat-looking watch, of medium size. "It will

keep excellent time, and give you good satisfaction."

"Very well; I will buy it on your recommendation. Have you any

silver chains?"

One was selected of pretty pattern, and George Melville paid for

both.

"How do you like the watch and chain, Herbert?" said his employer,

as they left the store.

"They are very pretty, sir."

"I suppose you wonder what I want of two watches," said Melville.

"Perhaps you don't like to take your gold watch with you when you go

out West, for fear of thieves."

"No, that is not the reason. If I am so unfortunate as to lose my

gold watch, I will buy another. The fact is, I have bought this

silver watch and chain for you."

"For me!" exclaimed Herbert, intensely delighted.

"Yes; it will be convenient for you, as well as me, to be provided

with a watch. Every traveler needs one. There; put it in your

pocket, and see how it looks."

"You are very kind to me, Mr. Melville," said Herbert, gratefully.

"You couldn't have bought me anything which I should value more."

When Herbert had arranged the watch and chain to suit him, it must

be confessed that it engrossed a large part of his attention, and it

was wonderful how often he had occasion to consult it during the

first walk after it came into his possession.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A THIEF IN TROUBLE.

"Have you ever visited the suburbs of Boston?" asked Melville.

"No," answered Herbert. "I know very little of the city, and nothing

of the towns near it."

"Then, as we have time to spare, we will board the next horse car

and ride out to Roxbury."

"I should like it very much, Mr. Melville," said Herbert, in a tone

of satisfaction. I may remark that Roxbury was at that time a

separate municipality, and had not been annexed to Boston.

They did not have to wait long for a car. An open car, of the kind

in common use during the pleasant season, drew near, and they

secured seats in it. After leaving Dover Street, Washington Street,

still then narrow, broadens into a wide avenue, and is called the

Neck. It was gay with vehicles of all sorts, and Herbert found much

to attract his attention.

"The doctor tells me I ought to be a good deal in the open air,"

said Melville, "and I thought I would act at once upon his

suggestion. It is much pleasanter than taking medicine."

"I should think so," answered Herbert, emphatically.

Arrived at the end of the route, Melville and Herbert remained on

the car, and returned at once to the city. When they reached the

crowded part of Washington Street a surprise awaited Herbert.

From a small jewelry store they saw a man come out, and walk rapidly

away.

"Mr. Melville," said Herbert, in excitement, "do you see that man?"

"Yes. What of him?"

"It is the man who tried to rob me on Bunker Hill Monument."

He had hardly uttered these words when another man darted from the

shop, bareheaded, and pursued Herbert's morning acquaintance,

crying, "Stop, thief!"

The thief took to his heels, but a policeman was at hand, and seized

him by the collar.

"What has this man been doing?" he asked, as the jeweler's clerk

came up, panting.

"He has stolen a diamond ring from the counter," answered the clerk.

"I think he has a watch besides."

"It's a lie!" said the thief, boldly.

"Search him!" said the clerk, "and you'll find that I have made no

mistake."

"Come with me to the station house, and prepare your complaint,"

said the policeman.

By this time a crowd had gathered, and the thief appealed to them.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I am a reputable citizen of St. Louis, come

to Boston to buy goods, and I protest against this outrage. It is

either a mistake or a conspiracy, I don't know which."

The thief was well dressed, and some of the bystanders were disposed

to put confidence in him. He had not seen Herbert and George

Melville, who had left the car and joined the throng, or he might

not have spoken so confidently.

"He doesn't look like a thief," said one of the bystanders, a

benevolent-looking old gentleman.

"I should say not," said the thief, more boldly. "It's a pretty

state of things if a respectable merchant can't enter a store here

in Boston without being insulted and charged with theft. If I only

had some of my friends or acquaintances here, they would tell you

that it is simply ridiculous to make such a charge against me."

"You can explain this at the station house," said the policeman. "It

is my duty to take you there."

"Is there no one who knows the gentleman?" said the philanthropist

before referred to. "Is there no one to speak up for him?"

Herbert pressed forward, and said, quietly:

"I know something of him; I passed the morning in his company."

The thief turned quickly, but he didn't seem gratified to see

Herbert.

"The boy is mistaken," he said, hurriedly; "I never saw him before."

"But I have seen you, sir," retorted our hero. "You saw me draw some

money from a bank in State Street, scraped acquaintance with me, and

tried to rob me of it on Bunker Hill."

"It's a lie!" said the prisoner, hoarsely.

"Do you wish to make a charge to that effect?" asked the policeman.

"No, sir; I only mentioned what I knew of him to support the charge

of this gentleman," indicating the jeweler's clerk.

The old gentleman appeared to lose his interest in the prisoner

after Herbert's statement, and he was escorted without further delay

to the station house, where a gold watch and the diamond ring were

both found on his person. It is scarcely needful to add that he was

tried and sentenced to a term of imprisonment in the very

city--Charlestown--where he had attempted to rob Herbert.

"It is not always that retribution so quickly overtakes the

wrongdoer," said Melville. "St. Louis will hardly be proud of the

man who claims her citizenship."

"Dishonesty doesn't seem to pay in his case," said Herbert,

thoughtfully.

"It never pays in any case, Herbert," said George Melville,

emphatically. "Even if a man could steal enough to live upon, and

were sure not to be found out, he would not enjoy his ill-gotten

gain, as an honest man enjoys the money he works hard for. But when

we add the risk of detection and the severe penalty of imprisonment,

it seems a fatal mistake for any man to overstep the bounds of

honesty and enroll himself as a criminal."

"I agree with you, Mr. Melville," said Herbert, thoughtfully. "I

don't think I shall ever be tempted, but if I am, I will think of

this man and his quick detection."

When they reached the depot, a little before four o'clock, George

Melville sent Herbert to the ticket office to purchase tickets,

while he remained in the waiting room.

"I might as well accustom you to the duties that are likely to

devolve upon you," he said, with a smile.

Herbert had purchased the tickets and was turning away, when to his

surprise he saw Ebenezer Graham enter the depot, laboring evidently

under considerable excitement. He did not see Herbert, so occupied

was he with thoughts of an unpleasant nature, till the boy greeted

him respectfully.

"Herbert Carr!" he said; "when did you come into Boston?"

"This morning, sir."

"Have you seen anything of my son, Eben, here?" gasped Mr. Graham.

"Yes, sir; he was on the same train, but I did not see him to speak

to him till after I reached the city."

"Do you know what he has been doing here?" asked Ebenezer, his face

haggard with anxiety.

"I only saw him for five minutes," answered Herbert, reluctant to

tell the father what he knew would confirm any suspicion he might

entertain.

"Where did you see him?" demanded Ebenezer, quickly.

"At a railroad ticket office not far from the Old South Church."

"Do you know if he bought any ticket?" asked Ebenezer, anxiously.

"Yes," answered Herbert. "I overheard him purchasing a ticket to

Chicago."

Ebenezer groaned, and his face seemed more and more wizened and

puckered up.

"It is as I thought!" he exclaimed, bitterly. "My own son has robbed

me and fled like a thief, as he is."

Herbert was shocked, but not surprised. He didn't like to ask

particulars, but Ebenezer volunteered them.

"This morning," he said, "I foolishly gave Eben a hundred dollars,

and sent him to Boston to pay for a bill of goods which I recently

bought of a wholesale house on Milk Street. If I had only known you

were going in, I would have sent it by you."

Herbert felt gratified at this manifestation of confidence,

especially as he had so recently been charged with robbing the post

office, but did not interrupt Mr. Graham, who continued:

"As soon as Eben was fairly gone, I began to feel sorry I sent him,

for he got into extravagant ways when he was in Boston before, and

he had been teasing me to give him money enough to go out West with.

About noon I discovered that he had taken fifty dollars more than

the amount I intrusted to him, and then I couldn't rest till I was

on my way to Boston to find out the worst. I went to the house on

Milk Street and found they had seen nothing of Eben. Then I knew

what had happened. The graceless boy has robbed his father of a

hundred and fifty dollars, and is probably on his way West by this

time."

"He was to start by the three o'clock train, I think," said Herbert,

and gave his reasons for thinking so.

Ebenezer seemed so utterly cast down by this confirmation of his

worst suspicions, that Herbert called Mr. Melville, thinking he

might be able to say something to comfort him.

CHAPTER XIX.

EBENEZER GRAHAM'S GRIEF.

"How much have you lost by your son, Mr. Graham?" asked George

Melville.

"Nearly two hundred and fifty dollars," groaned Ebenezer, "counting

what I paid in the city to his creditors, it is terrible, terrible!"

and he wrung his hands in his bitterness of spirit.

"I am sorry for you," said Melville, "and still more for him."

"Why should yon be sorry for him?" demanded Ebenezer, sharply. "He

hasn't lost anything."

"Is it nothing to lose his consciousness of integrity, to leave his

home knowing that he is a thief?"

