.dt Mark Manning's Mission, by Horatio Alger, Jr.—A Project Gutenberg eBook
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"There are but three hundred and fifty dollars left," said the hermit, as he counted the pieces of gold."
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[Illustration: "There are but three hundred and fifty dollars left," said the
hermit, as he counted the pieces of gold.]
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MARK MANNING'S MISSION
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The Story of a Shoe Factory Boy
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By HORATIO ALGER, Jr.
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Author of "Mark Mason's Victory," "Ben Bruce,"
"Bernard Brook's Adventures," "A Debt of Honor,"
etc., etc.
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[Illustration: Publisher's Logo]
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With Five Page Illustrations by J. Watson Davis
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A. L. BURT COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
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COPYRIGHT 1905
By A. L. BURT COMPANY
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MARK MANNING'S MISSION
By Horatio Alger, Jr.
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CONTENTS
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CHAPTER |
I. | #Three Young Hunters:ch01#
II. | #The Hermit's Cabin:ch02#
III. | #A Timely Rescue:ch03#
IV. | #The Hermit Explains:ch04#
V. | #Lyman Taylor Makes a New Acquaintance:ch05#
VI. | #A Tragedy in the Pasture:ch06#
VII. | #Mark at Home:ch07#
VIII. | #Deacon Miller Gets a Clue:ch08#
IX. | #The Deacon's Mission:ch09#
X. | #Mark Protects a Friend:ch10#
XI. | #Mark is Discharged:ch11#
XII. | #Good Luck After Misfortune:ch12#
XIII. | #The Little Man in Black:ch13#
XIV. | #An Important Proposal:ch14#
XV. | #The Hermit's Bank:ch15#
XVI. | #Lyman Taylor Gains some Information:ch16#
XVII. | #On the Trail of Gold:ch17#
XVIII. | #Lyman's Disappointment:ch18#
XIX. | #The Hermit Receives a Call:ch19#
XX. | #How Lyman Succeeded:ch20#
XXI. | #All Aboard for New York:ch21#
XXII. | #In an Office on Broadway:ch22#
XXIII. | #Mark's Mission:ch23#
XXIV. | #What Mark Discovered:ch24#
XXV. | #The Little Match Boy:ch25#
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XXVI. | #Luck Favors Lyman:ch26#
XXVII. | #Old Peggy:ch27#
XXVIII. | #Lyman's Plan:ch28#
XXIX. | #Mark Receives a Telegram:ch29#
XXX. | #Mark Makes Arrangements with Jack:ch30#
XXXI. | #Jack Talks in his Sleep:ch31#
XXXII. | #Jack is Pursued:ch32#
XXXIII. | #Mark Eludes his Pursuers:ch33#
XXXIV. | #Mrs. Manning's House is Sold:ch34#
XXXV. | #Notice to Quit:ch35#
XXXVI. | #The Hermit Secures a House:ch36#
XXXVII. | #Conclusion:ch37#
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MARK MANNING'S MISSION.
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CHAPTER I. | THREE YOUNG HUNTERS.
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Two boys, with guns on their shoulders, were
crossing a meadow towards the Pecasset woods.
These were situated about a mile from the village,
and were quite extensive. The two boys were
James Collins and Tom Wyman, the first, the son
of a large shoe manufacturer, the other the son
of the village postmaster. They were about of a
size, and had the appearance of being sixteen
years of age. They were very intimate, the
second being a satellite of the first, who in right
of his father's wealth considered himself the first
boy in Pecasset. Tom flattered his vanity by
acknowledging his pretensions, and this gave him
his position of favorite with the young aristocrat.
"I should like to be a hunter," said Tom, as
they walked along.
"A fine hunter you'd be," said James, in a tone
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by no means complimentary, for he didn't feel
it necessary to flatter his humble companion.
"You never hit anything, you know."
"Come, James, that's a little too strong," said
Tom, in a tone of annoyance. "I don't pretend
to be as good a shot as you are, but still I have
hit a bird before now."
"When it was perched on a fence, eh?"
"No, on the wing."
"Who saw you do it?"
"I was alone."
"So I thought," said James, laughing.
"I did it, really. Of course I can't shoot as
well as you."
"I don't think there is a boy in the village can
come up to me in that line," said James.
"Of course not; though Mark Manning isn't a
bad shot."
"Mark Manning! He's one of the peggers in
my father's shop, isn't he?"
"Yes."
"Son of the poor widow that lives near the
schoolhouse?"
"Yes."
"What can he know of gunning? He had
better stick to the shop."
"I didn't say he was equal to you," said
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Tom apologetically, "but I have seen him shoot
well."
"Has he a gun of his own?"
"No, but he often gets the loan of Farmer
Jones's."
"I suppose he could hit a barn door if he were
within fifty feet of it," said James, contemptuously.
Tom was silent. It was not the first time he
had noticed how distasteful to James was praise of
any other boy.
At this moment, from another direction came
a third boy, of about the same size and age as the
two already introduced. He also had a gun on his
shoulder. He had on a well-worn suit of mixed
cloth, which had been darned in one or two places.
His face was open and attractive, his form was
well-knit and muscular, and he was evidently in
vigorous health.
Tom Wyman was the first to notice the newcomer.
"Talk of the—old Harry," he said, "and he
is sure to appear."
"What do you mean?" asked James, who had
not yet espied the new arrival.
"There's Mark Manning coming towards
us."
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James condescended to turn his glance in Marks'
direction.
"What brings him here, I wonder?" he said,
with a curl of the lip.
"The same errand that brings us, I should
judge, from the gun on his shoulder," answered
Tom.
By this time Mark was within calling distance.
"Hallo, boys!" he said. "Have you shot anything
yet?"
"No," answered Tom. "Have you?"
"No, I have only just come."
"Why are you not in the shop?" demanded
James, with the air of a young lord.
"Because we work only half-time to-day."
"I suppose you were glad of the holiday?"
"No, I would rather have worked. Half-work,
half-pay, you know."
"I suppose that's quite an important consideration
for a—a working boy like you," drawled
James, with an air of patronage.
Mark surveyed James, with a quizzical smile, for
he had a genuine boy's disdain for affectation, and
James was a very good specimen of a self-conceited
dude, though the latter term had not yet come
into use.
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"Yes," he said, after a slight pause, "it is a
consideration—to a working boy like me."
"How much now does my father pay you?"
inquired James, with gracious condescension.
"Seventy-five cents a day—that's the average."
"Very fair pay! I suppose you take it home
to your mother?"
"Yes, I do," answered Mark.
"She's—ah—very poor, I hear."
Mark began to find his patronage on the whole
rather oppressive. He had a sturdy independence
of feeling that grew restive under the young
patrician's condescension.
"We are poor," he answered, "but we have
enough to eat, and to wear, and a roof to cover
us—"
"Exactly. You are indebted to my father for
that."
"I don't see how."
"Doesn't he employ you and pay you wages?"
"Yes, but don't I earn my wages by good
work?"
"Really, my good fellow, I can't say. I presume
you do passably well, or he wouldn't keep
you in his employ."
"Then it seems to me we are even on that
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score. However, I didn't come here to talk about
myself."
Here there was a sudden diversion.
"Look, James! See that bird!" exclaimed
Tom, in excitement.
The other two boys looked in the direction indicated,
and saw a hawk flying swiftly, perhaps
two hundred feet above them. The three simultaneously
raised their guns, and Tom and James
fired. But Mark, upon second thought reserved
his fire, in order to give his two companions a
chance.
Their guns were discharged, but in vain. The
bird flew on, apparently unconcerned, considerably
to their disappointment.
"Now it is my turn!" reflected Mark.
He raised his gun, and quickly pulled the trigger;
the effect was soon seen. The bird fluttered
its wings, then dropped quickly through the air.
"By Jove, Mark's hit him!" exclaimed Tom in
excitement.
James frowned in evident displeasure.
"Yes, he was lucky!" he said significantly.
Mark had run forward to pick up the bird.
"I told you Mark was a good shot!" said Tom,
who had not so much vanity to wound as James.
"I suppose you think him a better shot than
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I, because he hit the bird and I didn't?" said
James, reddening.
"No, I don't say that!"
"I tell you it was pure luck. I've heard of a
man who shut his eyes when he fired, but he succeeded
when all his companions failed. You
can't judge of one by a single shot."
Here Mark came up with his trophy.
"I congratulate you on your success," said
James, unpleasantly. "I suppose this is the first
bird you ever shot?"
"Oh, no!" answered Mark smilingly. "I
have shot a few before now."
"A fly lit on my nose just when I was pulling
the trigger, or I should have brought him down."
"That was lucky for me," said Mark.
"Come, Tom," said James, drawing his companion
away to the left. "We'd better separate,
or we shall all be shooting at the same object."
"Good luck to you then!" said Mark, as the
two left him.
"Thanks!" said Tom, but James deigned no
notice of Mark's civility.
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CHAPTER II. | THE HERMIT'S CABIN.
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Mark smiled to himself as the boys left him.
"James doesn't care to associate with us working
boys," he thought. "Well, I fancy he cares
as much for my company as I do for his."
Mark was thoroughly independent and self-reliant,
and had no disposition to trouble himself
because a particular boy didn't care to associate
with him.
He was not self-conceited, but he respected
himself, and never would have been willing, like
Tom Wyman, to play the part of an humble
satellite to the son of a wealthy shoe manufacturer.
He reached the edge of the woods, and plunged
into their shaded recesses. Here and there were
paths more or less worn. One of these he took.
It was a considerable time before he found anything
to shoot at. Finally he fired at a squirrel,
but the active little animal eluded him, and made
his way to some covert, whence possibly he
peeped out with twinkling eyes at his enemy.
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Farther on he reached a small clearing, in the
center of which rose an humble log dwelling, of
the most primitive description.
Mark regarded it with curiosity, for, though it
was no new object to him, he knew that it was
occupied by a man who for five years had baffled
the curiosity of the neighborhood.
Now and then he was seen in the village,
whither he went to procure supplies of food and
other necessaries. A striking figure he was, with
his long flowing sandy beard, thickly flecked with
gray hairs, high forehead, and long, circular
cloak wrapped around his tall, spare form.
On his head he wore a Spanish sombrero, and
his appearance in the streets never failed to attract
the curious eyes of the children.
Once some rude boys followed him with jeers,
but were never tempted to repeat the rudeness.
With his long staff upraised, he gave chase to
them, looking so terrible that they were panic-stricken,
and with pale faces, scattered in all
directions.
