Driven from Home, or Carl Crawford's Experience, by Horatio Alger

	Enter your search terms Submit search form
	Web www.freematerial.info

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Driven From Home, by Horatio Alger

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: Driven From Home
       Carl Crawford's Experience

Author: Horatio Alger

Release Date: January 21, 2006 [EBook #530]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DRIVEN FROM HOME ***




Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger






DRIVEN FROM HOME

OR

CARL CRAWFORD'S EXPERIENCE


BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.


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





DRIVEN FROM HOME.




CHAPTER I


DRIVEN FROM HOME.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carl looked up quickly.

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

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

"I have told you the truth, Gilbert."

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

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

"No."

"Has he disinherited you?"

"Not exactly."

"Have you left home for good?"

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

"Have you quarreled with the governor?"

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

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

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

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

"So I could but for one thing."

"What is that?"

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

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

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

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

"You are lucky," said Carl, sighing.

"Tell me about yours."

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

"How has she succeeded?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How long ago was this?"

"It happened when I was twelve."

"Was it ever repeated?"

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

"And you submitted to it?"

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

"He must be a charming fellow!"

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

"And yet your father likes him?"

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

"You have finally broken away, then?"

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

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

"I have every reason to think so."

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER II.

A FRIEND WORTH HAVING.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I can't understand it."

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

"Still he ought to do something for you."

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

"What can you do?"

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

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

"I am pretty well supplied with clothing."

Gilbert looked significantly at the gripsack.

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

Carl laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, I believe I will."

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

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

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

"About twelve miles."

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

"You are very kind, Gilbert."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

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

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

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

"Your sister may not like such an arrangement."

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

"You make me feel bashful, Gilbert."

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

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

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

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

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

Carl took off his hat politely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They do, they do!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not at all."

"Then I will accept your kind offer."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That makes a great difference."

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

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

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

"We will see."



CHAPTER III.

INTRODUCES PETER COOK.


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

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

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

Peter Cook laughed heartily at his successful aim.

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

"You must have hurt her."

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

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

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

Peter turned quickly, and eyed Gilbert insolently.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

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

"What business is it of yours?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gilbert put himself in a position of defense.

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

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

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

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

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

"What for?" asked Gilbert, coolly.

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

Gilbert laughed at this curious version of things.

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

"What business had you to interfere with me?"

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

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

"She's gone!" said Simon.

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

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

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

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

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

"And what did you do?"

"I? I didn't do anything."

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

"Gilbert Vance."

"You don't live in this town?"

"No; I live in Warren."

"What made you attack Peter?"

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

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

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

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

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

"That was the reason you went at him?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

"And was mouse colored?"

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

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

"Will you promise never to stone another cat?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then go about your business."

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

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

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

"You are right there."

"Wasn't that boy Peter Cook?"

"Yes. Don't you know him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER IV.

AN IMPORTANT CONFERENCE.


Dr. Crawford stopped short, and eyed Gilbert attentively.

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

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

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

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

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

"In Warren, thirteen miles from here."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are probably a better boy."

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

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

"No, sir, not entirely."

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

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

"Then what is the object of your visit?"

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

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

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

"Do you know Peter?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"He never bullied anyone at school."

"Is there anything, else you want?"

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

"Where?"

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

"Why didn't he come himself?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is Peter in?"

"No, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, Jane."

"And where is he?"

"At my house."

"Is he goin' to stay there?"

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

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

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

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

"How about Peter?"

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

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

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



CHAPTER V.

CARL'S STEPMOTHER.


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

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

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

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

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

"What is your name?" she asked.

"Gilbert Vance."

"Did Carl Crawford send you here?"

"No; I volunteered to come."

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

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

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

"Yes."

"And what do you think of it?"

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

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

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

"I suppose you side with your friend Carl?"

"I certainly do."

Mrs. Crawford bit her lip.

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

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

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

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

This was too much even for Dr. Crawford.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

Mrs. Crawford tossed her head.

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

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

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

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

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

"I deny it!" said Gilbert.

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

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

"So far as you know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I agree with you, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very well, sir."

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



CHAPTER VI.

Mrs. CRAWFORD'S LETTER.


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

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

"Do you blame me for leaving home?"

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

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

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

"Did my stepmother know of his sending it?"

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

"I am glad he showed that much spirit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You don't allude to Peter?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How do you feel about it, Carl?"