"Little he'll care for that!" said Mr. Graham, shrugging his

shoulders. "He's laughing in his sleeve, most likely, at the way he

has duped and cheated me, his father."

"How old is Eben, Mr. Graham?"

"He will be twenty in November," answered Ebenezer, apparently

puzzled by the question.

"Then, as he is so young, let us hope that he may see the error of

his ways, and repent."

"That won't bring me back my money," objected Ebenezer, querulously.

It was clear that he thought more of the money he had lost than of

his son's lack of principle.

"No, it will not give you back your money, but it may give you back

a son purified and prepared to take an honorable position in

society."

"No, no; he's bad, bad!" said the stricken father. "What did he care

for the labor and toil it took to save up that money?"

"I hope the loss of the money will not distress you, Mr. Graham."

"Well, no, not exactly," said Ebenezer, hesitating. "I shall have to

take some money from the savings bank to make up what that graceless

boy has stolen."

It was clear that Ebenezer Graham would not have to go to the

poorhouse in consequence of his losses.

"I can hardly offer you consolation," said George Melville, "but I

suspect that you will not be called upon to pay any more money for

your son."

"I don't mean to!" said Ebenezer, grimly.

"Going away as he has done, he will find it necessary to support

himself, and will hardly have courage to send to you for

assistance."

"Let him try it!" said Ebenezer, his eyes snapping.

"He may, therefore, being thrown upon his own resources, be

compelled to work hard, and that will probably be the best thing

that can happen to him."

"I hope he will! I hope he will!" said the storekeeper. "He may find

out after a while that he had an easy time at home, and was better

paid than he will be among strangers. I won't pay any more of his

debts. I'll publish a notice saying that I have given him his time,

and won't pay any more debts of his contracting. He might run into

debt enough to ruin me, between now and the time he becomes of age."

George Melville considered that the storekeeper was justified in

taking this step, and said so.

While they were on the train, Ebenezer got measurably reconciled to

his loss, and his busy brain began to calculate how much money he

would save by ceasing to be responsible for Eben's expenses of

living and prospective debts. Without this drawback, he knew he

would grow richer every year. He knew also that notwithstanding the

sum it had just cost him, he would be better off at the end of the

year than the beginning, and to a man of his character this was

perhaps the best form of consolation that he could have.

Suddenly it occurred to Mr. Graham that he should need a clerk in

place of his son.

"Now that Eben has gone, Herbert," he said, "I am ready to take you

back."

This was a surprise, for Herbert had not thought of the effect upon

his own business prospects.

"I have got a place, thank you, Mr. Graham," he said.

"You don't call trampin' round huntin' and fishin' work, do you?"

said Ebenezer.

"It is very agreeable work, sir."

"But it stands to reason that you can't earn much that way. I

wouldn't give you twenty-five cents a week for such doings."

"Are you willing to pay me more than Mr. Melville does?" asked

Herbert, demurely, smiling to himself.

"How much does he pay you now?" asked Ebenezer, cautiously.

"Six dollars a week."

"Six dollars a week!" repeated the storekeeper, in incredulous

amazement. "Sho! you're joking!"

"You can ask Mr. Melville, sir."

Ebenezer regarded George Melville with an inquiring look.

"Yes, I pay Herbert six dollars a week," said he, smiling.

"Well, I never!" ejaculated Ebenezer. "That's the strangest thing I

ever heard. How in the name of conscience can a boy earn so much

money trampin' round?"

"Perhaps it would not be worth as much to anyone else," said

Melville, "but Herbert suits me, and I need cheerful company."

"You ain't goin' to keep him long at that figger, be you, Mr.

Melville?" asked Mr. Graham, bluntly.

"I think we shall be together a considerable time, Mr. Graham. If,

however, you should be willing to pay Herbert a larger salary, I

might feel it only just to release him from his engagement to me."

"Me pay more'n six dollars a week!" gasped Ebenezer. "I ain't quite

crazy. Why, it would take about all I get from the post office."

"You wouldn't expect me to take less than I can earn elsewhere, Mr.

Graham," said Herbert.

"No-o!" answered the storekeeper, slowly. He was evidently nonplused

by the absolute necessity of getting another clerk, and his

inability to think of a suitable person.

"If Tom Tripp was with me, I might work him into the business," said

Ebenezer, thoughtfully, "but he's bound out to a farmer."

An inspiration came to Herbert. He knew that his mother would be

glad to earn something, and there was little else to do in

Wayneboro.

"I think," he said, "you might make an arrangement with my mother,

to make up and sort the mail, for a time, at least."

"Why, so I could; I didn't think of that," answered Ebenezer,

relieved. "Do you think she'd come over to-morrow mornin'?"

"If she can't, I will," said Herbert. "I don't meet Mr. Melville

till nine o'clock."

"So do! I'll expect you. I guess I'll come over and see your mother

this evenin', and see if I can't come to some arrangement with her."

It may be added that Mr. Graham did as proposed, and Mrs. Carr

agreed to render him the assistance he needed for three dollars a

week. It required only her mornings, and a couple of hours at the

close of the afternoon, and she was very glad to convert so much

time into money.

"It makes me feel more independent," she said. "I don't want to feel

that you do all the work, Herbert, and maintain the family

single-handed."

The same evening Herbert broached the plan of traveling with Mr.

Melville. As might have been expected, his mother was at first

startled, and disposed to object, but Herbert set before her the

advantages, both to himself and the family, and touched upon the

young man's need of a companion so skillfully and eloquently that

she was at last brought to regard the proposal favorably. She felt

that George Melville was one to whom she could safely trust her only

boy. Moreover, her own time would be partly occupied, owing to the

arrangement she had just made to assist in the post office, so that

Herbert carried his point.

The tenth of October arrived, the date which George Melville had

fixed upon for his departure. Mrs. Carr had put Herbert's wardrobe

in order, and he had bought himself a capacious carpetbag and an

umbrella, and looked forward with eagerness to the day on which

their journey was to commence. He had long thought and dreamed of

the West, its plains and cities, but had never supposed that it

would be his privilege to make acquaintance with them, at any rate,

until he should have become twice his present age. But the

unexpected had happened, and on Monday he and George Melville were

to start for Chicago.

CHAPTER XX.

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN CHICAGO.

In due time our travelers reached Chicago, and put up at the Palmer

House. Herbert was much impressed by the elegance of the hotel, its

sumptuous furniture, and luxurious table. It must be considered that

he was an inexperienced traveler, though had he been otherwise he

might be excused for his admiration.

"I have some business in Chicago, and shall remain two or three

days," said George Melville.

Herbert was quite reconciled to the delay, and, as his services were

not required, employed his time in making himself familiar with the

famous Western city. He kept his eyes open, and found something new

and interesting at every step. One day, as he was passing through

the lower portion of the city, his attention was called to a young

man wheeling a barrow of cabbages and other vegetables, a little in

advance of him. Of course, there was nothing singular about this,

but there seemed something familiar in the figure of the young man.

Herbert quickened his step, and soon came up with him.

One glance was enough. Though disguised by a pair of overalls, and

without a coat, Herbert recognized the once spruce dry-goods clerk,

Eben Graham.

Eben recognized Herbert at the same time. He started, and flushed

with shame, not because of the theft of which he had been guilty,

but because he was detected in an honest, but plebeian labor.

"Herbert Carr!" he exclaimed, stopping short.

"Yes, Eben; it is I!"

"You find me changed," said Eben, dolefully.

"No, I should recognize you anywhere."

"I don't mean that. I have sunk very low," and he glanced

pathetically at the wheelbarrow.

"If you refer to your employment, I don't agree with you. It is an

honest business."

"True, but I never dreamed when I stood behind the counter in

Boston, and waited on fashionable ladies, that I should ever come to

this."

"He seems more ashamed of wheeling vegetables than of stealing,"

thought Herbert, and he was correct.

"How do you happen to be in this business, Eben?" he asked, with

some curiosity.

"I must do it or starve. I was cheated out of my money soon after I

came here, and didn't know where to turn."

Eben did not explain that he lost his money in a gambling house. He

might have been cheated out of it, but it was his own fault, for

venturing into competition with older and more experienced knaves

than himself.

"I went for thirty-six hours without food," continued Eben, "when I

fell in with a man who kept a vegetable store, and he offered to

employ me. I have been with him ever since."

"You were fortunate to find employment," said Herbert.

"Fortunate!" repeated Eben, in a tragic tone. "How much wages do you

think I get?"

"I can't guess."

"Five dollars a week, and have to find myself," answered Eben,

mournfully. "What would my fashionable friends in Boston say if they

could see me?"

"I wouldn't mind what they said as long as you are getting an honest

living."

"How do you happen to be out here?" asked Eben.

His story was told in a few words.

"You are always in luck!" said Eben, enviously. "I wish I had your

chance. Is Mr. Melville very rich?"

"He is rich; but I don't know how rich."

"Do you think he'd lend me money enough to get home?"

"I don't know."

"Will you ask him?"