While Mark was standing near the hermit's
cabin, he thought he heard a smothered groan
proceeding from within.
"What can be the matter," he thought, "can
old Anthony be sick?"
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This was the name, correct or not, by which
the hermit was known in the village.
He paused a moment in indecision, but on hearing
the groan repeated, he overcame his scruples,
and pushing open the door, which stood ajar, he
entered.
On a pallet, at one corner of the main room,
lay the old man, with his limbs drawn up, as if
in pain. His back was towards the door.
"Who is there?" he asked, as he heard the
door open.
"A friend," answered Mark. "Are you
sick?"
"I have a severe attack of rheumatism," answered
the old man.
"And you have no one to take care of you?"
said Mark, pityingly.
"No; I have no friends," answered the old
man, in a tone half sad, half bitter. "Come
round to the foot of the bed; let me look at you,"
he added, after a pause.
Mark complied with his request.
Old Anthony regarded him attentively, and
said, half to himself, "a good face! a face to be
trusted!"
"I hope so," said Mark, with a feeling of pleasure.
"Can I do anything for you?"
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"You are willing to help old Anthony? You
see I know what they call me in the village."
"Yes. I shall be willing and glad to do anything
for you."
"You are a good boy. What is your name?"
"Mark Manning."
"I know who you are. Your mother is a
widow."
"Yes."
"And poor."
"We have little money, but we have never
wanted for food."
"You work for your mother?"
"Yes; I am employed in the shoe factory."
"A good son will make a good man. You will
never repent what you are doing for your mother."
"No; I am sure I shall not," returned Mark,
warmly. "I ought not, for she has done everything
for me."
"What brings you here?" asked the old man.
"I had a spare afternoon, and came out gunning.
I was wandering about these woods and
happened to come this way. How long have you
been sick?"
"For several days; but I was able to be about
till yesterday."
"Have you taken no medicine?"
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"No. I thought I might do without it; but I
find I am mistaken."
"Shall I call the doctor?"
"No; my disease is of old standing, and I know
what to do for it. If you are willing to go to the
drug store for me you may take the bottle on
yonder shelf and get it filled. The druggist will
understand what is wanted. You may also get
me a box of rheumatic pills."
"Yes, sir; I will go at once."
"You will want money. Look in the box on
yonder shelf, and select a gold piece. Pay for
the articles and bring back the change."
"Yes, sir."
Mark went to the shelf, and in a square wooden
box found a collection of gold and silver coins
from which he selected a five-dollar gold piece.
"I have taken five dollars," he said.
"Very well."
"Are you not afraid to leave this money so exposed
while you are sick and helpless?" Mark
ventured to inquire.
"I have no visitors," answered old Anthony.
"But you might have. Some tramp——"
"That is true. Perhaps it would be well to
provide for that contingency. Will you take it
all, and take care of it for me?"
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Mark regarded the old man with surprise.
"What—take it away with me?" he asked.
"Yes. I shall have to employ you as my man
of business till I get better. I will speak with
you about it further when you return with the
medicines."
"Do you know how much there is here?"
asked Mark.
"No; you may count it, if you like."
Mark did so and announced as the result of his
count, "Twenty-nine dollars and thirty cents."
"Very well! You may keep an account of
what you expend for me," said the old man, indifferently.
"He seems to put a good deal of confidence in
me," Mark reflected, with some satisfaction.
"Is there nothing else you want in the village?"
Mark asked, as he prepared to go.
"You may bring me a loaf of fresh bread and
a quart of milk, if it will not be too much trouble.
You will find a tin measure for the milk on the
shelf."
"Here it is, sir."
"Very well."
"If you would like something nourishing—some
meat, for instance—I can get my mother to
cook you some," continued Mark.
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"Not to-day. Another day I may avail myself
of your kind offer. You are very kind—to a poor
recluse."
"I am afraid you don't pass a very pleasant
life," said Mark. "I should be miserable if I
lived alone in the woods, like you."
"No doubt, no doubt. You are young and
life opens before you bright and cheerful. As for
me, I have lived my life. For me no prospect
opens but the grave. Why, indeed, should I
seek to prolong this miserable life?"
Mark hardly knew how to answer him. He
could not enter into the old man's morbid feelings.
"I will be back soon," he said as he left the
cabin.
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CHAPTER III. | A TIMELY RESCUE.
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Mark Manning left the cabin and made his
way as quickly as possible to the edge of the
wood. He hadn't got over his wonder at the
hermit's commission and singular confidence in
him.
"It seems strange," he said to himself, "to
have so much money in my pocket. Nearly
thirty dollars! I wonder whether I shall ever
have as much of my own?"
In truth, thirty dollars seemed a much larger
sum to our hero, brought up in a hand to hand
struggle with poverty, than it would have appeared
if he had been ten years older.
"He must have more money," thought Mark,
"or he would not care so little for this sum as to
trust it all to me. How does he know that I
will prove honest?"
Nevertheless it was a satisfaction to Mark to
reflect that old Anthony was justified in his confidence.
Had the sum been ten times as large, he
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would not have been tempted to retain any of it
for his own use.
He kept on his way to the drug store, and
asked for the medicines already referred to.
"Is your mother sick?" asked the druggist,
who was very well acquainted with Mark and his
family.
"No, sir," answered Mark.
"Oh, then it is you who are rheumatic," said
the druggist jokingly.
"Wrong again," answered Mark. "I am
buying the medicines for old Anthony."
"Then he is sick? That accounts for his not
having appeared in the village for several days."
Thereupon Mark described his chance visit to
the cabin, and the condition in which he had
found the hermit.
"These remedies will do him good," said the
druggist, "if he is otherwise kept comfortable.
A strange man is old Anthony!" he continued
musingly.
Mark produced a gold piece, from which he requested
the druggist to take pay for the articles
purchased.
"Did the hermit give you this?" asked the
druggist.
Mark answered in the affirmative.
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"Then it is evident he is not without means.
However, I might have known that. During the
years that he has lived in the wood, he has
always been prompt in his payments for all articles
purchased in the village. His expenditures are
small, to be sure, but in five years they have
amounted to considerable."
"What could have induced him to settle in
such a lonely spot?"
"That is more than any one hereabouts can
tell. He is very secretive, and never says anything
about himself."
By this time Mark was ready to return. He
went to the grocery store, where he obtained the
milk and loaf of bread, which he had also been
commissioned to procure. Then he set out for
old Anthony's lonely cabin.
Before doing so, he heard something from the
grocer that aroused his curiosity.
"There was a man in here only twenty minutes
since," said the storekeeper, "who was asking
after Anthony."
"Was it a stranger?"
"Yes. It was a man I never saw before. He
was a stout, broad-shouldered man with a bronzed
face, who looked as if he might be a sailor."
"Did he say who he was?"
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"Only that Anthony was a relation of his, and
that he had not seen him for years."
"Did he say he meant to call upon him?" asked
Mark.
"He did not say so, but as he inquired particularly
for the location of the cabin, I took it for
granted that this was his intention."
"Then probably I shall see him, as I am going
directly back to the wood."
"He will probably be there unless he loses his
way."
Leaving Mark to return by the same way he
came, we will precede him, and make acquaintance
with the man who had excited the grocer's
curiosity by inquiring for the old hermit.
Old Anthony lay on his pallet waiting for the
return of Mark.
"I like the boy," he said to himself. "He has
an honest face. He looks manly and straightforward.
He has never joined the other village boys
in jeering. If my nephew had been like him he
might have been a comfort to me."
The old man sighed. What thoughts passed
through his mind were known only to him; but
that they were sad ones seemed clear from the
expression of his face.
Time passed as he lay quiet. Then he heard a
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noise at the door and the step of one entering the
cabin.
"Is that you, Mark?" he inquired.
There was a pause. Then a harsh voice answered:
"No; it isn't Mark, whoever he may
be. It is some one who ought to be nearer to you
than he."
Old Anthony started in evident excitement, and
by an effort managed to turn round his head so
as to see the intruder.
His eyes rested on a man rather above the
middle height, shabbily clad, with a dark face
and threatening expression.
"Lyman Taylor!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, Lyman Taylor," returned the other,
mockingly. "Are you glad to see your nephew?"
"Heaven knows I am not!" said old Anthony
bitterly.
"So I judged from your expression. Yet they
say blood is thicker than water."
"That there is any tie of blood between us I
regret deeply. A man more utterly unworthy I
have never known."
"Come, Uncle Anthony, isn't that a little
strong. I am no angel——"
"You are a worthless scoundrel," said the
hermit bitterly.
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"Look here, old man," said his nephew fiercely,
"I didn't come here to be insulted and called bad
names. Considering that you are alone and in
my power, it is a little impertinent in you to talk
in that way. I might kill you."
"You are quite capable of it," said Anthony.
"Do so, if you choose. Life is not a possession
that I greatly prize."
"I have a great mind to take you at your
word," said Taylor coolly, "but it wouldn't suit
my purpose. Your death would do me no good
unless you have made me your heir. I am desperately
in need of money."
"Work for it, then!"
"Thank you! You are very kind; but employers
are rather shy of me. I have no recommendations
to offer. I don't mind telling you
that I have spent the last four years in prison."
"A very suitable place for you," said the old
man in a caustic tone.
"Thank you again! You are complimentary."
"This is the reason why you have not found
me out before?"
"Precisely. You don't suppose I would otherwise
have kept away from you so long, my most
affectionate uncle!"
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"Do you recall the circumstances of our last
parting? I awoke in California to find myself
robbed of the large sum of money I had with me.
Of course, you took it."
"I don't mind owning that I did. But I
haven't a cent of it left."
"That I can easily believe. Why have you
sought me out?"
"I want more money."
"So I supposed. You can judge from my way
of living whether I am likely to have any for
you."
"You don't appear to be living in luxury.
However, it costs something to keep body and
soul together even in this den. Of course, you
have some money. However little it is, I want
it."
"Then you will be disappointed."
"Where do you keep your money?" demanded
Lyman Taylor, roughly.
"Even if I had any. I wouldn't tell you!"
said the brave old man.
"Look here, old man, no trifling! Either you
will find some money for me, or I will choke
you?"
He got down on one knee and stooped menacingly
over the hermit.
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At that moment Mark Manning, who had returned
from his errand, reached the doorway,
and stood a surprised and indignant witness of
this exciting scene.
Old Anthony struggled, but ineffectually in
the grasp of the ruffian who had attacked him.
Even if he had not been disabled by disease he
would not have been a match for Lyman Taylor,
who was at least twenty-five years younger.