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

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

"Is it from your father?" asked Gilbert.

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

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

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

This was the missive:


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

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


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


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

"Anastasia Crawford."


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I earnestly hope so."

"Your father is not an old man."

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

"I should like to do so."

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

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

"You will write to me, Carl?"

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

"Let us hope that will be soon."



CHAPTER VII.

ENDS IN A TRAGEDY.


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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know--exactly."

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

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

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

"What sort of a job?"

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

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

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

"And you want me to help you?"

"Yes; you look strong and hardy."

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

"Well, what do you say?"

"All right. I'll help you."

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

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

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

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

"Where is your barn?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes; it'll be all right."

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

"Jest as you say."

Five minutes brought them to the farmhouse.

"Can I wash my hands?" asked Carl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

"I don't know, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER VIII.

CARL FALLS UNDER SUSPICION.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

"Look here, Walter!" she cried.

Her companion quickly came to her side.

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

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

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

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

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

Things began to look very serious for poor Carl.

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

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

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

"I am not a constable, Maria."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tie his feet, too, Walter!"

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

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

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

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

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

"Who killed him, then?" she cried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What boy?"

Carl was pointed out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, sir."

"Was the door closed?"

"Yes, sir."

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

"At ten minutes of twelve."

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

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

"Had anything happened to disturb him?"

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

"We had better search for it."

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


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

"William."


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

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

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

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



CHAPTER IX.

A PLAUSIBLE STRANGER.


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

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

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

"Good-afternoon, sir."

"Where are you bound, may I ask?"

"To the next town."

"Fillmore?"

"Yes, if that is the name."

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

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

"Are you in any business?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No; I have never been employed."

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

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

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

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

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

"I am Carl Crawford."

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

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

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

"I couldn't guess."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is Mr. Brandes wealthy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am glad I have no such temptation."

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

"Five dollars."

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

"If you really wish me to do so."

"Enough said. Here is the ten."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I understand. Is your father living?"

"Yes."

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

"I am afraid he does."

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

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

"No, there is only one."

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

"I wish I could."

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

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

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

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

"Is there a good hotel?"

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

"Very well."

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

"Certainly."

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

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

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

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

"He paid it himself."

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

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

"A dollar and a quarter."

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

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

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

"Why not?"

"Because it is counterfeit."

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



CHAPTER X.

THE COUNTERFEIT BILL.


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

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

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

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

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

"Where did you get it?"

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

"The money he gave me was good."

"What did he give you?"

"A five-dollar bill."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me see it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All right. I will mark you paid."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Where do you live?"

"Over yonder."

He pointed to a farmhouse about a dozen rods away.

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

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

"Will you ask her?"

"Yes; just come along of me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XI.

THE ARCHERY PRIZE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The tramp's face lighted up.

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

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

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

"Or into one," thought Carl.

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

Carl watched him with a smile.

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

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

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

Carl stopped to rest and look on.

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

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

"What are they doing?"

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

This interested Carl, who excelled in all manly exercises.

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

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

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

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

Several boys came forward and paid the entrance fee.

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

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

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

"I don't want to intrude."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"John Livermore, your turn now."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Edward Downie!" called the president.

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

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

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

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

"Nor I," rejoined Edward, laughing.

"Carl Crawford!" called the president.

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

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

There was a sudden shout of irrepressible excitement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not at all."

"Then I'll accept with thanks."



CHAPTER XII.

AN ODD ACQUAINTANCE.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The little man turned round and smiled pleasantly.

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

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

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

"You were rather careless, sir."

"Of what denomination is it?'

"It is a two-dollar note."

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

Carl smiled.

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

"You are well dressed."

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

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

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

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

"No, sir; my father is living."

"And your mother is dead?"

"Yes, sir."

"Is your father a poor man?"

"No, sir; he is moderately rich."

"Yet you have to fight your own way?"

"Yes, sir. I have a stepmother."

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

"I know that, sir."

"Yours is, I presume?"

"You can judge for yourself."

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

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

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

"In undertaking to support yourself?"

"Yes, sir."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

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

"To support yourself?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You have earned no money yet?"

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

"At what kind of work?"

"Archery."

The little man looked surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

The little man smiled.

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

"Are you in business near here, sir?"

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

"Thank you, sir."

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

HENRY JENNINGS, FURNITURE WAREHOUSE, MILFORD.