"I will tell him that you made the request, Eben," answered Herbert,

cautiously. "Have you applied to your father?"

"To the old man? Yes. He hasn't any more heart than a grindstone,"

said Eben, bitterly. "What do you think he wrote me?"

"He refused, I suppose."

"Here is his letter," said Eben, drawing from his pocket a greasy

half sheet of note paper. "See what he has to say to his only son."

This was the letter:

"EBEN GRAHAM: I have received your letter, and am not surprised to

hear that you are in trouble. 'As a man sows, so also shall he

reap.' A young man who will rob his father of his hard earnings is

capable of anything. You have done what you could to ruin me, and

deserve what you have got. You want me to send you money to come

home, and continue your wicked work--I shall not do it. I wash my

hands of you; I have already given notice, through the country paper

that I have given you your time, and shall pay no more debts of your

contracting.

"I am glad to hear that you are engaged in an honest employment. It

is better than I expected. I would not have been surprised if I had

heard that you were in jail. My advice to you is to stay where you

are and make yourself useful to your employer. He may in time raise

your wages. Five years hence, if you have turned over a new leaf and

led an honest life, I may give you a place in my store. At present,

I would rather leave you where you are.

"EBENEZER GRAHAM."

"What do you say to that? Isn't that rather rough on an only son,

eh?" said Eben.

It occurred to Herbert that Eben hardly deserved very liberal

treatment from his father, notwithstanding he was an only son.

"Oh, the old man is awfully mean and close-fisted," said Eben. "He

cares more for money than for anything else. By the way, how does

Melville treat you?"

"Mr. Melville," said Herbert, emphasizing the Mr., "is always kind

and considerate."

"Pays you well, eh?"

"He pays me more than I could get anywhere else."

"Pays all your hotel and traveling expenses, eh?"

"Of course."

"And a good salary besides?"

"Yes."

"Herbert," said Eben, suddenly, "I want you to do me a favor."

"What is it?"

"You've always known me, you know. When you was a little chap, and

came into the store, I used to give you sticks of candy."

"I don't remember it," answered Herbert, truthfully.

"I did, all the same. You were so young that you don't remember it."

"Well, Eben, what of it?"

"I want you to lend me ten dollars, Herbert, in memory of old

times."

Herbert was generously inclined, on ordinary occasions, but did not

feel so on this occasion. He felt that Eben was not a deserving

object, even had he felt able to make so large a loan. Besides, he

could not forget that the young man who now asked a favor had

brought a false charge of stealing against him.

"You will have to excuse me, Eben," he answered. "To begin with, I

cannot afford to lend so large a sum."

"I would pay you back as soon as I could."

"Perhaps you would," said Herbert, "though I have not much

confidence in it. But you seem to forget that you charged me with

stealing only a short time since. I wonder how you. have the face to

ask me to lend you ten dollars, or any sum."

"It was a mistake," muttered Eben, showing some signs of confusion.

"At any rate, I won't say anything more about it while you are in

trouble. But you must excuse my declining to lend you."

"Lend me five dollars, then," pleaded Eben.

"What do you want to do with it?"

"To buy lottery tickets. I am almost sure I should win a prize, and

then I can pay you five dollars for one."

"I wouldn't lend any money for that purpose to my dearest friend,"

said Herbert "Buying lottery tickets is about the most foolish

investment you could make."

"Then I won't buy any," said Eben. "Lend me the money and I will use

it to buy clothes."

"You will have to excuse me," said Herbert, coldly.

"I didn't think you'd be so mean," whined Eben, "to a friend in

distress."

"I don't look upon you as a friend, and for very good reasons,"

retorted Herbert, as he walked away.

Eben looked after him with a scowl of hatred.

"I'd like to humble that boy's pride," he muttered, as he slowly

resumed his march.

CHAPTER XXI.

COL. WARNER.

When Herbert returned to the hotel he found George Melville in the

reading room in conversation with a tall and dignified-looking

stranger.

"Is that your brother, Mr. Melville?" asked the latter, as Herbert

came forward and spoke to Melville.

"No, Colonel, he is my young friend and confidential clerk, Herbert

Carr."

"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Carr," said the colonel,

affably, extending his hand as he spoke.

"This is Col. Warner, Herbert," explained George Melville.

Herbert, who was naturally polite, shook hands with the colonel, and

said he was glad to make his acquaintance.

"I have been talking with Mr. Melville," said the colonel. "I am

sorry to hear that he is traveling in search of health."

"Yes, sir; I hope he will find his journey beneficial."

"Oh, not a doubt of it! Not a doubt of it! I've been there myself.

Do you know, when I was twenty-five, which I take to be about the

age of your employer, I thought I should die of consumption?"

"I shouldn't have supposed it, sir," said Herbert, and Melville,

too, felt surprised, as he noticed the stalwart proportions of the

former consumptive.

"Ha! ha! I dare say not," said the colonel, laughing. "I don't look

much like it now, eh?"

"No, you certainly don't, colonel," said Melville. "I am curious to

know how you overcame the threatened danger."

"I did what you are doing, sir; I came West."

"But the mere coming West did not cure you, did it?"

"No, sir; it was the life I lived," returned Col. \Varner. "I didn't

stay in the cities; I went into the wilderness. I lived in a

log-cabin. I bought a horse, and rode every day. I kept in the open

air, and, after a while, I found my strength returning and my chest

expanding, and in a twelvemonth I could afford to laugh at doctors."

"And you have never had a return of the old symptoms?" asked

Melville, with interest.

"Never, except four years afterwards, when I went to New York and

remained nearly a year. I am now fifty, and rather hale and hearty

for my years, eh?"

"Decidedly so."

"Let me advise you to follow my example, Mr. Melville."

"It was my intention when I started West to live very much as you

indicated," said Melville. "Now that I have heard your experience, I

am confirmed in my resolve."

"Good! I am glad to hear it. When do you leave Chicago?"

"To-morrow, probably."

"And how far West do you intend to go?"

"I have thought of Colorado."

"Couldn't do better. I know Colorado like a book. In fact, I own

some valuable mining property there, up in--ahem! Gilpin County. By

the way--I take it you are a rich man--why don't you invest in that

way? Perhaps, however, you have it in view?"

"No, I haven't thought of it," answered Melville. "The fact is, I am

not anxious to become richer, having enough for all my present

needs."

"Just so," said the colonel. "But you might marry."

"Even if I did--"

"You would have money enough," said Col. Warner, finishing the

sentence for him. "Well, I am delighted to hear it. I am very well

fixed myself--in fact, some of my friendy call me, ha! ha!--the

nabob. But, as I was saying I am rich enough and to spare, and

still--you may be surprised--still I have no objection to making a

little more money."

Col. Warner nodded his head vigorously, and watched George Melville

to see the effect upon him of this extraordinary statement.

"Very natural, colonel," said Melville. "I believe most people want

to be richer. Perhaps if I had vigorous health I might have the same

wish. At present my chief wish is to recover my health."

"You'll do it, sir, you'll do it--and in short order, too! Then you

can turn your attention to money-making."

"Perhaps so," said Melville, with a smile.

"If not for yourself, for your young friend here," added the

colonel. "I take it he is not rich."

"I have my fortune still to make, Col. Warner," said Herbert,

smiling.

"The easiest thing in the world out here, my boy!" said the colonel,

paternally. "So you start to-morrow?" he inquired, turning to

Melville.

"I think of it."

"Egad! I've a great mind to accompany you," said the colonel. "Why

shouldn't I? I've got through all my business in Chicago, and I like

the pure air of the prairies best."

"We shall be glad of your company, colonel," said Melville,

politely.

"Thank you, sir; that decides me. I'll see you again and fix the

hour of going, or rather I'll conform myself to your arrangements."

"Very well, colonel."

"What do you think of my new acquaintance, Col. Warner, Herbert?"

asked Melville when they were alone.

"He seems to have a very good opinion of himself," answered Herbert.

"Yes, he is very well pleased with himself. He isn't a man exactly

to my taste, but he seems a representative Western man. He does not

look much like a consumptive?"

"No, sir."

"I feel an interest in him on that account," said Melville,

seriously. "If at any time I could become as strong and stalwart I

would willingly surrender one-half, nay nine-tenths of my fortune.

Ill health is a great drag upon a man; it largely curtails his

enjoyments, and deprives him of all ambition."

"I don't see why his remedy wouldn't work well in your case, Mr.

Melville," said Herbert, earnestly.

"Perhaps it may. At any rate, I feel inclined to try it. I am glad

the colonel is going to travel with us, as I shall be able to

question him about the details of his cure. He seems a bluff, genial

fellow, and though I don't expect to enjoy his companionship much, I

hope to derive some benefit from it."

"By the way, Mr. Melville, I met an old acquaintance while I was out

walking," said Herbert.

"Indeed!"

"Eben Graham."

"How did he look--prosperous?"

"Hardly--he was wheeling a barrow of vegetables."