"Don't touch me, you scoundrel!" said Anthony,
whose spirit exceeded his bodily strength.
"Then tell me where you keep your money!"
"That I will not do!"
"Then I'll see if I can't find a way to make
you."
As he spoke the young man grabbed the hermit
by the throat. He concluded too hastily
that old Anthony was in his power. He was destined
to a surprise.
"Let the old man alone!" cried Mark, indignantly.
Lyman Taylor looked up in surprise and some
alarm. But when he saw that the words proceeded
from a boy, he laughed derisively.
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Mark dropped his bundles, and taking the musket pointed it
at the ruffian, saying: "Let go, or I will shoot."
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[Illustration: Mark dropped his bundles, and taking the musket pointed it
at the ruffian, saying: "Let go, or I will shoot."]
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"Mind your own business, you young bantam,
or I'll wring your neck!" he said contemptuously.
"Now, let me know where you keep your money,"
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he said, turning once more to the old man, and
preparing to choke him into an avowal of his
secret.
"Let go, instantly, or I will shoot!" exclaimed
Mark, now thoroughly aroused.
Once more the ruffian turned, and this time
his countenance changed, for Mark, boyish but
resolute, had dropped his bundles, and had the
musket pointed directly at him.
Taylor rose to his feet suddenly.
"Take care, there!" he said, nervously. "Put
down that gun!"
"Then leave old Anthony alone!" returned
Mark, resolutely.
"Are you my uncle's guardian?" demanded
Lyman, with a sneer.
"If he is your uncle, the more shame to you
to treat him brutally!"
"I didn't come here to be lectured by a boy,"
said Taylor, angrily. "Put down that gun!"
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CHAPTER IV. | THE HERMIT EXPLAINS.
.sp 2
Mark did not obey directly, but turning to the
hermit said, "Do you want this man to leave the
cabin?"
"Yes," answered the old man, "but beware of
him! He is all that is bad!"
"A pretty recommendation to come from your
uncle," said Taylor, sullenly. "Uncle Anthony,
I ask you once more to give me money. I am
penniless, and am a desperate man."
"There is no money in this cabin, and you
would search for it in vain, but if you will promise
to leave this place and trouble me no more, I
will provide you with five dollars."
"What are five dollars?"
"All that you will get. Do you make the
promise?"
"Well, yes—"
"Mark, you may give this man five dollars on
my account."
.bn 032.png
"Is he your treasurer!" inquired Taylor, in
surprise.
"He has charge of some funds out of which he
buys me what I need."
"How much money have you got of my uncle's,
boy?"
"I don't care to answer the question. Ask
your uncle."
"A small sum only. It won't be worth your
while, Lyman, to plot for its possession."
"Have you no other money?"
"None that you are likely to get hold of.
I will save you the trouble of searching the cabin,
or prowling round it, by repeating that I have
no money concealed here. You know me well
enough to know that I am not deceiving you."
Lyman Taylor listened in sullen disappointment.
He did know that his uncle's word could
be relied upon implicitly, and that the hopes which
he had built up of securing a large fund from the
uncle he had once robbed, were not destined to be
realized.
"It seems you are a pauper, then," he said.
"I have not been compelled to ask for charity
yet," answered Anthony. "I live here for next
to nothing, and have not suffered yet for the
necessities of life."
.bn 033.png
Lyman Taylor looked around him contemptuously.
"You must have a sweet time living here," he
said, "in this lonely old cabin."
"I would not exchange it for the place in which
you confess that you have passed the last four
years."
Taylor frowned, but did not otherwise notice
the old man's retort.
"Give me the five dollars, boy," he said, "and
I will go. It seems I am wasting time here."
Mark drew a gold piece from his pocket and
passed it to him.
"Have you many more of these?" he demanded,
his eyes gleaming with cupidity.
"No."
"Give me another."
"They are not mine to give."
"Not another one, Mark," said Anthony.
"He does not deserve even that."
"Make way, then, and I will go," said the
nephew, convinced that he had no more to expect.
Mark moved aside, and he strode out of the
cabin.
"Good-bye, Uncle Anthony," he said. "You
haven't treated me very generously, considering
how long it is since you did anything for me."
.bn 034.png
"Are you utterly shameless, Lyman?" said
the hermit. "I hope never to set eyes on you
again."
"Thank you, you are very kind. Boy, what
is your name?"
"Mark Manning."
"Well, Mark, as you appear to be in charge of
my uncle, I shall be glad to have you write me if
anything happens to him. As his nearest relative
and heir, I ought to be notified."
Mark looked to the hermit for directions.
"Give him your address, Lyman," said Anthony.
"If there is any news to interest you,
he shall write. But don't calculate on my speedy
death. It is hardly likely to benefit you."
"I may want to visit your grave, uncle," said
Lyman, jeeringly.
"Give him an address where a letter will
reach you then."
"No. —— Third Avenue, New York," said
Taylor. "Write soon."
He left the cabin, and old Anthony and Mark
were alone.
"He is my nearest relative," said the old man,
"and a relative to be proud of, eh, Mark?"
"No, sir."
"Years since we were in California together,
.bn 035.png
I had two thousand dollars in gold dust under
my pillow. My nephew was my companion, but
none of the gold belonged to him. I woke one
morning to find my nephew gone, and my gold
also. From that time I have not set eyes on him
till to-day."
"It was a shabby trick," said Mark, warmly.
"Were you left destitute?"
"So far as money went, yes. But I was the
owner of a claim which my nephew thought exhausted.
I resumed work on it, and three days
later made a valuable find. Within a month I
took out ten thousand dollars, and sold it for five
thousand more."
"Your nephew does not know this, does he?"
"No; if he had, I should not have got rid of
him so easily. But I have not told you all. I
remained in California a year longer, and left it
worth forty thousand dollars."
"Then why—excuse me for asking—have you
come to this poor cabin to live?" asked Mark.
"I had one other relative than Lyman, a
daughter—I left her at a boarding-school in Connecticut.
I returned to find that she had married
an adventurer a month previous. Two years
later I heard of her death. Life had lost its
charm for me. I would not deprive myself of
.bn 036.png
it, but in a fit of misanthropy I buried myself
here."
Old Anthony seemed weary, and Mark questioned
him no more, but set before him the milk
and loaf which he had brought with him.
.bn 037.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
CHAPTER V. | LYMAN TAYLOR MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.
.sp 2
On leaving the cabin Mark promised to call
again the next afternoon, bringing from the village
such articles as Anthony might require.
This he could readily do as the shoe manufactory
was not running full time.
"I will see that you are paid for your trouble,"
said the hermit.
"That will be all right," said Mark, cheerfully.
"I am able to pay you, and will employ you
only on that condition," persisted Anthony.
"I shall not object to that part of the bargain,"
said Mark, smiling. "Money never comes amiss
to me."
"I have plenty of money, though I would not
admit it to my nephew," continued the sick man.
"He would persecute me till I bought him off.
Fortunately he thinks I am poor."
"But," said Mark, "suppose he should come
back. Would not your money be in danger?"
.bn 038.png
"He would find none here. I do not keep any
in this cabin. I did have some, but it is in your
hands."
"Shall I not return it to you, sir?"
"No; I prefer that you should keep it. You
will be using money for me daily, and for the
present you shall be my treasurer."
"I am very much obliged to you for reposing
so much confidence in me," said Mark.
"I trust you entirely. You have an honest
face."
"Thank you, sir. I will endeavor to deserve
your confidence."
It was past four o'clock when Mark left the
cabin and started on his way homeward. He
walked along thoughtfully, carrying his gun
over his shoulder.
"It seems I have a near friend," he reflected;
"and one who may be of service to me. Now
that the shop is no longer running full time, it
will be convenient to earn a little extra money,
old Anthony must be rich, judging from what he
said about his success in California."
Mark could not help wondering where the hermit
kept his money. But for Anthony's positive
assurance, he would have conjectured that he
kept it somewhere concealed about the cabin,
.bn 039.png
but that being left out of the question he was
at a loss to fix upon any probable place of
deposit.
Leaving Mark for a brief time; we go back to
the other two young hunters, from whom he had
separated two hours before.
"I don't like that boy," said James Collins.
"He puts on too many airs for a poor boy. I
suppose he will be crowing over his successful
shot."
"Very likely," chimed in his companion, who
made it a point to flatter James by agreeing with
everything he said.
"It was only a lucky accident," continued
James. "He couldn't do it again."
"Of course not. I don't think he is really as
good a shot as you or I."
"You can hardly class yourself with me," said
James egotistically. "However. I agree with
you that he is inferior to you."
"Quick, James!" said Tom Wyman. "There
is a squirrel—shoot! I'll give you the first
chance."
James pulled the trigger, but the squirrel was
not destined to fall by his hands. He scampered
away, looking back saucily at the baffled young
hunter.
.bn 040.png
"Was ever anything more provoking?" asked
James in evident chagrin.
Later in the afternoon when the two boys were
slowly strolling homewards, they saw a strange
man issuing from the woods. It was Lyman
Taylor, returned from his only partially successful
visit to his uncle.
He waited till the boys came up.
"Good afternoon, young gentlemen," he said
by way of greeting.
"Good afternoon," returned James stiffly.
He doubted whether the newcomer was a man
whom it was worth while to notice.
"What luck have you had? I see you have
been out hunting."
"We didn't shoot anything we thought worth
bringing home," said Tom.
"I met another boy out with a gun. Perhaps
he is a friend of yours."
James and Tom exchanged glances. They understood
very well that Mark Manning was meant.
"I think I know the boy you met," said James.
"It is a poor boy who works in my father's manufactory."
"What is his name?" asked Lyman Taylor.
"Mark Manning."
"Does he live in the village?"
.bn 041.png
"Yes; his mother is a poor widow."
"Where did you meet him?" asked Tom.
"At a cabin in the woods."
"Old Anthony's?"
"Yes; the hermit is an uncle of mine."
The two boys regarded the speaker with interest.
All the villagers had some curiosity about the
man who had settled so near them.
"What is his name?" inquired Tom.
"You called him old Anthony," said Lyman,
smiling. "That is his name."
"But his other name?"
"His last name is Taylor, I have not seen him
before for five years. Does he often come into
the village?"
"About twice a week."
"I suppose he comes to buy food?"
"Yes; I suppose so."
"Does he appear to be provided with money?"
asked Taylor with some eagerness.