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

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

"About thirty."

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

"Do you think you would like the business?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you, sir."

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

"All right, sir."

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

"What is it, sir?"

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

"On purpose?" asked Carl, in amazement.

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

"Then you had noticed me?"

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



CHAPTER XIII.

AN UNEQUAL CONTEST.


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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," answered Carl, doubtfully.

"Do you remember me?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

"You took my money."

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

Carl was silent.

"You know why, don't you?"

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

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

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

"Yet you passed it on me!"

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

"That makes no difference."

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

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

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

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

"How was that?"

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

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

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

"Very little."

"Give it to me, whatever it is."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That tramp wants to rob me."

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



CHAPTER XIV.

CARL ARRIVES IN MILFORD.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ha! a footpad?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just then a man overtook them in a carriage.

He greeted Mr. Jennings respectfully.

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

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

"Yes, sir."

"Can you take two passengers?"

"You and the boy?"

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

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

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

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

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

They were soon seated and on their way.

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

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

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

"Goin' to visit you?"

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

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

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

"Is this Milford, Mr. Jennings?" asked Carl.

"Yes," answered the little man, turning with a pleasant smile.

"How large is it?"

"I think there are twelve thousand inhabitants. It is what Western
people call a 'right smart place.' It has been my home for twenty years,
and I am much attached to it."

"And it to you, Mr. Jennings," put in the driver.

"That is pleasant to hear," said Jennings, with a smile.

"It is true. There are few people here whom you have not befriended."

"That is what we are here for, is it not?"

"I wish all were of your opinion. Why, Mr. Jennings, when we get a city
charter I think I know who will be the first mayor."

"Not I, Mr. Leach. My own business is all I can well attend to. Thank
you for your compliment, though. Carl, do you see yonder building?"

He pointed to a three-story structure, a frame building, occupying a
prominent position.

"Yes, sir."

"That is my manufactory. What do you think of it?"

"I shouldn't think a town of this size would require so large an
establishment," answered Carl.

Mr. Jennings laughed.

"You are right," he said. "If I depended on Milford trade, a very small
building would be sufficient. My trade is outside. I supply many dealers
in New York City and at the West. My retail trade is small. If any of my
neighbors want furniture they naturally come to me, and I favor them as
to price out of friendly feeling, but I am a manufacturer and wholesale
dealer."

"I see, sir."

"Shall I take you to your house, Mr. Jennings?" asked Leach.

"Yes, if you please."

Leach drove on till he reached a two-story building of Quaker-like
simplicity but with a large, pleasant yard in front, with here and there
a bed of flowers. Here he stopped his horse.

"We have reached our destination, Carl," said Mr. Jennings. "You are
active. Jump out and I will follow."

Carl needed no second invitation. He sprang from the carriage and went
forward to help Mr. Jennings out.

"No, thank you, Carl," said the little man. "I am more active than you
think. Here we are!"

He descended nimbly to the ground, and, drawing a one-dollar bill from
his pocket, handed it to the driver.

"I don't like to take it, Mr. Jennings," said Mr. Leach.

"Why not? The laborer is worthy of his hire. Now, Carl, let us go into
the house."



CHAPTER XV.

Mr. JENNINGS AT HOME.


Mr. Jennings did not need to open the door. He had scarcely set foot on
the front step when it was opened from inside, and Carl found a fresh
surprise in store for him. A woman, apparently six feet in height,
stood on the threshold. Her figure was spare and ungainly, and her face
singularly homely, but the absence of beauty was partially made up by a
kindly expression. She looked with some surprise at Carl.

"This is a young friend of mine, Hannah," said her master. "Welcome him
for my sake."

"I am glad to see you," said Hannah, in a voice that was another
amazement. It was deeper than that of most men.

As she spoke, she held out a large masculine hand, which Carl took, as
seemed to be expected.

"Thank you," said Carl.

"What am I to call you?" asked Hannah.

"Carl Crawford."

"That's a strange name."

"It is not common, I believe."

"You two will get acquainted by and by," said Mr. Jennings. "The most
interesting question at present is, when will dinner be ready?"

"In ten minutes," answered Hannah, promptly.

"Carl and I are both famished. We have had considerable exercise,"
here he nodded at Carl with a comical look, and Carl understood that he
referred in part to his contest with the tramp.