"Did you speak with him?"

"Yes; he wanted to borrow money."

"I am not surprised at that; I thought it time for him to be out of

money. Did you lend him?"

"No; I found he wanted money to buy a lottery ticket. I told him I

wouldn't lend money to my best friend for that purpose."

"Very sensible in you, Herbert."

"If he had been in distress, I might have let him have a few

dollars, notwithstanding he treated me so meanly at Wayneboro, but

he seems to be earning a living."

"I presume he doesn't enjoy the business he is in?"

"No; he complains that he has lowered himself by accepting such a

place."

"It doesn't occur to him that he lowered himself when he stole money

from his father, I suppose."

"It doesn't seem to."

Later in the day Herbert came across Col. Warner in the corridor of

the hotel.

"Ha! my young friend!" he said, affably. "I am glad to meet you."

"Thank you, sir."

"And how is your friend?"

"No change since morning," answered Herbert, slightly smiling.

"By the way, Herbert--your name is Herbert, isn't it--may I offer

you a cigar?" said Col. Warner.

The colonel opened his cigar-case and extended it to Herbert.

"Thank you, sir, but I don't smoke."

"Don't smoke? That is, you don't smoke cigars. May I offer you a

cigarette?"

"I don't smoke at all, colonel."

"Indeed, remarkable! Why, sir, before I was your age I smoked."

"Do you think it good for consumption?" asked Herbert.

"Ha, ha, you have me there! Well, perhaps not. Do you know," said

the colonel, changing the conversation, "I feel a great interest in

your friend."

"You are very kind."

"'Upon my soul, I do. He is a most interesting young man. Rich, too!

I am glad he is rich!"

"He would value health more than money," said Herbert.

"To be sure, to be sure! By the way, you don't know how much

property your friend has?"

"No, sir, he never told me," answered Herbert, surprised at the

question.

"Keeps such matters close, eh? Now, I don't. I never hesitate to own

up to a quarter of a million. Yes, quarter of a million! That's the

size of my pile."

"You are fortunate, Col. Warner," said Herbert, sincerely.

"So I am, so I am! Two years hence I shall have half a million, if

all goes well. So you won't have a cigar; no? Well, I'll see you

later."

"He's a strange man," thought Herbert. "I wonder if his statements

can be relied upon." Somehow Herbert doubted it. He was beginning to

distrust the colonel.

CHAPTER XXII.

A MOUNTAIN STAGE.

We pass over several days, and change the scene. We left Herbert and

Melville in the Palmer House in Chicago, surrounded by stately

edifices and surging crowds. Now everything is changed. They are in

a mountainous district, where a man might ride twenty miles without

seeing a house. They are, in fact, within the limits of what was

then known as the Territory of Colorado. It is not generally known

that Colorado contains over a hundred mountain summits over ten

thousand feet above the sea level. It is perhaps on account of the

general elevation that it is recommended by physicians as a good

health resort for all who are troubled with lung complaints.

At the time of which I speak most of the traveling was done by

stage. Now railroads unite the different portions with links of

steel, and make traveling less cumbersome and laborious. There was

one of the party, however, who did not complain, but rather enjoyed

the jolting of the lumbering stage-coach.

Col. Warner was of the party. He professed to feel an extraordinary

interest in George Melville, and was anxious to show him the country

where he had himself regained his health.

"Lonely, sir!" repeated the colonel, in answer to a remark of George

Melville. "Why, sir, it's a populous city compared with what it was

in '55, when I was out here. I built myself a cabin in the woods,

and once for twelve months I didn't see a white face."

"Were there many Indians, Colonel?" asked Herbert.

"Indians? I should say so. Only twenty miles from my cabin was an

Indian village."

"Did they trouble you any?" asked Herbert, curiously.

"Well, they tried to," answered the colonel. "One night as I lay

awake I heard stealthy steps outside, and peeping through a crevice

between the logs just above the head of my bed--by the way, my bed

was the skin of a bear I had myself killed--I could see a string of

Utes preparing to besiege me."

"Were you afraid?" asked Herbert, a little mischievously, for he

knew pretty well what the colonel would say.

"Afraid!" repeated the colonel, indignantly. "What do you take me

for? I have plenty of faults," continued Col. Warner, modestly, "but

cowardice isn't one of them. No, sir; I never yet saw the human

being, white, black, or red, that I stood in fear of. But, as I was

saying, the redskins collected around my cabin, and were preparing

to break in the door, when I leveled my revolver and brought down

their foremost man. This threw them into confusion. They retreated a

little way, then advanced again with a horrible yell, and I gave

myself up for lost. But I got in another shot, bringing down another

warrior, this time the son of their chief. The same scene was

repeated. Well, to make a long story short, I repulsed them at every

advance, and finally when but three were left, they concluded that

prudence was the better part of valor, and fled, leaving their dead

and wounded behind them."

"How many were there of them?" asked Herbert.

"Well, in the morning when I went out I found seven dead redskins,

and two others lying at the point of death."

"That was certainly a thrilling adventure, Colonel," said George

Melville, smiling.

"Egad, I should say so."

"I confess I don't care to meet with any such."

"Oh, no danger, no danger!" said the colonel, airily. "That is,

comparatively speaking. In fact, the chief danger is of a different

sort."

"Of the sleigh upsetting and tipping us out into some of the

canyons, I suppose you mean?"

"No, I speak of the gentlemen of the road--road agents as they are

generally called."

"You mean highwaymen?"

"Yes."

"Is there much danger of meeting them?" asked Melville.

"Well, there's a chance. They are quite in the habit of attacking

stage-coaches, and plundering the passengers. Sometimes they make

rich hauls."

"That must be rather inconvenient to the passengers." said Melville.

"Can't the laws reach these outlaws?"

"They don't seem to. Why, there are men who have been in the

business for years, and have never been caught."

"Very true," said a fellow traveler. "There's Jerry Lane, for

instance. He has succeeded thus far in eluding the vigilance of the

authorities."

"Yes," said the colonel, "I once saw Lane myself. Indeed he did me

the honor of relieving me of five hundred dollars."

"Couldn't you help it?" asked Herbert.

"No; he covered me with his revolver, and if I had drawn mine I

shouldn't have lived to take aim at him."

"Were you in a stage at the time?"

"No, I was riding on horseback."

"Is this Lane a large man?" asked George Melville.

"Not larger than myself," continued the colonel.

"Where does he live--in some secret haunt in the forest, I suppose?"

"Oh, no, he doesn't confine himself to one place. He travels a good

deal. Sometimes he goes to St. Louis. I have heard that he sometimes

even visits New York."

"And is he not recognized?"

"No; he looks like anything but an outlaw. If you should see him you

might think him a prosperous merchant, or banker."

"That's curious!" said Herbert.

"The fact is," said the colonel, "when you travel by stage-coaches

in these solitudes you have to take the chances. Now I carry my

money concealed in an inner pocket, where it isn't very likely to be

found. Of course I have another wallet, just for show, and I give

that up when I have to."

There was a stout, florid gentleman present, who listened to the

above conversation with ill-disguised nervousness. He was a New York

capitalist, of German birth, going out to inspect a mine in which he

proposed purchasing an interest. His name was Conrad Stiefel.

"Good gracious!" said he, "I had no idea a man ran such a risk, or I

would have stayed at home. I decidedly object to being robbed."

"Men are robbed in a different way in New York," said George

Melville.

"How do you mean, Mr. Melville?"

"By defaulting clerks, absconding cashiers, swindlers of excellent

social position."

"Oh, we don't mind those things," said Mr. Stiefel. "We can look out

for ourselves. But when a man points at you with a revolver, that is

terrible!"

"I hope, my dear sir, you take good care of your money."

"That I do," said Stiefel, complacently. "I carry it in a belt

around my waist. That's a good place, hey?"

"I commend your prudence, sir," said the colonel. "You are evidently

a wise and judicious man."

"They won't think of looking there, hey?" laughed Stiefel.

"I should say not."

"You may think what you like, Mr. Stiefel," said a tall, thin

passenger, who looked like a book peddler, "but I contend that my

money is in a safer place than yours."

"Indeed, Mr. Parker, I should like to know where you keep it," said

Col. Warner, pleasantly.

"You can't get at it without taking off my stockings," said the tall

man, looking about him in a self-satisfied manner.

"Very good, 'pon my soul!" said the colonel. "I really don't know

but I shall adopt your hiding place. I am an old traveler, but not

too old to adopt new ideas when I meet with good ones."

"I think you would find it to your interest, Colonel," said Parker,

looking flattered.

"Well, well," said the colonel, genially, "suppose we change the

subject. There isn't much chance of our being called upon to produce

our money, or part with it. Still, as I said a while since, it's

best to be cautious, and I see that you all are so. I begin to feel

hungry, gentlemen. How is it with you?"

"Are we anywhere near the place for supper?" asked Stiefel. "I wish

I could step into a good Broadway restaurant; I feel empty."