"Yes, I believe so," replied Tom. "He has
sometimes come into our place—father is the postmaster—to
get a gold piece changed. But I don't
suppose he has much money. It doesn't cost him
much to live."
"Does he ever get any letters—as your father
is postmaster, you can probably tell."
.bn 042.png
"I don't think so; my father has never mentioned
it, and I think he would if any had been
received."
"What sort of a boy is this Mark Manning?"
asked Taylor abruptly.
"I don't think much of him," answered James.
"He is poor and proud. He is only a pegger in
our shop, but he puts on airs with the best."
"Do you think he is honest?"
The two boys looked surprised; that question
had never occurred to them.
"What makes you ask?" inquired James.
"Only that he has in his possession a sum of
money belonging to my uncle."
"Did he tell you so? did you see it?" were the
questions quickly asked.
"I met him at my uncle's cabin. My uncle
owed me a small sum, and instead of paying me
himself, he asked this boy to pay me. The boy
took the money from his pocket, and handed it
to me."
Both boys were surprised.
"I didn't know he had anything to do with the
hermit," said Tom. "Did you, James?"
"No; but then I don't trouble myself about
Mark Manning's affairs."
Lyman Taylor regarded James shrewdly, he
.bn 043.png
had no difficulty in detecting the boy's dislike towards
Mark.
"Excuse my troubling you with questions,
young gentlemen," he said. "My uncle is a
simple-minded old man, and it would be easy to
rob him, though I fancy he hasn't much money.
This boy Mark appeared to me an artful young
rogue, who might very probably cheat him out of
the small sum he has."
"I never saw the two together," said Tom,
musingly. "Old Anthony has generally paid his
bills himself."
"He is sick just now, and perhaps that accounts
for it. The boy Mark has been making
purchases for him in the village. However, I
must leave the place, as important business calls
me elsewhere. Since you," addressing Tom,
"are the postmaster's son, may I ask a favor of
you?"
"Certainly."
"If my uncle should die, can I trouble you to
send me a note informing me, as I should feel
called upon, as his only relative, to see that he
was properly buried."
"Yes, sir; I will write you, if you will leave
me your address."
Lyman Taylor gave Tom the same address he
.bn 044.png
had already given Mark. He then bade the boys
good-bye, and walked on.
"Uncle Anthony may have some money," he
soliloquized, "and if he dies, I shall see if I can
find it. I am pretty sure to hear through one of
the boys."
.bn 045.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
CHAPTER VI. | A TRAGEDY IN THE PASTURE.
.sp 2
On their way home the two boys had occasion
to cross a pasture belonging to Deacon Miller, an
old farmer whose house and barn were about a
furlong distant on a rising ground.
They sauntered along in single file. James
had a careless way of carrying his gun, which
made some of the boys unwilling to accompany
him, unless it was unloaded. Tom had two or
three times cautioned him on this very afternoon,
but James did not receive his remonstrance in
good part.
"Don't trouble yourself so much about my gun,
Tom Wyman," he said. "I guess I know how
to carry my gun as well as you do."
"I don't doubt that in the least, James, but
you must admit that you handle it rather carelessly.
Some of the boys don't like to go hunting
with you."
"Then they are cowards. I never shot any
boy yet," answered James, with some heat.
.bn 046.png
"No, but you might."
"You are making a great deal of fuss about
nothing. I didn't think you were so timid."
"I don't know that I am particularly timid,
but I shouldn't like to be riddled with shot," returned
Tom, good-humoredly.
"Then you'd better get your life insured when
you go out with me next," sneered James.
"I don't know but I shall," said Tom, declining
to take offense.
For a very brief period James carried his gun
more carefully. Then he forgot his caution, and
in transferring his gun from one shoulder to the
other somehow he touched the hammer, and the
gun was discharged.
It was most unfortunate, but when the gun
went off it was pointed directly at a white-faced
cow belonging to Deacon Miller.
The small shot penetrated both the poor animal's
eyes, and with a moan of anguish the cow
sank to the ground.
Both boys stared in dismay at the victim of
carelessness.
"There, you've gone and done it now, James,"
said Tom. "You've shot Deacon Miller's cow."
"I don't see how I happened to do it," stammered
James, really frightened.
.bn 047.png
"I told you not to carry your gun so carelessly."
"You told me! Of course you want to get
me into trouble about this!" exclaimed James,
irritably.
"No, I don't."
"Then," said James, quickly, "don't say a
word about it. We'll get home as soon as we can,
and won't know anything about it. Mum's the
word!"
"Of course I'll be mum, but it will be known
that we have been out with guns this afternoon."
"So has Mark Manning."
James looked significantly at Tom, and Tom
understood.
Poor Mark was to bear the blame for a deed he
didn't do, and all to screen James.
"It's mean!" Tom said to himself, "but I
can't go back on James. I want to keep in with
him, and I suppose I must consent."
"Well?" demanded James, impatiently.
"It won't come out through me," answered
Tom, but not with alacrity.
"And if Mark is accused you won't say anything?"
"N-o!" said Tom, slowly.
"Then let us put for home!"
.bn 048.png
James suited the action to the word, and the
two boys hurried across the pasture, never venturing
to look back at the suffering animal.
Fifteen minutes later, when James and Tom
were already at home, Mark Manning entered
the narrow foot-path that led across the pasture.
He was immersed in thought, the hermit and
his strange experience at the cabin being the subject
of his reflections, when he heard a pitiful
moaning, not far from him.
Looking up he observed that it proceeded from
old Whitey, as the deacon was accustomed to call
his favorite cow.
"What's the matter with you, old Whitey?"
said Mark, who was always moved by distress,
whether in man or beast.
Coming nearer, he was not long left in doubt.
The nature of the injury which the poor cow had
received was evident to him.
"Poor old Whitey!" he said, pitifully. "Who
has shot you in this cruel manner?"
The sole answer was a moan of anguish from
the stricken animal.
"I am afraid she will have to be killed!"
thought Mark, sadly. "It is only torture for
her to live with this injury, and of course there
is no cure."
.bn 049.png
He was still standing beside the cow, gun in
hand, when a harsh voice became audible.
"What have you done to my cow, Mark Manning?"
Looking up, he saw the deacon but four rods
distant.
Deacon Miller was an old man, of giant form,
and harsh, irregular features. He was a very
unpopular man in the neighborhood, and deservedly
so. He had made home so disagreeable
that his only son had gone away fifteen years
before, and the deacon had never heard from him
since.
"What have you been doin' to my cow?" he
demanded, in a still harsher tone.
"Nothing, Deacon Miller," answered Mark,
calmly.
"You don't mean to tell me the critter's makin'
all this fuss for nothin', do you?"
"No; the poor animal has been shot."
"Has been what?" snarled the deacon.
"Shot! Shot in the face, and I am afraid its
eyes are put out," replied Mark.
"Old Whitey shot in the eye," repeated the
deacon, in a fury. "Then it's you that did
it."
.if h
.il fn=p042.jpg w=500px
.ca
"What have you done to my cow, Mark Manning?" said the deacon, coming up to him.
.ca-
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: "What have you done to my cow, Mark Manning?" said the
deacon, coming up to him.]
.if-
"You are mistaken, sir," said Mark, with dignity.
.bn 051.png
.bn 052.png
"I have just come up, and this is the condition
in which I found Whitey."
"What's that you are carryin' in your hand?"
demanded the deacon, sternly.
"My gun."
"I am glad you are willin' to tell the truth. I
didn't know but you'd say it was a hoe," exploded
the deacon in angry irony.
"Your cow has received no injury from my
gun, if that's what you're hinting at, Deacon
Miller."
"Let me take the gun!"
In some surprise Mark put it into his hands.
The deacon raised it, and pulled the trigger.
No report was heard. The gun was not loaded.
"Just what I thought," said the deacon, triumphantly.
"If it had been loaded, I might
have thought you told me the truth. Now I know
as well as I want to that you shot my cow in the
face with it."
"I assure you, Deacon Miller," said Mark, earnestly,
beginning to comprehend the extent to
which he was implicated, although innocent. "I
assure you, Deacon Miller, that I have had nothing
to do with harming poor Whitey."
"Anyway, I shall hold you responsible, and I
reckon you'll have hard work to prove yourself
.bn 053.png
innocent," said the deacon, grimly. "I ain't going
to lose a forty-five dollar cow, and say nothin'
about it. You jest tell your mother when
you go home to see about raisin' forty-five dollars
to make up old Whitey's loss. As she's a poor
widder I'll give her thirty days to do it in. Do
you hear?"
"Yes, Deacon Miller, I hear, but I repeat that
I didn't harm your cow, and I shan't pay you a
cent."
"We'll see!" was the only answer the deacon
gave, nodding his head with emphasis.
Poor Mark! he had never felt so miserable, as
he plodded slowly home. He was innocent, but
circumstances were against him, and the deacon
was implacable.
.bn 054.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
CHAPTER VII. | MARK AT HOME.
.sp 2
Mark's home was a small cottage of a story
and a half, surmounted by a sloping roof. It was
plainly furnished, but looked comfortable. His
mother was a pleasant looking woman of middle
age, who managed well their scanty income, consisting
chiefly of Mark's earnings.
"Are you not later than usual, Mark?" she
inquired.
"Yes, mother; I went out gunning, and did
an errand for old Anthony, who is laid up with
the rheumatism in his cabin."
"Poor man! I hope he won't suffer."
"Thanks to me, he probably will not."
"What can you do for him, Mark? You have
no money to spare."
"Haven't I, mother?" asked Mark, with a
smile, as he drew from his pocket a large handful
of silver and gold.
"What do you say to that?"
.bn 055.png
"Oh, Mark! I hope you came honestly by
that money," said the widow, nervously.
"I haven't been robbing a bank, if that's what
you mean, mother. I couldn't very well, as there
is none within ten miles."
"Then, Mark, where did the money come
from?"
"It belongs to old Anthony. He asked me to
take charge of it, as I shall need to be buying
things for him in the village for a few days to
come."
"For mercy's sake, be careful of it, Mark, as,
if you lost it, we couldn't make up the loss."
"I'll look after that. In fact, I think it will
be safer with me than with the owner. If
any dishonest person should enter his cabin, he
could not help being robbed in his present condition."
"That would be very unfortunate, as the old
man is probably very poor."
Mark was about to undeceive his mother, but,
reflecting that Lyman Taylor might still be in the
village, he thought it not prudent to betray the
hermit's secret.
"I heard a report to-day, Mark," said his
mother, as she was setting the supper table, "that
the shoe-shop was to be closed for a month."