Hannah disappeared into the kitchen, and Mr. Jennings said: "Come
upstairs, Carl. I will show you your room."

Up an old-fashioned stairway Carl followed his host, and the latter
opened the door of a side room on the first landing. It was not large,
but was neat and comfortable. There was a cottage bedstead, a washstand,
a small bureau and a couple of chairs.

"I hope you will come to feel at home here," said Mr. Jennings, kindly.

"Thank you, sir. I am sure I shall," Carl responded, gratefully.

"There are some nails to hang your clothing on," went on Mr. Jennings,
and then he stopped short, for it was clear that Carl's small gripsack
could not contain an extra suit, and he felt delicate at calling up in
the boy's mind the thought of his poverty.

"Thank you, sir," said Carl. "I left my trunk at the house of a friend,
and if you should succeed in finding me a place, I will send for it."

"That is well!" returned Mr. Jennings, looking relieved. "Now I will
leave you for a few moments. You will find water and towels, in case you
wish to wash before dinner."

Carl was glad of the opportunity. He was particular about his personal
appearance, and he felt hot and dusty. He bathed his face and hands,
carefully dusted his suit, brushed his hair, and was ready to descend
when he heard the tinkling of a small bell at the foot of the front
stairs.

He readily found his way into the neat dining-room at the rear of the
parlor. Mr. Jennings sat at the head of the table, a little giant,
diminutive in stature, but with broad shoulders, a large head, and a
powerful frame. Opposite him sat Hannah, tall, stiff and upright as a
grenadier. She formed a strange contrast to her employer.

"I wonder what made him hire such a tall woman?" thought Carl. "Being so
small himself, her size makes him look smaller."

There was a chair at one side, placed for Carl.

"Sit down there, Carl," said Mr. Jennings. "I won't keep you waiting any
longer than I can help. What have you given us to-day, Hannah?"

"Roast beef," answered Hannah in her deep tones.

"There is nothing better."

The host cut off a liberal slice for Carl, and passed the plate to
Hannah, who supplied potatoes, peas and squash. Carl's mouth fairly
watered as he watched the hospitable preparations for his refreshment.

"I never trouble myself about what we are to have on the table," said
Mr. Jennings. "Hannah always sees to that. She's knows just what I want.
She is a capital cook, too, Hannah is."

Hannah looked pleased at this compliment.

"You are easily pleased, master," she said.

"I should be hard to suit if I were not pleased with your cooking.
You don't know so well Carl's taste, but if there is anything he likes
particularly he can tell you."

"You are very kind, sir," said Carl.

"There are not many men who would treat a poor boy so considerately," he
thought. "He makes me an honored guest."

When dinner was over, Mr. Jennings invited Carl to accompany him on a
walk. They passed along the principal street, nearly every person they
met giving the little man a cordial greeting.

"He seems to be very popular," thought Carl.

At length they reached the manufactory. Mr. Jennings went into the
office, followed by Carl.

A slender, dark-complexioned man, about thirty-five years of age, sat on
a stool at a high desk. He was evidently the bookkeeper.

"Any letters, Mr. Gibbon?" asked Mr. Jennings.

"Yes, sir; here are four."

"Where are they from?"

"From New York, Chicago, Pittsburg and New Haven."

"What do they relate to?"

"Orders. I have handed them to Mr. Potter."

Potter, as Carl afterwards learned, was superintendent of the
manufactory, and had full charge of practical details.

"Is there anything requiring my personal attention?"

"No, sir; I don't think so."

"By the way, Mr. Gibbon, let me introduce you to a young friend of
mine--Carl Crawford."

The bookkeeper rapidly scanned Carl's face and figure. It seemed to Carl
that the scrutiny was not a friendly one.

"I am glad to see you," said Mr. Gibbon, coldly.

"Thank you, sir."

"By the way, Mr. Jennings," said the bookkeeper, "I have a favor to ask
of you."

"Go on, Mr. Gibbon," rejoined his employer, in a cordial tone.

"Two months since you gave my nephew, Leonard Craig, a place in the
factory."

"Yes; I remember."

"I don't think the work agrees with him."

"He seemed a strong, healthy boy."

"He has never been used to confinement, and it affects him
unpleasantly."

"Does he wish to resign his place?"

"I have been wondering whether you would not be willing to transfer him
to the office. I could send him on errands, to the post office, and make
him useful in various ways."