"Only a mile hence, gentlemen, we shall reach Echo Gulch, where we

halt for the night. There's a rude cabin there, where they will

provide us with supper and shelter."

This announcement gave general satisfaction. The colonel proved to

be right. The stage soon drew up in front of a long one-story

building, which bore the pretentious name of the Echo Gulch Hotel.

CHAPTER XXIII.

A STARTLING REVELATION.

A stout, black-bearded man stood in front of the hotel to welcome

the stage passengers. He took a clay pipe from his lips and nodded a

welcome.

"Glad to see you, strangers," he said. "Here, Peter, you black

rascal, help the gentlemen with their baggage."

The door was thrown open, and the party filed into a comfortless

looking apartment, at one end of which was a rude bar.

One of the passengers, at least, seemed to know the landlord, for

Col. Warner advanced to greet him, his face beaming with cordiality.

"How are you, John?" he said. "How does the world use you?"

The landlord growled something inaudible.

"Have a drink, colonel?" was the first audible remark.

"Don't care if I do. It's confounded dry traveling over these

mountain roads. Walk up, gentlemen. Col. Warner doesn't drink

alone."

With the exception of Herbert and George Melville, the passengers

seemed inclined to accept the offer.

"Come along, Melville," said the colonel; "you and your friend must

join us."

"Please excuse me, colonel," answered Melville. "I would prefer not

to drink."

"Oh, nonsense! To oblige me, now."

"Thank you; but I am traveling for my health, and it would not be

prudent."

"Just as you say, Melville; but a little whisky would warm you up

and do you good, in my opinion."

"Thank you all the same, colonel; but I think you must count me

out."

The colonel shrugged his shoulders and beckoned Herbert.

"You can come, anyway; your health won't prevent."

Melville did not interfere, for he knew it would give offense, but

he hoped his young clerk would refuse.

"Thank you," said Herbert; 'I won't object to a glass of

sarsaparilla."

"Sarsaparilla!" repeated the colonel, in amazement. "What's that?"

"We don't keep no medicine," growled the landlord.

"Have you root-beer?" asked Herbert.

"What do you take me for?" said the landlord, contemptuously. "I

haven't got no root-beer. Whisky's good enough for any man."

"I hope you'll excuse me, then," said Herbert. "I am not used to any

strong drinks."

"How old are you?" asked the colonel, rather contemptuously.

"Sixteen."

"Sixteen years old and don't drink whisky! My young friend, your

education has been sadly neglected."

"I dare say it has," answered Herbert, good-naturedly.

"Gentlemen," said Col. Warner, apologetically, "the boy is a

stranger, and isn't used to our free Western ways. He's got the

makings of a man in him, and it won't be long before he'll get over

his squeamishness, and walk up to the bar as quick as any one of

us."

Herbert and Melville stood apart, while the rest of the company

emptied their glasses, apparently at a gulp. It was clear that their

refusal had caused them to be regarded with dislike and suspicion.

The accommodations of the Echo Gulch Hotel were far from luxurious.

The chambers were scarcely larger than a small closet, clap-boarded

but not plastered, and merely contained a bedstead. Washing

accommodations were provided downstairs.

Herbert and George Melville were assigned to a single room, to which

they would not have objected had the room been larger. It was of no

use to indulge in open complaints, however, since others had to fare

in the same way.

"This isn't luxury, Herbert," said Melville.

"No," answered the boy; "but I don't mind it if you don't."

"I am afraid I may keep you awake by my coughing, Herbert."

"Not if I once get to sleep. I sleep as sound as a top."

"I wish I did; but I am one of the wakeful kind. Being an invalid, I

am more easily annoyed by small inconveniences. You, with your

sturdy health, are more easily suited."

"Mr. Melville, I had just as lief sleep downstairs in a chair, and

give you the whole of the bed."

"Not on my account, Herbert. I congratulate myself on having you for

a roommate. If I had been traveling alone I might have been packed

away with the colonel, who, by this time, would be even less

desirable as a bedfellow than usual."

The worthy colonel had not been content with a single glass of

whisky, but had followed it up several times, till his utterance had

become thick, and his face glowed with a dull, brick-dust color.

Col. Warner had been assigned to the adjoining chamber, or closet,

whichever it may be called. He did not retire early, however, while

Herbert and George Melville did.

Strangely enough, Herbert, who was usually so good a sleeper, after

a short nap woke up. He turned to look at his companion, for it was

a moonlight night, and saw that he was sleeping quietly.

"I wonder what's got into me?" he thought; "I thought I should sleep

till morning."

He tried to compose himself to sleep, but the more effort he made

the broader awake he became. Sometimes it seems as if such

unaccountable deviations from our ordinary habits were Heaven-sent.

As Herbert lay awake he suddenly became aware of a conversation

which was being carried on, in low tones, in the next room. The

first voice he heard, he recognized as that of the colonel.

"Yes," he said, "some of the passengers have got money. There's that

Stiefel probably carries a big sum in gold and notes. When I was

speaking of the chance of the stage being robbed, he was uncommon

nervous."

"Who's Stiefel?" was growled in another voice, which Herbert had no

difficulty in recognizing as the landlord's.

"Oh, he's the fat, red-faced German. From his talk, I reckon he's

come out to buy mines somewhere in Colorado."

"We'll save him the trouble."

"So we will--good joke, John. Oh, about this Stiefel, he carries his

money in a belt round his waist. I infer that it is gold."

"Good! What about the others?"

"There's a tall, thin man--his name is Parker," proceeded the

colonel; "he's smart, or thinks he is; you'll have to pull his

stockings off to get his money. Ha, ha!"

"How did you find out, colonel?" asked the landlord, in admiration.

"Drew it out of him, sir. He didn't know who he was confiding in.

He'll wonder how the deuce his hiding place was suspected."

Other passengers were referred to who have not been mentioned, and

in each case the colonel was able to tell precisely where their

money was kept.

"How about that milksop that wouldn't drink with us?" inquired the

landlord, after a while.

"Melville? I couldn't find out where he keeps his cash. Probably he

keeps it in his pocket. He doesn't look like a cautious man."

"Who's the boy?"

"Only a clerk or secretary of Melville's. He hasn't any money, and

isn't worth attention."

"Very glad to hear it," thought Herbert. "I don't care to receive

any attention from such gentry. But who would have thought the

colonel was in league with stage robbers? I thought him a

gentleman."

Herbert began to understand why it was that Col. Warner, if that was

his real name, had drawn the conversation to stage robbers, and

artfully managed to discover where each of the passengers kept his

supply of money. It was clear that he was in league with the

landlord of the Echo Gulch Hotel, who, it was altogether probable,

intended to waylay the stage the next day.

This was a serious condition of affairs. The time had been when, in

reading stories of adventure, Herbert had wished that he, too, might

have some experience of the kind. Now that the opportunity had come,

our hero was disposed to regard the matter with different eyes.

"What can be done," he asked himself, anxiously, "to escape the

danger which threatens us to-morrow?"

CHAPTER XXIV.

A MORNING WALK.

Herbert found it difficult to sleep from anxiety. He felt that the

burden was too great for him alone to bear, and he desired to speak

on the subject to George Melville. But there was a difficulty about

doing this undetected, on account of the thinness of the partitions

between the rooms. If he could hear Col. Warner, the latter would

also be able to hear him.

The stage was to start at seven o'clock the next morning, and before

that time some decision must be made. The first question was, should

they, or should they not, take passage, as they had anticipated?

At half-past five, Herbert, turning in bed, found his bedfellow

awake.

"Mr. Melville," he whispered, "I have something important to

communicate, and cannot do so here on account of the danger of being

heard in the next room. Are you willing to dress and take a little

walk with me before breakfast?"

George Melville's physical condition did not make him usually

favorable to early rising, but he knew Herbert well enough to

understand that he had a satisfactory reason for his request.

"Yes, Herbert," he said, "I will get up."

Not a word was exchanged, for Mr. Melville's discretion prevailed

over his curiosity. In ten minutes both were fully dressed and

descended the stairs.

There was no one stirring except a woman, the landlord's wife, who

was lighting the fire in order to prepare breakfast.

She regarded the two with surprise, and perhaps a little distrust.

"You're stirrin' early, strangers," she said.

"Yes," answered Melville, courteously, "we are going to take a

little walk before breakfast; it may sharpen our appetites."

"Humph!" said the woman; "that's curious. I wouldn't get up so early

if I wasn't obliged. There ain't much to see outdoors."

"It is a new part of the country to us," said Melville, "and we may

not have another chance to see it."

"When will breakfast be ready?" asked Herbert.

"Half an hour, more or less," answered the woman, shortly.

"We will be back in time," he said.

The landlady evidently thought their early-rising a singular

proceeding, but her suspicions were not aroused. She resumed her

work, and Herbert and his friend walked out through the open door.

When they had reached a spot a dozen rods or more distant, Melville

turned to his young clerk and asked:

"Well, Herbert, what is it?"