.bn 056.png
"I hope not," said Mark, startled. "That
would be serious for us."
"And for others too, Mark."
"Yes. It isn't as if there were other employments
open, but there is absolutely nothing, unless
I could get a chance to do some farm work."
"Perhaps Deacon Miller may need a boy."
"He's about the last man I would work for.
He wouldn't pay me a cent."
"Why not, Mark? He wouldn't expect you
to work for nothing."
"He claims that I owe him forty-five dollars,
and would expect me to work it out."
"What do you mean, Mark? How can you
owe the deacon forty-five dollars?"
"I don't, but he claims I do."
Mark then told his mother the story of the cow.
"Deacon Miller expects me to pay for it," he
concluded, "but I think he'll have to take it out
in expecting."
"Oh, Mark, I am afraid this will lead to serious
trouble," said Mrs. Manning, looking distressed.
"He may go to law about it."
"He can't make me pay for the damage somebody
else did, mother."
"But if he makes out that you shot the
cow?"
.bn 057.png
"I won't trouble about it. It might spoil my
appetite for supper. I've got a healthy appetite
to-night, mother."
"Your story has taken away mine, Mark."
"Don't worry, mother; it will all come right."
"I am afraid worrying comes natural to me,
Mark. I've seen more trouble than you have,
my son."
"Forget it all till supper is over, mother."
Supper was scarcely over when a knock was
heard at the door, and John Downie entered.
He was a boy of Scotch descent, and lived near
by.
"How are you, Johnny," said Mark, "won't
you have some supper?"
"Thank you, Mark, I've had some. Have you
heard about Deacon Miller's cow?"
"What about her?" asked Mark, eagerly.
"You know old Whitey?"
"Yes, yes."
"Her eyes are put out by an accidental discharge
of a gun, and I guess she will have to be
killed."
"Do you know who shot her?" asked Mark,
with intense interest.
"Yes, I do, but the deacon doesn't," answered
John.
.bn 058.png
"Who was it?"
"James Collins. He and Tom Wyman were
coming through the pasture, when James, in
handling his gun awkwardly, managed to discharge
it full in poor Whitey's face."
"How do you know it was James?"
"Because I saw it. I was in the next field and
saw it all."
"Did the boys see you?"
"No; they hurried away as fast as they could
go."
"Johnny, you're a trump!" exclaimed Mark,
rising and shaking the boy's hand vigorously.
"Why am I a trump?" asked Johnny, astonished.
"Because your testimony will clear me. The
deacon charges me with shooting the cow, and
wants me to pay forty-five dollars."
"Gosh!" exclaimed Johnny. "But what
makes him think you shot old Whitey?"
Mark briefly explained.
"But," said Mrs. Manning, "surely James
Collins would not permit you to suffer for his
fault?"
"You don't know James, mother. That's just
what he would do, I feel sure. What do you say,
Johnny?"
.bn 059.png
"Jim Collins is just mean enough to do it,"
answered John.
"He can't do it now, however. Mr. Collins is
abundantly able to pay for the cow, and I guess
he'll have to."
"I don't know how we could ever have paid so
large a sum," said the widow.
"We shan't have to, mother, that's one comfort."
"There's the deacon coming!" exclaimed
Johnny, suddenly.
"So he is! Johnny, just run into the kitchen,
and I'll call you when you're wanted. We'll have
some fun. Mother, don't say a word till we hear
what the deacon has to say."
By this time the deacon had knocked. Mrs.
Manning admitted him, and he entered with a
preliminary cough.
"Are your family well, deacon?" asked the
mother.
"They're middlin', widder, which is a comfort.
Families are often a source of trouble," and here
the deacon glanced sharply at Mark, who, rather
to his surprise, looked cool and composed.
"That may be, Deacon Miller, but I am thankful
that Mark never gives me any trouble."
"Don't be too sure of that, ma'am," said the
.bn 060.png
deacon, grimly. "It's about that very thing I've
come here now. Your son has shot my most
valuable cow, old Whitey, and I regret to say,
widder, that he'll have to make it good for me.
Forty-five dollars is what the critter is worth,
and I wouldn't have taken that for her."
"Are you sure Mark shot your cow?" asked
Mrs. Manning.
"As sure as I need to be. I caught him standin'
by the cow with his gun in his hand. The
barrel was empty, for I tried it to see."
"What have you to say to this charge, Mark?"
"That Deacon Miller is mistaken. I did not
shoot his cow."
"I reckon you'll have to pay for it all the same.
Mark Manning. I don't want to be hard on a
poor widder, but it stands to reason that I should
be paid for my cow."
"I agree to that," said Mark, "but I'm not
the one."
"Mebbe the cow shot herself!" said the deacon,
sarcastically. "It may be nat'ral for cows
to commit suicide, but I never saw one do it as
far as I can remember. Young man, your story
is too thin."
.bn 061.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
CHAPTER VIII. | DEACON MILLER GETS A CLUE.
.sp 2
Mark was forced to smile at the idea of old
Whitey committing suicide. The deacon observed
his smile, and it provoked him.
"Do you mean to say, Mark Manning, that
you think the critter shot herself in the face?"
he demanded, sharply.
"No, Deacon Miller, I have no such idea."
"That's the same as admittin' that you shot
her," said the deacon, triumphantly.
"No, it isn't, deacon. I didn't shoot her, but I
have no doubt some one else did."
"It may have been the cat," remarked the deacon,
with a return to sarcasm.
"It was probably a two-legged cat," said
Mark.
"Jest my idee!" remarked the deacon, quickly,
"An' that brings it home to you. You was
out with a gun, an' I caught you standin' beside
the cow."
"As to catching me," returned Mark, "there
.bn 062.png
was no catching about it. I was crossing the
pasture, and was attracted by the poor animal's
moans. That is the way I happened to be near
when you came up."
"That all sounds very smooth," said the deacon,
impatiently, "but if you didn't shoot the
cow, who did?"
"I think that question can be answered, Deacon
Miller; John Downie!"
To the deacon's surprise, John came into the
room at this summons.
"Johnny," said Mark, "will you tell the deacon
who shot his cow!"
"I don't like to tell," objected John; "it wasn't
done on purpose."
"Did you do it?" queried the deacon, sharply.
"No, sir. I never fired a gun in my life."
"Who did it, then?"
"Must I tell, Mark?"
"Yes, Johnny; Deacon Miller has a right to
know; even if it was not done on purpose, the
one who did it ought to make good the loss."
"That's where you speak sense, Mark," said
the deacon, approvingly.
"Then it was Jim Collins."
"James Collins—the squire's son!" repeated
the deacon, astonished.
.bn 063.png
"Yes."
John proceeded to tell the story once more.
The deacon, it is needless to say, listened very
attentively.
"So the boys run away, did they?" he inquired,
grimly.
"Yes, sir."
"And I s'pose you'd have run away, too, if you
had done it, hey?"
"Perhaps I might," answered John, ingenuously.
"I s'pose they were scared."
"I'll scare 'em," growled the deacon. "Squire
Collins is able to make up the loss to me, and I
mean he shall." Then, with a momentary suspicion,
"This ain't a story you an' Mark have
got up between you, to get him off, is it?"
"I will answer that, Deacon Miller," said Mark
firmly. "If I had shot your cow, I wouldn't
have run away, but I'd have gone right to you
and told you about it, and I'd have paid you just
as soon as I could."
"That's right, that's right," said the deacon,
approvingly, beginning to regard Mark with
more favor. "Well, I must go and see the squire.
Here, you John Downie, come along with me."
"I've got to go home," said John.
"But I can't prove it without you."
.bn 064.png
"You can tell the squire that I saw it done,
and am ready to swear to it, if he wants me to."
"Mebbe that'll do if I send for you, you'll
come, hey?"
"Yes, sir."
The deacon did not feel disposed to postpone
what he regarded as important business, and he
left the cottage, taking the shortest direction to
the squire's more imposing dwelling. We will
precede him.
James Collins and his friend, as already described,
ran away as fast as their legs could carry
them, when they ascertained what damage had
been done.
No one, so far as they knew, had seen them,
and they hoped to escape, scot free.
Tom accompanied James home, and stayed to
supper. After supper the boys went out, and
had a conference together.
James felt a little nervous, though he believed
that he was safe from incurring suspicion.
"I wonder if the deacon has found old Whitey
yet?" said James.
"I guess so," answered Tom. "He usually
goes after the cows before this."
"I wonder how he'll think it happened?"
"Maybe he'll lay it to Mark."
.bn 065.png
James was not very much disturbed at this
supposition.
"That would be a good joke!" he said.
"Not for Mark."
"Mark can take care of himself. He was out
with a gun as well as we."
"His mother couldn't afford to pay for the
cow," said Tom, who was rather more considerate
than his companion.
"That's none of my business. And, Tom,
there's something I want to say to you."
"Go ahead!"
"If Mark is accused, don't you go to saying it's
a mistake. Remember it's none of your business."
Tom looked uncomfortable, having some conscience.
"It would be rough on a poor woman like Mrs.
Manning having to pay for the deacon's cow."
"You're mighty considerate, Tom. You might
consider me a little. If it were known that I
shot the cow, father would make me pay at least
half the bill out of my money in the savings' bank.
I thought you were my friend!"
"So I am."
"Then you won't betray me. As for Mark, the
deacon can't prove it against him, so he won't
have to pay."
.bn 066.png
"Then the deacon will lose his cow, and get no
pay."
"He can afford it. He's a stingy old lunks,
anyway."
"That's true enough."
"And it won't ruin him if he does lose the cow.
He's able to buy another."
It struck Tom, though he was not over conscientious,
that this was not exactly the way to
regard the matter, but he did not like to offend
James, and he had ventured to oppose him more
than usual already. So he remained silent.
James was not quite satisfied with his friend.
He was not altogether sure of his fidelity.
"I've got only one thing to say, Tom," he
added. "If you go back on me, and breathe a
word of what happened in the pasture, I'll never
speak to you again as long as I live."
"Who's going back on you? did I say I was?"
demanded Tom rather irritably.
"All right, then; I only wanted to have the
thing understood between us, I didn't really think
you would be mean enough to tell."
So a satisfactory understanding was established
between the two boys, and it looked as if Mark
was likely to be the victim of their alliance.
But just when James was beginning to feel
.bn 067.png
secure, he was startled by an apparition just
looming in sight on the highway. It was not a
formidable figure—that of Deacon Miller—but
under the circumstances James turned pale and
his heart began to beat.