"I had not supposed an office boy was needed. Still, if you desire it, I
will try your nephew in the place."

"Thank you, sir."

"I am bound to tell you, however, that his present place is a better
one. He is learning a good trade, which, if he masters it, will always
give him a livelihood. I learned a trade, and owe all I have to that."

"True, Mr. Jennings, but there are other ways of earning a living."

"Certainly."

"And I thought of giving Leonard evening instruction in bookkeeping."

"That alters the case. Good bookkeepers are always in demand. I have no
objection to your trying the experiment."

"Thank you, sir."

"Have you mentioned the matter to your nephew?"

"I just suggested that I would ask you, but could not say what answer
you would give."

"It would have been better not to mention the matter at all till you
could tell him definitely that he could change his place."

"I don't know but you are right, sir. However, it is all right now."

"Now, Carl," said Mr. Jennings, "I will take you into the workroom."



CHAPTER XVI.

CARL GETS A PLACE.


"I suppose that is the bookkeeper," said Carl.

"Yes. He has been with me three years. He understands his business well.
You heard what he said about his nephew?"

"Yes, sir."

"It is his sister's son--a boy of about your own age. I think he is
making a mistake in leaving the factory, and going into the office.
He will have little to do, and that not of a character to give him
knowledge of business."

"Still, if he takes lessons in bookkeeping----"

Mr. Jennings smiled.

"The boy will never make a bookkeeper," he said. "His reason for
desiring the change is because he is indolent. The world has no room for
lazy people."

"I wonder, sir, that you have had a chance to find him out."

"Little things betray a boy's nature, or a man's, for that matter.
When I have visited the workroom I have noticed Leonard, and formed my
conclusions. He is not a boy whom I would select for my service, but I
have taken him as a favor to his uncle. I presume he is without means,
and it is desirable that he should pay his uncle something in return for
the home which he gives him."

"How much do you pay him, sir, if it is not a secret?"

"Oh, no; he receives five dollars a week to begin with. I will pay him
the same in the office. And that reminds me; how would you like to have
a situation in the factory? Would you like to take Leonard's place?"

"Yes, sir, if you think I would do."

"I feel quite sure of it. Have you ever done any manual labor?"

"No, sir."

"I suppose you have always been to school."

"Yes, sir."

"You are a gentleman's son," proceeded Mr. Jennings, eying Carl
attentively. "How will it suit you to become a working boy?"

"I shall like it," answered Carl, promptly.

"Don't be too sure! You can tell better after a week in the factory.
Those in my employ work ten hours a day. Leonard Craig doesn't like it."

"All I ask, Mr. Jennings, is that you give me a trial."

"That is fair," responded the little man, looking pleased. "I will tell
you now that, not knowing of any vacancy in the factory, I had intended
to give you the place in the office which Mr. Gibbon has asked for his
nephew. It would have been a good deal easier work."

"I shall be quite satisfied to take my place in the factory."

"Come in, then, and see your future scene of employment."

They entered a large room, occupying nearly an entire floor of the
building. Part of the space was filled by machinery. The number employed
Carl estimated roughly at twenty-five.

Quite near the door was a boy, who bore some personal resemblance to the
bookkeeper. Carl concluded that it must be Leonard Craig. The boy looked
round as Mr. Jennings entered, and eyed Carl sharply.

"How are you getting on, Leonard?" Mr. Jennings asked.

"Pretty well, sir; but the machinery makes my head ache."

"Your uncle tells me that your employment does not agree with you."

"No, sir; I don't think it does."

"He would like to have you in the office with him. Would you like it,
also?"

"Yes, sir," answered Leonard, eagerly.

"Very well. You may report for duty at the office to-morrow morning.
This boy will take your place here."

Leonard eyed Carl curiously, not cordially.

"I hope you'll like it," he said.

"I think I shall."

"You two boys must get acquainted," said Mr. Jennings. "Leonard, this is
Carl Crawford."

"Glad to know you," said Leonard, coldly.

"I don't think I shall like that boy," thought Carl, as he followed Mr.
Jennings to another part of the room.



CHAPTER XVII.

CARL ENTERS THE FACTORY.


When they left the factory Mr. Jennings said, with a smile:

"Now you are one of us, Carl. To-morrow you begin work."

"I am glad of it, sir."

"You don't ask what salary you are to get."

"I am willing to leave that to you."