"I have discovered, Mr. Melville, that our stage is to be stopped

to-day and the passengers plundered."

"How did you discover this?" asked Melville, startled.

"By a conversation which I overheard in the next chamber to us."

"But that chamber is occupied by Col. Warner."

"And he is one of the conspirators," said Herbert, quietly.

"Is it possible?" ejaculated Melville. "Can we have been so deceived

in him? Does he propose to waylay the stage?"

"No, I presume he will be one of the passengers."

"Tell me all you know about this matter, Herbert. Who is engaged

with him in this plot?"

"The landlord."

"I am not much surprised at this," said Melville, thoughtfully. "He

is an ill-looking man, whose appearance fits the part of highwayman

very well. Then you think the colonel is in league with him?"

"I am sure of that. Don't you remember how skillfully Col. Warner

drew out of the passengers the hiding places of their money

vesterday?"

"Yes."

"He has told all to the landlord, and he will no doubt make use of

the knowledge. That is all, Mr. Melville. I could not rest till I

had told you, so that you might decide what to do."

"It seems quite providential that you were kept awake last night,

Herbert, otherwise this blow would have come upon us unprepared.

Even with the knowledge that it impends, I hardly know what it is

best for us to do."

"We might decide not to go in the stage," suggested Hebert.

"But we should have to go to-morrow. We cannot stay here, and there

is no other way of traveling. As the colonel seems to think I have

money, there would be another attack to-morrow. Besides, where could

we stay except at this hotel, which is kept, as it appears, by the

principal robber."

"That is true," said Herbert, puzzled; "I didn't think of that."

"I would quite as soon stand my chance of being robbed in the stage,

as be attacked here. Besides, I cannot make up my mind to desert my

fellow passengers. It seems cowardly to send them off to be

plundered without giving them a hint of their danger."

"Couldn't we do that?"

"The result would be that they would not go, and there is no knowing

how long we should be compelled to remain in this secluded spot."

"Mr. Melville," said Herbert, suddenly, "a thought has just struck

me."

"I hope it may show us a way out of our danger."

"No, I am sorry to say that it won't do that."

"What is it, Herbert?"

"You remember that mention was made yesterday in the stage of a

certain famous bandit named Jerry Lane?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Do you think it is possible that he and Col. Warner may be one and

the same?"

"That is certainly a startling suggestion, Herbert. What reason have

you for thinking so?"

"It was only a guess on my part; but you remember that the colonel

said he was a man about his size."

"That might be."

"And he did not confine himself to the Western country, but might be

met with in New York, or St. Louis. We met the colonel in Chicago."

"It may be as you surmise, Herbert," said George Melville, after a

pause. "It did occur to me that our worthy landlord might be the

famous outlaw in question, but the description to which you refer

seems to fit the colonel better. There is one thing, however, that

makes me a little incredulous."

"What is that, Mr. Melville?"

"This Jerry Lane I take to be cool and courageous, while the colonel

appears to be more of a boaster. He looks like one who can talk

better than he can act. If I had ever seen a description of his

appearance, I could judge better."

The two had been walking slowly and thoughtfully, when they were

startled by a rough voice.

"You're out early, strangers?"

Turning swiftly, they saw the dark, forbidding face of the landlord,

who had approached them unobserved.

"Did he hear anything?" thought Herbert, anxiously.

"Yes, we are taking a little walk," said Melville, pleasantly.

"Breakfast will be ready soon. You'd better be back soon, if you're

goin' by the stage this morning. You are goin', I reckon?" said the

landlord, eyeing them sharply.

"We intend to do so," said Melville. "We will walk a little farther,

and then return to the house."

The landlord turned and retraced his steps to the Echo Gulch Hotel.

"Do you think he heard anything that we were saying?" asked Herbert.

"I think not."

"I wonder what brought him out here?"

"Probably he wanted to make sure that we were going in the stage. He

is laudably anxious to have as many victims and as much plunder as

possible."

"You told him you were going in the stage?"

"Yes, I have decided to do so."

"Have you decided upon anvthing else, Mr. Melville?"

"Not positively; but there will be time to think of that. Did you

hear where we were to be attacked?"

"At a point about five miles from here," said Herbert.

This he had gathered from the conversation he had overheard.

When the two friends reached the hotel, they found Col. Warner

already downstairs.

"Good-morning, gentlemen!" he said. "So you have taken a walk? I

never walk before breakfast, for my part."

"Nor do I often," said Melville. "In this case I was persuaded by my

young friend. I am repaid by a good appetite."

"Can't I persuade you to try a glass of bitters, Mr. Melville?"

asked the colonel.

"Thank you, colonel. You will have to excuse me."

"Breakfast's ready!" announced the landlady, and the stage

passengers sat down at a long, unpainted, wooden table, where the

food was of the plainest. In spite of the impending peril of which

they, only, had knowledge, Herbert ate heartily, but Melville seemed

preoccupied.

CHAPTER XXV.

MELVILLE MAKES A SENSATION.

Col. Warner seemed in very good spirits. He ate and drank with

violent enjoyment, and was as affable as usual. George Melville

regarded him with curiosity.

"The man does not appear like a desperado or outlaw," he thought.

"There is nothing to distinguish him from the majority of men one

meets in ordinary intercourse. He is a problem to me, I should like

to study him."

Col. Warner did not fail to observe the unconscious intentness with

which Melville regarded him, and, for some reason, it did not please

him.

"You have lost your appetite, Mr. Melville," he said, lightly. "You

have been looking at me until--egad!--if I were a vain man, I should

conclude there was something striking about my appearance."

"I won't gainsay that, Colonel," answered Melville, adroitly. "I

confess I am not very hungry, and I will further confess that I have

something on my mind."

"Indeed! Better make me your father confessor," said the colonel,

whose suspicion or annoyance was removed by this ready reply.

"So I may, after a while," said Melville.

He took the hint, and ceased to regard the colonel.

The latter made himself generally social, and generally popular.

The stage drove round to the door after breakfast, and there was the

usual bustle, as the passengers bestowed themselves inside.

George Melville had intended to watch narrowly the landlord and Col.

Warner, to detect, if possible, the secret understanding which must

exist between them. But he was deprived of an opportunity, for the

very good reason that the landlord had disappeared, and was not

again seen before their departure.

The driver gathered up his reins, cracked his whip, and the stage

started. Herbert looked at George Melville a little anxiously, not

knowing what course he had decided to take. They two, it will be

remembered, were the only ones who knew of the intended attack.

Before the stage started, Melville quietly took the opportunity to

hand his pocketbook to Herbert, saying, briefly: "It will be safer

with you in case of an attack."

"But won't it be considered suspicious that you have no money about

you?" suggested Herbert.

"I have a roll of bills in my pocket-fifty dollars," answered

Melville.

They had no further opportunity of speaking, as one of the

passengers came up where they were standing.

Herbert had already taken his seat in the coach, when his employer

said: "Herbert, wouldn't you like to ride outside with the driver?"

"Yes, sir," answered Herbert, promptly, for he understood, that this

was Mr. Melville's wish.

"It will give us more room, and you will have a better view."

"Yes, sir; I shall like it."

In a quick manner Herbert made the change, taking care not to look

significantly at Melville, as some boys might have done, and thus

excited suspicion.

For the first mile there was very little conversation.

Then Col. Warner spoke.

"Well, gentlemen," he said, "we are fairly on our way. Let us hope

nothing will mar our pleasure."

"Do you anticipate anything?" asked George Melville.

"I! Why should I? We have a skillful driver, and I guarantee he

won't tip us over."

"Mr. Melville was, perhaps, referring to the chance of the stage

being stopped by some enterprising road agent," suggested Parker.

"Oho! Sits the wind in that quarter?" said the Colonel, laughing

lightly. "Not the least chance of that--that is, the chance is very

slight."

"You spoke differently yesterday," said the German capitalist.

"Did I? I didn't mean it, I assure you. We are as safe here as if we

were riding in the interior of New York. I suppose I was only

whiling away a few idle minutes."

"I am glad to hear it," said the German. "I shouldn't like to meet

any of these gentlemen."

"Nor I," answered Melville; "but I am prepared to give him or them a

warm reception."

As he spoke he drew a revolver from his pocket. He sat next to the

door, and in an exposed situation.

"Put up your shooting iron, Mr. Melville," said Col. Warner,

exhibiting a slight shade of annoyance. "Let me exchange places with

you. I should prefer the post of danger, if' there is any."

"You are very kind, Colonel," said Melville, quietly, "but I don't

care to change. I am quite satisfied with my seat."

"But, my dear sir, I insist--" said the Colonel, making a motion to

rise.

"Keep your seat, Colonel! I insist upon staying where I am,"

answered Melville.

He was physically far from formidable, this young man, but there was

a resolute ring in his voice that showed he was in earnest.