"Tom," he gasped; "isn't that Deacon Miller
coming up the road?"
"It's the deacon sure enough!" answered Tom,
looking disconcerted.
"Do you think he's coming here?" queried
James nervously.
"Looks like it?" muttered Tom.
"Do you think he can have——heard anything?"
"Perhaps he heard that we were out with
guns?" suggested Tom. "He may have come
to make inquiries."
"Just so, now, Tom, be careful not to look as
if there was anything the matter. We'll be extra
polite to the old fellow."
"All right!"
"He may not be coming here after all."
But he was! arrived at the gate Deacon Miller
paused, and opening it entered the front yard.
He looked sharply at the two boys who were
standing on the lawn.
.bn 068.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch09
CHAPTER IX. | THE DEACON'S MISSION.
.sp 2
Ordinarily James would not have considered
Deacon Miller worth any polite attention, but
the knowledge of what had happened in the pasture
had its effect upon him. He thought it
necessary by a little attention to disarm the deacon's
suspicions if he had any.
"Good evening, Deacon Miller," he said politely.
"Did you wish to see father?"
"Wal," said the deacon deliberately. "I have
a little business with him. Is he at home?"
"I am pretty sure he is," answered James.
"Come in with me, and I'll see."
The deacon smiled—an inscrutable smile—and
followed James, who opened the front door and
led him into the parlor.
"You're very obligin'," he said. "I had no
idea you was so polite."
"It is the duty of a gentleman to be polite!"
said James loftily.
.bn 069.png
"So 'tis, so 'tis!" returned the old man chuckling
in an unaccountable manner. "I'm glad
you think so. It's a great thing to be a boy, I
had lots of fun when I was a boy. So do you,
hey?"
"Oh yes," answered James indifferently. "But
not as much as I could have in the city."
"But you couldn't go huntin' and fishin' in the
city," said the deacon slyly.
James' heart gave a bound. What did the disagreeable
old man mean? was it possible that he
suspected?
"I don't care much for either," he said. "But
I'll go and call father."
Presently the squire appeared and invited Deacon
Miller into the back room, which was used
as the family dining and sitting-room.
"Glad to see, you, deacon," said Mr. Collins,
who, having political aspirations, thought it worth
while to be polite to his neighbors.
"I ain't so sure of that, squire, when you know
what I come about," returned the deacon with a
crafty smile.
"No bad news, I hope, deacon."
"Wal, it ain't good news. You know my cow,
old Whitey?"
"Well?" interrogated the squire, looking puzzled.
He had heard nothing as yet of the accident
in the pasture.
"She was shot in the face this afternoon—her
eyes totally destroyed. I shall have to kill her."
"That's a pity! I sympathize with you, deacon.
It must be a great disappointment to you. She
was a good milker, wasn't she?"
"Fust-rate! I never had a cow that could beat
her. She was worth fifty dollars easy."
"Very likely," said the squire, innocently, quite
unaware of the trap which the wily deacon was
preparing for him. It will be observed that the
deacon, finding he had a case against a rich man,
had concluded to raise the value of the cow by
five dollars. "Fifty dollars is a considerable loss."
"So 'tis, but I haven't got to lose it. The one
that shot old Whitey is responsible."
"Who did shoot her?" asked Squire Collins.
"Your boy, James," answered the deacon,
slowly.
Squire Collins was very disagreeably surprised.
He was not a man who liked to part with money,
and he saw how he had been trapped.
"Did you see James shoot the cow?" he demanded
sharply.
"N—o; I can't say I did," replied the deacon,
cautiously.
.bn 071.png
"I don't believe he did it then. Did he admit
it to you?"
"N—o. I didn't ask him about it."
"Then, Deacon Miller, permit me to say that
you have no case against him, and I am not responsible
for your unfortunate loss.
"Somebody else saw it!" remarked the deacon
triumphantly.
"Who was it?"
"John Downie."
"John Downie! Pooh, he is a mere boy," said
the squire, contemptuously.
"He's got as many eyes as you or I, squire,"
said the deacon, shrewdly.
This was unquestionably true, and the squire
felt that he had made a foolish objection.
"John Downie may not tell the truth," he said,
angrily.
"I'm willin' it should come before the court,"
said the deacon. "Wouldn't it be jest as well
to ask your boy about it; he's out in the yard."
James was still in the yard. He had half a
mind to go away, but was anxious about the deacon's
errand. When he heard his father's voice
calling him he turned pale.
"Wait for me, Tom," he said. "If you're
asked, don't say I did it."
.bn 072.png
Tom looked disturbed and uneasy, and did not
reply.
James entered his father's presence with a
perturbed spirit. He stole a glance at the deacon,
who sat with his wizened face calm and imperturbable.
"Did you want me, father?" asked James.
"James," said his father, abruptly, "Deacon
Miller tells me that some one has shot his cow,
old Whitey, this afternoon, and injured her so
seriously that she will have to be killed."
"I am sorry to hear it," said James, nervously.
"Do you know who did it?"
"How should I?" asked James, after a pause.
"Wer'n't you out in the pastur' this afternoon?"
asked the deacon, pointedly.
"Yes," answered James, "Tom Wyman and I
crossed the pasture."
"With guns on your shoulders?"
"Ye—es," admitted James.
"Did you see anything of old Whitey?" continued
the deacon, persevering in his pointed
interrogations.
"There were some cows there I remember; I
suppose old Whitey was among them."
"Did your gun go off while you were in the
pasture?"
.bn 073.png
"Ye—es, I believe it did. It went off accidentally."
"And hit old Whitey?"
"I don't know about that. It may not have
hit anything."
"Then you don't know that you hit my cow?"
"I wasn't the only boy in the pasture this afternoon,"
said James, evasively.
"I know all about that. Tom Wyman was
with you."
"Yes, and so was Mark Manning. He was out
gunning most all the afternoon. Have you asked
him whether he hit the cow?"
"Yes," answered the deacon; "he says he
didn't."
"Of course he would say so," sneered James,
more confidently. "He's just as likely to have
done it as I."
"That's what I thought myself," returned the
deacon; "though Mark's a middlin' keerful boy.
But I changed my mind."
"Because he denied it?" asked James, with a
return of the sneer.
"Not exactly. There was a boy saw it done,
and he told me who did it."
"What boy saw it done?" asked James, all
his apprehensions reviving.
.bn 074.png
"John Downie."
This was startling news to James.
"And who does he say did it," he forced himself
to ask.
"You!" answered Deacon Miller, laconically.
"I don't believe I did it," said James, wavering.
"He says after you shot the cow, you and Tom
Wyman ran away as fast as your legs could carry
you," added the deacon, chuckling.
James turned as red as scarlet, but said nothing.
It was clear enough that he was guilty, and
knew it.
"Deacon Miller," said Squire Collins, "I will
look into this matter, and if I find James shot
your cow, we will make some arrangement about
payment. Understand clearly, however, that I
won't pay any fancy price, such as fifty dollars."
"I won't argy the matter now, squire," said
the deacon. "Good-evenin'."
"James," said his father, "I won't scold you
for a piece of carelessness, but whatever compensation
is paid to the deacon must come from your
account in the savings' bank."
This was a sad blow to James, he had a hundred
and fifty dollars in the bank, and this would
make a heavy draft upon it.
.bn 075.png
He went out into the yard without a word.
"It's all up, Tom," he said. "John Downie
has been telling tales about me. The first time
I see him I'll give him a licking."
"And serve him right, too, little tell-tale!"
said Tom.
Johnny did not expect what was in store for
him, but he was soon to be enlightened.
.bn 076.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch10
CHAPTER X. | MARK PROTECTS A FRIEND.
.sp 2
Squire Collins succeeded in reducing the deacon's
claim to thirty-eight dollars, and this sum
James was obliged to withdraw from his savings
in the bank. He thought it was very hard, as
the shooting was merely an accident. He was
fond of money, scarcely less so than Deacon Miller
himself, and it went to his heart to find himself
so much poorer than before.
"It isn't as if I got any fun out of it," he complained
to Tom. "It's just money thrown away."
"It is a heavy sum to pay for a trifling carelessness,"
admitted Tom.
"And I shouldn't have had a cent to pay but
for John Downie. Why need the boy turn tell-tale?"
"It was mean."
"Mean? I should say so. I mean to come up
with the fellow. I mean to give him the worst
licking he ever had."
Even if Tom disapproved of the intention, he
.bn 077.png
at any rate did not express any disapproval, but
left it to be understood that he considered it perfectly
proper.
Three days later the opportunity came. Tom
and James were crossing the pasture, which had
been the scene of the tragedy, when John, whistling
gayly, met them.
"Now's my chance," said James, triumphantly.
"There's the sneak that told of me. See how
I'll serve him."
John Downie, seeing the boys approaching,
nodded his head, saying in a friendly manner,
"hello!"
"Oh, it's you, is it?" said James, in a hostile
tone, stopping short.
"Yes, it's me. Who did you think it was?"
returned John, laughing.
"I've been wanting to meet you, John Downie."
"What for?" asked John. He could not help
seeing now that the speaker spoke like an enemy.
"To tell you that you are a sneak and a tell-tale."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded John,
beginning himself to be angry.
"You ought to know without asking. Wasn't
it you that told about my shooting old Whitey?"
.bn 078.png
"Well, you did shoot her, didn't you?"
"Suppose I did. You needn't have blurted it
out."
"The deacon charged Mark Manning with it.
I wasn't going to see him suffer for it when I
saw you do it."
"You're a great friend of Mark Manning, it
seems," said James, with a sneer.
"Yes, I am; but, even if I hadn't been, I would
have told. His mother is poor, and couldn't afford
to pay for the cow."
"She'll be poorer yet before long, I'm thinking,"
said James. "Do you know what I'm going
to do to you?"
"Perhaps you'll tell me," said John Downie,
calmly.
"I'm going to give you a licking."
"If I'll let you."
James laughed derisively; Johnny was two
inches shorter than he, and so far as appearances
went was not as strong. In a contest between
the two, there was little doubt that James would
come out the victor.
"I don't think you'll have much to say in the
matter," said James. "Just move out of the
way, Tom, and give me a chance at him."
Tom did as requested, and James rushed at
.bn 079.png
John with an impetuosity born of anger. John
prepared to defend himself. The boys were soon
grappling, trying to trip each other up. Neither
knew much of the science of fighting, and victory
naturally came to the stronger. In about two
minutes John was on his back, with James kneeling
over him, aiming blows at his face.
"I told you I'd give you a licking," said James,
closing his teeth, firmly.