"Suppose we say two dollars a week and board--to begin with."

"That is better than I expected. But where am I to board?"

"At my house, for the present, if that will suit you."

"I shall like it very much, if it won't inconvenience you."

"Hannah is the one to be inconvenienced, if anyone. I had a little
conversation with her while you were getting ready for dinner. She seems
to have taken a liking for you, though she doesn't like boys generally.
As for me, it will make the home brighter to have a young person in it.
Hannah and I are old-fashioned and quiet, and the neighbors don't have
much reason to complain of noise."

"No, sir; I should think not," said Carl, with a smile.

"There is one thing you must be prepared for, Carl," said Mr. Jennings,
after a pause.

"What is that, sir?"

"Your living in my house--I being your employer--may excite jealousy in
some. I think I know of one who will be jealous."

"Leonard Craig?"

"And his uncle. However, don't borrow any trouble on that score. I hope
you won't take advantage of your position, and, thinking yourself a
favorite, neglect your duties."

"I will not, sir."

"Business and friendship ought to be kept apart."

"That is right, sir."

"I am going back to the house, but you may like to take a walk about
the village. You will feel interested in it, as it is to be your future
home. By the way, it may be well for you to write for your trunk. You
can order it sent to my house."

"All right, sir; I will do so."

He went to the post office, and, buying a postal card, wrote to his
friend, Gilbert Vance, as follows:


"Dear Gilbert:--Please send my trunk by express to me at Milford, care
of Henry Jennings, Esq. He is my employer, and I live at his house. He
is proprietor of a furniture factory. Will write further particulars
soon.

"Carl Crawford."


This postal carried welcome intelligence to Gilbert, who felt a
brotherly interest in Carl. He responded by a letter of hearty
congratulation, and forwarded the trunk as requested.

Carl reported for duty the next morning, and, though a novice, soon
showed that he was not without mechanical skill.

At twelve o'clock all the factory hands had an hour off for dinner. As
Carl passed into the street he found himself walking beside the boy whom
he had succeeded--Leonard Craig.

"Good-morning, Leonard," said Carl, pleasantly.

"Good-morning. Have you taken my place in the factory?"

"Yes."

"Do you think you shall like it?"

"I think I shall, though, of course, it is rather early to form an
opinion."

"I didn't like it."

"Why not?"

"I don't want to grow up a workman. I think I am fit for something
better."

"Mr. Jennings began as a factory hand."

"I suppose he had a taste for it. I haven't."

"Then you like your present position better?"

"Oh, yes; it's more genteel. How much does Jennings pay you?"

"Two dollars a week and board."

"How is that? Where do you board?"

"With him."

"Oh!" said Leonard, his countenance changing. "So you are a favorite
with the boss, are you?"

"I don't know. He gave me warning that he should be just as strict with
me as if we were strangers."

"How long have you known him?"

Carl smiled.

"I met him for the first time yesterday," he answered.

"That's very queer."

"Well, perhaps it is a little singular."

"Are you a poor boy?"

"I have to earn my own living."

"I see. You will grow up a common workman."

"I shall try to rise above it. I am not ashamed of the position, but I
am ambitious to rise."

"I am going to be a bookkeeper," said Leonard. "My uncle is going to
teach me. I would rather be a bookkeeper than a factory hand."

"Then you are right in preparing yourself for such a post."

Here the two boys separated, as they were to dine in different places.

Leonard was pleased with his new position. He really had very little to
do. Twice a day he went to the post office, once or twice to the bank,
and there was an occasional errand besides. To Carl the idleness would
have been insupportable, but Leonard was naturally indolent. He sat down
in a chair by the window, and watched the people go by.

The first afternoon he was in luck, for there was a dog fight in the
street outside. He seized his hat, went out, and watched the canine
warfare with the deepest interest.

"I think I will buy you a system of bookkeeping," said his uncle, "and
you can study it in the office."

"Put it off till next week, Uncle Julius. I want to get rested from the
factory work."

"It seems to me, Leonard, you were born lazy," said his uncle, sharply.

"I don't care to work with my hands."

"Do you care to work at all?"

"I should like to be a bookkeeper."

"Do you know that my work is harder and more exhausting than that of a
workman in the factory?"

"You don't want to exchange with him, do you?" asked Leonard.

"No."

"That's where I agree with you."