"Really, my dear sir," said the Colonel, trying to conceal his

annoyance, "you have been quite misled by my foolish talk. I did not

suppose you were so nervous."

"Possibly I may have a special reason for being so," returned George

Melville.

"What do you mean?" demanded the Colonel, quickly. "If you have, we

are all interested, and ought to know it."

"The Colonel is right," said the German. "If you know of any danger,

it is only fair to inform us all."

"I am disposed to agree with you, gentlemen," said Melville.

"Briefly, then, I have good reason to think that this company of

passengers has been marked for plunder."

Col. Warner started, but, quickly recovering himself, he laughed

uneasily.

"Tush!" he said, "I put no faith in it. Some one has been deceiving

you, my friend."

But the other passengers took it more seriously.

"You evidently know something that we do not," said Parker.

"I do," answered Melville.

Col. Warner looked at him searchingly, but did not speak.

Now was the time to test George Melville's nerve. He was about to

take a bold step.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I regret to say that I have every reason to

believe there is a man in this stage who is in league with the road

agents."

This statement naturally made a sensation.

There were seven passengers, and each regarded the rest with

new-born suspicion. There seemed, on the whole, about as much reason

to suspect one man as another, and each, with the exception of

Melville, found himself looked upon with distrust.

"Pooh, Melville! You must have had bad dreams!" said Col. Warner,

who was the first to recover his self-possession. "Really, I give

you credit for a first-class sensation. As for you, gentlemen, you

may take stock in this cock-and-bull story, if you like; I shall

not. I, for one, have no fear of my fellow passengers. I regard them

all as gentlemen, and shall not allow myself to be disturbed by any

silly fears."

The air of calm composure with which the Colonel spoke served to

tranquilize the rest of the passengers, who wished to put credit in

his assurance.

"The Colonel speaks sensibly," said Mr. Parker, "and unless Mr.

Melville assigns a reason for his remarkable belief, I am disposed

to think we have taken alarm too quick."

"Of course, of course; all sensible men will think so," said the

Colonel. "My friend, we shall be tempted to laugh at you if you

insist on entertaining us with such hobgoblin fancies. My advice is,

to put up that weapon of yours, and turn your attention to the

scenery, which I can assure you, gentlemen, is well worthy of your

admiration. Just observe the walls of yonder canyon, and the trees

growing on the points."

"Gentlemen," said Melville, "I should be glad to take the view of

the last speaker, if I had not positive proof that he is the man who

has agreed to deliver us into the hands of a road agent within the

space of half an I hour!"

"Sir, you shall answer for this!" exclaimed the Colonel, furiously,

as he struggled to secure the weapon, his face livid with passion.

But two passengers, one the German, who, though short, was very

powerful, forcibly prevented him.

CHAPTER XXVI.

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

"Are you sure of what you say?" asked a passenger, turning with a

puzzled look from George Melville, who, in the midst of the general

excitement produced by his revelation, sat, not unmoved indeed, but

comparatively calm. Courage and physical strength are by no means

inseparable, and this frail young man, whose strength probably was

not equal to Herbert's, was fearless in the face of peril which

would daunt many a stalwart six-footer.

In reply to this very natural question, George Melville repeated the

essential parts of the conversation which had taken place between

Col. Warner and the landlord.

Col. Warner's countenance changed, and he inwardly execrated the

imprudence that had made his secret plan known to one of the

intended victims.

"Is this true, Col. Warner?" asked Parker.

"No, it's a lie!" returned the colonel, with an oath.

"Gentlemen!" said George Melville, calmly, "you can choose which you

will believe. I will only suggest that this man managed very

adroitly to find out where each one of us kept his money. You can

also consider whether I have any cause to invent this story."

It was clear that the passengers were inclined to put faith in

Melville's story.

"Gentlemen!" said the Colonel, angrily, "I never was so insulted in

my life. I am a man of wealth, traveling on business; I am worth a

quarter of a million at least. To associate me with road agents,

whom I have as much reason to fear as you, is most ridiculous. This

young man may be well-meaning, but he is under a most extraordinary

hallucination. It is my belief that he dreamed the nonsense he has

been retailing to you."

"Ask the driver to stop the stage," said Mr. Benson, a gentlman from

Philadelphia. "If Mr. Melville's story is trustworthy, we may at any

time reach the spot where the highwayman is lurking. We must have a

general consultation, and decide what is to be done."

This proposal was approved, and the driver drew up the stage.

"I don't propose to remain in the company of men who so grossly

misjudge me," said the Colonel, with dignity, as he made a motion to

leave his fellow passengers.

"Stay here, sir!" said Mr. Benson, in a tone of authority. "We

cannot spare you yet."

"Do you dare to detain me, sir?" exclaimed Warner, menacingly.

"Yes, we do," said the German. "Just stay where you are, Mr.

Colonel, till we decide what to do."

As each one of the company had produced his revolver, the Colonel

thought it prudent to obey.

"I am disgusted with this fooling," he said, "You're all a pack of

cowards."

"Driver," said George Melville, "has this stage ever been robbed?"

"Several times," the driver admitted.

"When was the last time?"

"Two months since."

"Where did it happen?"

"About a mile further on."

"Did you ever see this gentleman before?" he asked, pointing to the

colonel.

"Yes," answered the driver, reluctantly.

"When did he last ride with you?"

"On the day the stage was robbed," answered the driver.

The passengers exchanged glances, and then, as by a common impulse,

all turned to Col. Warner, to see how he would take this damaging

revelation. Disguise it as he might, he was clearly disconcerted.

"Is this true, colonel?" asked Benson.

"Yes, it is," answered Col. Warner, with some hesitation. "I was

robbed, with the rest. I had four hundred dollars in my wallet, and

the road agent made off with it."

"And yet you just now pooh-poohed the idea of a robbery, and said

such things were gone by."

"I say so now," returned the colonel, sullenly. "I have a good deal

of money with me, but I am willing to take my chances."

"Doubtless. Your money would be returned to you, in all probability,

if, as we have reason to believe, you have a secret understanding

with the thieves who infest this part of the country."

"Your words are insulting. Let go my arm, sir, or it will be the

worse for you."

"Softly, softly, my good friend," said the German. "Have you any

proposal to make, Mr. Melville?"

"Only this. Let us proceed on our journey, but let each man draw his

revolver, and be ready to use it, if need be."

"What about the colonel?"

"He must go along with us. We cannot have him communicating with our

enemies outside."

"Suppose I refuse, sir?"

"Then, my very good friend, I think we shall use a little force,"

said the German, carelessly pointing his weapon at the captive.

"I will go upon compulsion," said the colonel, "but I protest

against this outrage. I am a wealthy capitalist from Chicago, who

knows no more about road agents than you do. You have been deceived

by this unsophisticated young man, who knows about as much of the

world as a four-year-old child. It's a fine mare's nest he has

found."

This sneer did not disturb the equanimity of George Melville.

"I should be glad to believe the colonel were as innocent as he

claims," he said, "but his own words, overheard last night,

contradict what he is now saying. When we have passed the spot

indicated for the attack, we will release him, and give him the

opportunity he seeks of leaving our company."

The passengers resumed their places in the stage, with the exception

of Herbert, who again took his seat beside the driver. George

Melville had not mentioned that it was Herbert, not himself, who had

overheard the conversation between the colonel and the land lord,

fearing to expose the boy to future risk.

Col. Warner sat sullenly between the German and Benson. He was

evidently ill at ease and his restless glances showed that he was

intent upon some plan of escape. Of this, however, such was the

vigilance of his guards, there did not seem much chance.

The stage kept on its way till it entered a narrow roadway, lined on

one side by a thick growth of trees.

Melville, watching the colonel narrowly, saw that, in spite of his

attempt at calmness, his excitement was at fever heat.

The cause was very evident, for at this point a tall figure bounded

from the underbrush, disguised by a black half mask, through which a

pair of black eyes blazed fiercely.

"Stop the stage!" he thundered to the driver, "or I will put a

bullet through your head."

The driver, as had been directed, instantly obeyed.

CHAPTER XXVII.

COL. WARNER CHANGES FRONT.

It may seem a daring thing for one man to stop a stage full of

passengers, and require them to surrender their money and valuables,

but this has been done time and again in unsettled portions of the

West. For the most part the stage passengers are taken by surprise,

and the road agent is known to be a desperado, ready to murder in

cold blood anyone who dares oppose him.

In the present instance, however, the passengers had been warned of

their danger and were ready to meet it.

Brown--for, of course, the masked man was the landlord--saw four

revolvers leveled at him from inside the stage.

"Let go that horse, my friend, or you are a dead man!" said Conrad

Stiefel, calmly. "Two can play at your game."

Brown was taken by surprise, but he was destined to be still more

astonished.

Col. Warner protruded his head from the window, saying:

"Yes, my friend, you had better give up your little plan. It won't

work."

Such language from his confederate, on whom he fully relied, wholly

disconcerted the masked robber.