"Oh, let him off, James," said Tom. "This
ought to satisfy you."
"But it doesn't. I'm going to give him a lesson
he'll remember all his life."
James undertook to belabor his fallen opponent,
but he had been so preoccupied that he did not
notice a boy running towards the scene of conflict,
neither did Tom, who had his back turned.
Luckily for John, Mark Manning was on his
way to call upon the hermit, when he became an
indignant witness of James's brutality. He said
nothing, but fairly flew across the pasture till he
reached the battle-field. The first intimation
James had of his presence was a vigorous grasp
of his coat collar, and in an instant he was lying
on his back close to his late victim, with Mark
standing over him.
"I'm ashamed of you, James Collins," he said,
.bn 080.png
sternly. "You're a contemptible coward to attack
a smaller boy like Johnny."
"Knock him over, Tom," shrieked James,
furiously. "I'll give him a licking, too."
"It doesn't look much like it," said Mark, with
his knee on James's breast.
"Help, Tom!" called James, struggling once
more.
Tom felt obliged to take an active part in the
fight, though it was by no means to his taste.
He seized Mark by the shoulders, and tried to
drag him away from his prostrate friend, but by
this time John Downie was on his feet, and ran
forward, giving Tom a push which sent him headlong
on the other side of James.
"Let me up, you low ruffian!" screamed
James.
"Will you promise to behave yourself, then?"
"I will promise nothing."
"Then you can stay here a little longer. What
made you attack Johnny?"
"It's none of your business. I'll lick him as
often as I please."
"Not while I am around. Johnny, what made
him attack you?"
"He said I was a tell-tale, because I told of
his shooting the cow."
.bn 081.png
"And so you are! Let me up, Mark Manning."
"Will you promise?"
"No, I won't."
"Let him up, Mark," said Johnny. "He won't
dare to attack me while you are here."
"No, I think not. Get up then, James, and
take care how you pitch into Johnny again.
Just as sure as you do, you'll have to settle accounts
with me."
Released from the pressure that held him down,
James rose, angry and humiliated. He would
sooner have been worsted by any one than Mark,
whom, for some reason not easy to divine, he
especially hated.
"You took me at advantage," he said, sullenly,
"or you couldn't have thrown me."
"Do you want to try it again?" asked Mark,
quietly. "Now we stand face to face, and you
have as fair a chance as I."
"I don't care to demean myself by fighting with
such a low working boy as you."
"I commend your prudence, James," said Mark,
undisturbed by this taunt. "As for being a
working boy, I am not ashamed of that."
"You're only a common pegger."
"Very true, I hope to rise higher some
time."
.bn 082.png
"You won't work much longer in my father's
shop. I'll have you discharged."
"Just as you please. I think I can earn a living
in some other way. Come, Johnny, if James
has no further business with you, we may as well
go along."
James, appearing to have no wish to resume
hostilities, Mark and Johnny walked away.
"You won't hear the last of this very soon,"
said James, as a farewell shot.
"Do you think he'll get his father to discharge
you, Mark?" asked Johnny.
"I think very likely."
"I am very sorry you have got into trouble on
my account."
"Don't worry, Johnny. I did right, and am
ready to take the consequences."
.bn 083.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch11
CHAPTER XI. | MARK IS DISCHARGED.
.sp 2
The next day Mark, with some misgivings, repaired
to the shoe manufactory as usual. He
knew he had done a bold thing in defending
Johnny against his employer's son, but he never
thought of regretting it.
"I would do it again," he said to himself.
"Catch me standing by and seeing Johnny
whipped by any boy, no matter who he is."
Mark laid aside his hat and coat, and went to
his customary bench.
He had been at work fifteen minutes only,
when Mr. Waite, the head of the room, entered,
and went up to where he was standing.
"Mr. Collins wants to see you, Mark," he said.
"Do you know what for, Mr. Waite?" Mark
asked.
"No, Mark, but I hope it is to raise your wages,"
said Mr. Waite, pleasantly, for he had always
liked our hero.
"I am afraid it is something quite different,"
said Mark, shaking his head.
"No trouble, I hope, Mark?"
.bn 084.png
"I can tell you better when I return."
Mark put on his coat, and went downstairs to
the office.
Squire Collins was seated at a desk, with his
spectacles astride his nose. He looked up as Mark
entered.
"Mr. Waite tells me you wish to see me, Mr.
Collins," said Mark.
"Yes," said the squire, frowning. "I presume
you can guess what I want to see you about."
"Perhaps so," answered Mark.
"I understand that you made a violent attack
upon my son James in the pasture, yesterday
afternoon."
"We did have a little difficulty," Mark admitted.
"Ha! I am glad you confess it. James says
you made an unprovoked attack upon him."
"That is not quite true, Squire Collins; I was
very much provoked."
"Did my son attack you first?" demanded the
squire, sharply.
"No, sir."
"So I thought. Then you have no excuse by
your own confession."
"I think I have an excuse."
"I fail to understand what it can be. To me
.bn 085.png
it appears like a high-handed outrage of which you
were guilty."
"I suppose James did not tell you what he
was doing when I attacked him?"
"No, I cannot remember that he did. What
does that signify?"
"He had John Downie upon the ground, and
was beating him brutally."
Squire Collins was somewhat nonplussed at this
revelation, as James had said nothing about
Johnny.
"Well?" he said.
"I ran up, and pulled him off, and prevented
him from hurting Johnny."
Squire Collins was rather embarrassed. He
saw clearly that his son had been in the wrong,
yet he was inclined to stand by him. Moreover,
it chafed him that a poor boy should have presumed
to interfere with his son, much more use
violence towards him.
He drew out his handkerchief and blew his
nose, partly to gain time for consideration. At
length he spoke.
"My son feels very indignant at your presumption
in assaulting him," he said, "and I wonder
myself that you didn't see the impropriety of attacking
the son of your employer."
.bn 086.png
"Would you have had me stand by and see
Johnny beaten?" asked Mark, indignantly.
"I do not feel disposed to argue with you,"
said the squire, in a dignified tone. "I feel compelled
to take some action in the matter though
I regret it. I cannot, of course, retain you in
my employ. You are discharged. I have made
up your account to date, and here is the sum due
you."
"Very well, sir," answered Mark, quietly,
though his heart sank within him.
Squire Collins handed him a dollar and thirty-seven
cents, and Mark, putting them into his
pocket, bowed and withdrew.
He went back to the room where his hat hung,
and taking it down, said to his fellow-workmen:
"Good-bye, boys, I shan't be with you any
longer."
"Why, Mark, what's the matter!" asked his
next neighbor.
"I'm discharged; that's all."
"What for?"
"I'll tell you some other time—not now."
"Mark, I'm really sorry for this," said Mr.
Waite, pressing his hand warmly. "I wish you
good luck!"
"Thank you, Mr. Waite," answered Mark, his
.bn 087.png
lip quivering a little. "I will hope for the
best."
Mark walked home with a slow step. He dreaded
to tell his mother of his discharge, for he knew
that she would be still more depressed than himself.
Youth is hopeful, but middle age is less
sanguine.
"I won't go home at once," thought Mark.
"I will go to the wood and see the hermit. He
may have some errand for me, and besides, he
may be able to give me some advice."
One object which Mark had, however, was to
delay breaking the unwelcome news to his
mother.
He bent his steps towards the pasture, which
he must cross in order to penetrate to the wood
by the usual path.
In a few minutes he entered the cabin, the
door of which he found open.
The hermit was no longer reclining, but was
seated in a rocking-chair—the only article of
luxury which the poor dwelling contained.
"Good morning, sir!" said Mark. "I hope you
are better."
"I am much better. But how does it happen
that you come here in the morning? I supposed
you were at work in the shoe factory."
.bn 088.png
"I have lost my place there; I was discharged
this morning."
"Ha! how is that?"
Upon this Mark told the story of his encounter
with the boys in the pasture.
"I suppose," he concluded, "that James got
me discharged in revenge for my interfering with
him."
"Then you regret what you did?" inquired
the hermit.
"No, I don't," answered Mark, warmly. "I
couldn't stand by and see Johnny beaten."
"You are right, and I respect you for what
you did."
"It is a grievous thing for me, though," said
Mark. "It takes away my income, and I don't
see how mother and I are going to live."
"How much were you paid?"
"About three dollars and a half a week. Sometimes
I made a little more by over-work."
"You have no occasion to be disturbed. I was
about to propose that you should leave your
place."
Mark looked surprised.
"I will take you into my own employ," added
Anthony. "How long have you been coming to
me?"
.bn 089.png
"A week, sir."
"You may retain five dollars in compensation
from the money you hold of mine, and hereafter,
as you will give me your whole time, you shall
be paid at the rate of a dollar a day—that is, seven
dollars a week."
"But, sir, you are overpaying me," protested
Mark, who thought this compensation magnificent.
"Be it so. I can afford it. Let me know
when you need more money."
"I have still about fifteen dollars."
"After paying yourself for the last week?"
"Yes, sir. Can I do anything for you now?"
"Yes. I feel like taking a walk. That shows
I am better. You may come with me, and if I
tire myself, I will lean upon your arm in returning."
"With pleasure, sir. I am very glad that you
feel better."
"After all," mused the old man, "it is pleasant
to have human sympathy. I thought I was
able to do without it, but I am more dependent
than I supposed."
They walked for half an hour. When they returned
to the cabin, the hermit said:
"To-morrow morning I expect a visitor from
.bn 090.png
the city. I wish you to meet him at the train,
and conduct him here. He is a small man, with
a sharp look, and will probably be dressed in
black. In fact, he is my man of business. You
need say nothing of this, however, but let people
conjecture as they will."
"And shall I speak of my arrangement with
you, sir?"
"You may merely say that I have engaged you
to do my errands. I shall not require you again
to-day."
.bn 091.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch12
CHAPTER XII. | GOOD LUCK AFTER MISFORTUNE.
.sp 2
Mark's spirits were wonderfully improved
when he left the hermit's cabin, and took his
way homeward. So far from being injuriously
affected by his discharge from the shoe-shop,
his income was considerably increased. Not only
this, but he had received five dollars for his past
week's services over and above what he had been
paid for his work in the shop.
"Now," thought he. "I can tell mother without
minding it."
But his mother had already heard of it. A
neighbor, Mrs. Parker, who rather enjoyed telling
bad news, had heard of it through her son,
who also worked in the work-shop.
She at once left her work, and hurried over to
Mrs. Manning's.