Mr. Jennings took several weekly papers. Leonard was looking over the
columns of one of them one day, when he saw the advertisement of a gift
enterprise of a most attractive character. The first prize was a house
and grounds valued at ten thousand dollars. Following were minor prizes,
among them one thousand dollars in gold.

Leonard's fancy was captivated by the brilliant prospect of such a
prize.

"Price of tickets--only one dollar!" he read. "Think of getting a
thousand dollars for one! Oh, if I could only be the lucky one!"

He took out his purse, though he knew beforehand that his stock of cash
consisted only of two dimes and a nickel.

"I wonder if I could borrow a dollar of that boy Carl!" he deliberated.
"I'll speak to him about it."

This happened more than a week after Carl went to work in the factory.
He had already received one week's pay, and it remained untouched in his
pocket.

Leonard joined him in the street early in the evening, and accosted him
graciously.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Nowhere in particular. I am out for a walk."

"So am I. Shall we walk together?"

"If you like."

After talking on indifferent matters, Leonard said suddenly: "Oh, by the
way, will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Lend me a dollar till next week."

In former days Carl would probably have granted the favor, but he
realized the value of money now that he had to earn it by steady work.

"I am afraid it won't be convenient," he answered.

"Does that mean that you haven't got it?" asked Leonard.

"No, I have it, but I am expecting to use it."

"I wouldn't mind paying you interest for it--say twenty-five cents,"
continued Leonard, who had set his heart on buying a ticket in the gift
enterprise.

"I would be ashamed to take such interest as that."

"But I have a chance of making a good deal more out of it myself."

"In what way?"

"That is my secret."

"Why don't you borrow it of your uncle?"

"He would ask too many questions. However, I see that you're a miser,
and I won't trouble you."

He left Carl in a huff and walked hastily away. He turned into a lane
little traveled, and, after walking a few rods, came suddenly upon
the prostrate body of a man, whose deep, breathing showed that he was
stupefied by liquor. Leonard was not likely to feel any special interest
in him, but one object did attract his attention. It was a wallet which
had dropped out of the man's pocket and was lying on the grass beside
him.



CHAPTER XVIII.

LEONARD'S TEMPTATION.


Leonard was not a thief, but the sight of the wallet tempted him, under
the circumstances. He had set his heart on buying a ticket in the gift
enterprise, and knew of no way of obtaining the requisite sum--except
this. It was, indeed, a little shock to him to think of appropriating
money not his own; yet who would know it? The owner of the wallet was
drunk, and would be quite unconscious of his loss. Besides, if he didn't
take the wallet, some one else probably would, and appropriate the
entire contents. It was an insidious suggestion, and Leonard somehow
persuaded himself that since the money was sure to be taken, he might as
well have the benefit of it as anyone else.

So, after turning over the matter in his mind rapidly, he stooped down
and picked up the wallet.

The man did not move.

Emboldened by his insensibility, Leonard cautiously opened the
pocketbook, and his eyes glistened when he saw tucked away in one side,
quite a thick roll of bills.

"He won't miss one bill," thought Leonard. "Anyone else might take the
whole wallet, but I wouldn't do that. I wonder how much money there is
in the roll."

He darted another glance at the prostrate form, but there seemed no
danger of interruption. He took the roll in his hand, therefore, and a
hasty scrutiny showed him that the bills ran from ones to tens. There
must have been nearly a hundred dollars in all.

"Suppose I take a five," thought Leonard, whose cupidity increased with
the sight of the money. "He won't miss it, and it will be better in my
hands than if spent for whiskey."

How specious are the arguments of those who seek an excuse for a wrong
act that will put money in the purse!

"Yes, I think I may venture to take a five, and, as I might not be able
to change it right away, I will take a one to send for a ticket. Then I
will put the wallet back in the man's pocket."

So far, all went smoothly, and Leonard was proceeding to carry out his
intention when, taking a precautionary look at the man on the ground, he
was dumfounded by seeing his eyes wide open and fixed upon him.

Leonard flushed painfully, like a criminal detected in a crime, and
returned the look of inquiry by one of dismay.

"What--you--doing?" inquired the victim of inebriety.

"I--is this your wallet, sir?" stammered Leonard.

"Course it is. What you got it for?"

"I--I saw it on the ground, and was afraid some one would find it, and
rob you," said Leonard, fluently.

"Somebody did find it," rejoined the man, whose