"Well, I'll be blowed!" he muttered, staring, in ludicrous

perplexity, at his fellow conspirator.

"Yes, my friend," said the colonel, "I shall really be under the

necessity of shooting you myself if you don't leave us alone. We are

all armed and resolute. I think you had better defer your little

scheme."

Brown was not quick-witted. He did not see that his confederate was

trying cunningly to avert suspicion from himself, and taking the

only course that remained to him. Of course, he thought he was

betrayed, and was, as a natural consequence, exasperated.

He released his hold on the horses, but, fixing his eyes on the

colonel fiercely, muttered:

"Wait till I get a chance at you! I'll pay you for this."

"What an idiot!" thought Warner, shrugging his shoulders. "Why can't

he see that I am forced to do as I am doing? I must make things

plain to him."

He spoke a few words rapidly in Spanish, which Brown evidently

understood. His face showed a dawning comprehension of the state of

affairs, and he stood aside while the stage drove on.

"What did you say?" asked Conrad Stiefel, suspiciously.

"You heard me, sir," said the colonel, loftily. "You owe your rescue

from this ruffian to me. Now, you can understand how much you have

misjudged me."

Conrad Stiefel was not so easily satisfied of this.

"I heard what you said in Mexican, or whatever lingo it is, but I

didn't understand it."

"Nor I," said Benson.

"Very well, gentlemen; I am ready to explain. I told this man that

if he ever attempted to molest me I should shoot him in his track."

"Why didn't you speak to him in English?" asked Stiefel.

"Because I had a suspicion that the fellow was the same I met once

in Mexico, and I spoke to him in Spanish to make sure. As he

understood, I am convinced I was right."

"Who is it, then?" asked Benson.

"His name, sir, is Manuel de Cordova, a well-known Mexican bandit,

who seems to have found his way to this neighborhood. He is a

reckless desperado, and, though I addressed him boldly, I should be

very sorry to meet him in a dark night."

This explanation was very fluently spoken, but probably no one

present believed what the colonel said, or exonerated him from the

charge which George Melville had made against him.

Five miles further on Col. Warner left the stage.

"Gentlemen," he said, "I am sorry to leave this pleasant company,

but I have a mining claim in this neighborhood, and must bid you

farewell. I trust that when you think of me hereafter, you will

acquit me of the injurious charges which have been made against me.

I take no credit to myself for driving away the ruffian who stopped

us, but hope you won't forget it."

"No one interfered with the colonel when he proposed to leave the

stage. Indeed, the passengers were unanimous in accepting his

departure as a relief. In spite of his plausible representations, he

was regarded with general suspicion.

"I wish I knew the meaning of that Spanish lingo," said the German,

Conrad Stiefel.

"I can interpret it for you, Mr. Stiefel," said George Melville,

quietly. "I have some knowledge of Spanish."

"What did he say?" asked more than one, eagerly.

"He said: 'You fool! Don't you see the plot has been discovered? It

wasn't my fault. I will soon join you and explain.'"

This revelation made a sensation.

"Then he was in league with the road agent, after all?" said Parker.

"Certainly he was. Did you for a moment doubt it?" said Melville.

"I was staggered when I saw him order the rascal away."

"He is a shrewd villain!" said Benson. "I hope we shan't encounter

him again."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

THE CONSPIRATORS IN COUNCIL.

It is needless to say that Col. Warner's intention in leaving the

stage was to join his fellow conspirator. There was no advantage in

remaining longer with his fellow travelers, since the opportunity of

plundering them had passed, and for the present was not likely to

return. He had been a little apprehensive that they would try to

detain him on suspicion, which would have been awkward, since they

had numbers on their side, and all were armed. But in that unsettled

country he would have been an elephant on their hands, and if the

idea entered the minds of any one of the stage passengers, it was

instantly dismissed.

When the stage was fairly on the way, Col. Warner went to a house

where he was known, and asked for a horse.

"Any news, colonel?" asked the farmer, as he called himself. Really

he was in league with the band of which Warner was the chief.

"No," answered the Colonel, gloomily. "No, worse luck! There might

have been, but for an unfortunate circumstance."

"What's that?"

"There's plenty of good money in that stage coach and Brown and I

meant to have it, but some sharp-eared rascal heard us arranging the

details of the plan, and that spoiled it."

"Is it too late now?" asked the farmer, eagerly. "We can follow

them, and overtake them yet, if you say so."

"And be shot for our pains. No, thank you. They are all on the

alert, and all have their six-shooters in readiness. No, we must

postpone our plan. There's one of the fellows that I mean to be

revenged upon yet--the one that ferreted out our secret plan. I must

bide my time, but I shall keep track of him."

Soon the Colonel, well-mounted, was on his way back to the rude inn

where he had slept the night before.

Dismounting he entered without ceremony, and his eyes fell upon the

landlord's wife, engaged in some household employment.

"Where's Brown?" he asked, abruptly.

"Somewheres round," was the reply.

"How long has he been home?"

"A matter of two hours. He came home awfully riled, but he wouldn't

tell me what it was about. What's happened?"

"We've met with a disappointment--that's what's the matter."

"Did the passengers get the better of you?" asked the woman, for she

was in her husband's guilty secrets, and knew quite well what manner

of man she had married.

"They found out our little game," answered Warner, shortly, for he

did not see any advantage in wasting words on his confederate's

wife. "Which way did Brown go?"

"Yonder," answered Mrs. Brown, pointing in a particular direction.

Col. Warner tied his horse to a small sapling, and walked in the

direction indicated.

He found the landlord sullenly reclining beneath a large tree.

"So you're back?" he said, surveying Warner with a lowering brow.

"Yes."

"And a pretty mess you've made of the job!" said the landlord,

bitterly.

"It's as much your fault--nay, more!" said his superior, coolly.

"What do you mean?" demanded Brown, not over cordially.

"You would persist in discussing our plan last night in my room,

though I warned you we might be overheard."

"Well?"

"We were overheard."

"What spy listened to our talk?"

"The young man, Melville--the one traveling with a boy. He kept it

to himself till the stage was well on its way, and then he blabbed

the whole thing to all in the stage."

"Did he mention you?"

"Yes, and you."

"Why didn't you tell him he lied, and shoot him on the spot?"

"Because I shouldn't have survived him five minutes," answered the

colonel, coolly, "or, if I had, his companions would have lynched

me."

Brown didn't look as if he would have been inconsolable had this

occurred. In fact, he was ambitious to succeed to the place held by

the colonel, as chief of a desperate gang of outlaws.

"I might have been dangling from a branch of a tree at this moment,

had I followed your plan, my good friend Brown, and that would have

been particularly uncomfortable."

"They might have shot me," said Brown, sullenly.

"I prevented that, and gave you timely warning. Of course it's a

disappointment, but we shall have better luck next time."

"They've got away."

"Yes, but I propose to keep track of Melville and the boy, and have

my revenge upon them in time. I don't care so much about the money,

but they have foiled me, and they must suffer for it. Meanwhile, I

want your help in another plan."

The two conferred together, and mutual confidence was

re-established.

CHAPTER XXIX.

A NEW HOME IN THE WOODS.

George Melville had no definite destination. He was traveling, not

for pleasure, but for health, and his purpose was to select a

residence in some high location, where the dry air would be

favorable for his pulmonary difficulties.

A week later he had found a temporary home. One afternoon Herbert

and he, each on horseback, for at that time public lines of travel

were fewer than at present, came suddenly upon a neat, one-story

cottage in the edge of the forest. It stood alone, but it was

evidently the home of one who aimed to add something of the graces

of civilization to the rudeness of frontier life.

They reined up simultaneously, and Melville, turning to Herbert,

said: "There, Herbert, is my ideal of a residence. I should not be

satisfied with a rude cabin. There I should find something of the

comfort which we enjoy in New England."

"The situation is fine, too," said Herbert, looking about him

admiringly.

The cottage stood on a knoll. On either side were tall and stately

trees. A purling brook at the left rolled its silvery current down a

gentle declivity, and in front, for half a mile, was open country.

"I have a great mind to call and inquire who lives here." said

Melville. "Perhaps we can arrange to stay here all night."

"That is a good plan, Mr. Melville."

George Melville dismounted from his horse, and, approaching, tapped

with the handle of his whip on the door.

"Who's there?" inquired a smothered voice, as of one rousing himself

from sleep.

"A stranger, but a friend," answered Melville.

There was a sound as of some one moving, and a tall man, clad in a

rough suit, came to the door, and looked inquiringly at Melville and

his boy companion.

Though his attire was rude, his face was refined, and had the

indefinable air of one who would be more at home in the city than in

the country.

"Delighted to see you both," he said, cordially, offering his hand.

"I don't live in a palace, and my servants are all absent, but if

you will deign to become my guests I will do what I can for your

comfort."

"You have anticipated my request," said Melville. "Let me introduce

myself as George Melville, an invalid by profession, just come from

New England in search of health. My young friend here is Herbert

Carr, my private s

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