"Good morning, Mrs. Parker," said the widow,
cheerfully. "Take a chair, do."
"Thank you, Mrs. Manning, I can't stop a
minute. I left my kitchen at sixes and sevens,
.bn 092.png
on purpose to condole with you. I declare, it's
really too bad."
"What is too bad? I don't understand you?"
said Mrs. Manning, perplexed.
"About your son Mark, I mean."
"What has happened to him? Is he hurt?"
asked the widow, with a pale face.
"No, no; hasn't he been home?"
"He is at the shoe-shop, of course."
"No, he is not. He was discharged by Squire
Collins this morning."
"Discharged? What for?"
"Don't you know? Some quarrel between
Mark and James Collins, I believe."
"I am glad he is not hurt."
"But hasn't he been home? I wonder at that."
"I have seen nothing of him since he started
for the shop."
"That's strange."
"Poor boy! I suppose he doesn't like to tell
me he is discharged," sighed the widow. "It
will be a serious thing for us, for I don't know
where else he will find work."
"O, something will turn up," said Mrs. Parker,
who could bear the misfortunes of her neighbors
very cheerfully. "But I must run home, or my
dinner will be late."
.bn 093.png
The more Mrs. Manning thought of Mark's
loss of employment, the more troubled she felt.
Three dollars and a half a week was not a large
sum, but it was more than half their income, and
how they were to make it up she could not conjecture.
Perhaps she could induce Mark to apologize
to James, in which case the squire might be
induced to take him back. While her mind was
busy with such thoughts, Mark entered the house
whistling. His mother was considerably surprised
at this evidence of light-heartedness under
the circumstances.
He entered the room where his mother was at
work.
"Well, mother, is dinner almost ready?" he
asked.
"It will be ready soon. But oh, Mark, what
is this I hear about your being discharged from
the shoe-shop?"
"It is all true, mother, but you needn't worry
over it. We shall get along just as well."
"I don't see how. There is no other shop in
the village."
"I have another job already, and a better one."
Mrs. Manning opened her eyes in astonishment.
"What can it be?" she asked.
.bn 094.png
"Old Anthony has hired me to do his errands."
"I am afraid, Mark, that will amount to very
little."
"I am to receive five dollars a week."
"Do you really mean this? I thought he was
very poor."
"Quite the contrary, mother, but we mustn't
say that to others. Let people think he is poor.
Here are five dollars which he has paid me for
the last week, though I have worked in the shop,
and done very little for it. Take it, mother, and
use as you need it."
"Will this last, Mark?" asked his mother,
almost incredulously.
"I think it will. The hermit seems to have
taken a special fancy to me, and he says he can
well afford to pay me this sum. I say, mother,
suppose I invite him to take dinner with us next
Sunday?"
"With all my heart, Mark. He seems to me
like a good Providence who has come to our help
at this juncture."
"Do you need anything at the store this afternoon?"
"The butter and sugar are out, Mark."
"Give me the five-dollar bill, then, mother,
and I will buy some."
.bn 095.png
Shortly after dinner Mark started for the store.
On the way he met several persons who condoled
with him on his loss of place. They were surprised
to find that Mark looked cheerful, and even
gay.
"Yes," he said, "I've retired from the shoe
business on a fortune."
"You don't seem to mind it!"
"No, I can stand it well enough, but I pity
Squire Collins for losing my valuable services."
"I thought you'd be down in the mouth. You
don't seem to care."
"Why should I? Care killed a cat."
Arrived at the store, Mark stepped up to the
counter and called for two pounds of sugar and
two pounds of butter.
Mr. Palmer, the grocer, had heard of Mark's
dismissal, and being a cautious man, inquired:
"Are you going to pay cash?"
"Certainly."
"I heard you had lost your place at the shop."
"Yes," answered Mark, smiling, "I discharged
Squire Collins."
"It'll be rather hard on you, won't it?"
"I guess I can pay my bills, Mr. Palmer. At
any rate I can pay for what I am buying now."
The grocer put up the packages, and was surprised
when Mark handed him a five-dollar bill
in payment.
"Seems to me you're flush," he said.
"So it seems," answered Mark, but he volunteered
no information.
"I can't make out that boy," said the grocer
to his assistant, after Mark had gone out. "He
looks as if he had got a good place instead of
losing it. I wonder if the widder's got any
money?"
"Not much, except what Mark brings in."
"They'll be asking credit soon, Enoch. Don't
trust them till you've referred to me."
"No, sir, I won't."
On his way home Mark met the cause of his
discharge, James Collins, accompanied as usual
by his friend, Tom Wyman.
"Hallo!" said James, eying Mark, triumphantly.
"Hallo!"
"Why ain't you at the shop?"
"Probably you know."
"Yes, I do know. You've been discharged."
"I suppose I am indebted to your kindness for
that."
"Yes, you are. Perhaps now you will be sorry
for your impertinence to me in the pasture."
.bn 097.png
"When I am I'll tell you so. At present I am
glad, and would do the same thing again."
"How do you expect to live?"
"On victuals and drink, thank you."
"If you have money to buy them," supplemented
James, with a malicious smile.
"I've got a little money left," and Mark drew
out not only his own but the hermit's money.
"You see I don't depend on work in the shoe-shop."
James was both amazed and annoyed.
"Where did you get that money?" he asked
abruptly.
"I am afraid I must leave your curiosity ungratified.
I'll tell you, as it may interest you,
that I should have resigned my place in the shop
at the end of the week, even if you hadn't kindly
got me discharged."
So saying, Mark walked away.
"Where do you think he got that money,
Tom?" said James.
"Blamed if I know!"
The next morning Mark walked to the depot to
meet the morning train.
.bn 098.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch13
CHAPTER XIII. | THE LITTLE MAN IN BLACK.
.sp 2
When the morning train arrived, Mark was
on hand. He watched carefully for the man he
was sent to meet. As it happened, the business
agent was the last man to leave the train. He
stepped upon the platform, and began to look
about him.
Mark advanced towards him, and raised his
hat, politely.
"Is this Mr. Hardy?" he asked.
The small man regarded him sharply.
"Yes," he answered. "Have you a message
for me?"
"Yes, sir. I am to conduct you to Mr. Taylor."
"Just so. How is his health?"
"He has had an attack of rheumatism, but is
better."
"No wonder he is sick, living in that out-of-the-way
place. Do you know him well?"
.bn 099.png
"Pretty well, sir. I am in his employ."
"Ha! then he is living a little more as he
should do. What is your name?"
"Mark Manning."
"M. M. Just so. Sounds like a fancy name.
Is it?"
"No, sir; it's all the name I have," said Mark
smiling.
"How long have you been in the employ of
Mr. Taylor?"
"Only a little over a week."
"Do you know anything about his history?"
demanded Mr. Hardy, with a sharp look of inquiry.
"Yes, sir. He has told me something of it."
"Humph! Then he must have confidence in
you. Well, let us be starting. Is it far?"
"Nearly two miles, sir. Perhaps you will be
tired."
"In which case you will perhaps kindly carry
me on your shoulders," suggested Mr. Hardy,
quizzically.
"I am afraid I shouldn't be able to do that,"
returned Mark, with a smile.
"And yet, I don't believe I weigh much more
than you. What is your weight?"
"One hundred and twenty-three pounds."
.bn 100.png
"And I weigh one hundred and twenty-four.
I have one pound the advantage of you."
Mark, who was a stout boy, was rather pleased
to learn that he weighed within a pound as much
as his companion. I suppose most boys are proud
of their size.
They had commenced their walk and Mark
found that his new acquaintance was a fast
walker.
"Does Mr. Taylor ever have any visitors?"
asked the lawyer, for such was his profession.
"Not from the village, sir."
"From any other quarter?" asked Hardy.
"He had a call from his nephew, lately."
"Lyman Taylor?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then he has found his uncle's place of concealment.
What do you know of the interview?"
Mark gave an account of Lyman's visit, his demand
for money, and his threatened violence.
"Did he suppose his uncle had money?" inquired
the lawyer, in an anxious tone.
"He did not suppose he had much, but he
wanted a part of it, however small."
"Did he succeed in obtaining anything?"
"Mr. Taylor told me to give him five dollars."
.bn 101.png
"Why you?"
"I had a sum of money belonging to the hermit,
in my possession. I used to buy things for
him in the village."
"Then you think Lyman went away with the
impression that my friend—the hermit, as you
call him—had very little money?"
"Yes, sir; I am sure of it."
"Are you under the same impression?"
"No, sir; Mr Taylor has told me that he is
moderately rich."
"That shows he has great confidence in you.
Don't breathe a word of it, my boy, or this rascally
nephew will persecute his uncle, and make
his life a burden."
"He will learn nothing from me," said Mark
firmly.
"You seem a good trustworthy boy—I think
my friend made a good choice of a confidant."
"Thank you, sir."
At length they reached the cabin in the wood.
Old Anthony was already outside, waiting for
their coming.
"Good morning, my friend," said the lawyer;
"the boy tells me you have been sick——"
"Yes, I have had a visit from my old enemy,
but I am much better."
.bn 102.png
"To be sick in such a place!" said the lawyer
with a shudder.
"I have not suffered, thanks to Mark—will
you come in?"
"Let us rather bring chairs outside, if you are
provided with such luxuries. We shall have
several matters to discuss."
Mr. Hardy glanced significantly at Mark, who
was leaning against a tree, and could of course
hear the conversation.
"Mark," said the hermit, "you may go farther
away, but return in an hour. This gentleman
and myself may have some things to speak of
which are private."
"Certainly, sir."
"Well, old friend," Hardy began, "haven't
you had enough of this strange existence? you
are rich, and can afford all the comforts of life,
yet you voluntarily surrender them, and bury
yourself in this wilderness. Do you mean to stay
here all your life?"
"I did at one time think it probable, now
I am beginning to feel a greater interest in
life."
"The boy tells me your nephew has found you
out?"
"Yes; he came here in quest of money, but he
.bn 103.png
went away convinced that I was nearly as poor as
himself. If he knew the truth I should be in
constant danger of robbery, or worse——"
"If you die without a will, is he not your
heir?"
"He would be, but I shall make a will. It is
partly to give you instructions on this point that
I have sent for you."
"You have no one else to leave your money
to?"
"A part will go to charitable institutions, a
part——"
"Well?"
"To one whom I hold in greater regard than
my nephew—to the boy, who guided you hither."
"Indeed! does he know anything of your
purpose?"
"Nothing, and need not."
"You have taken a fancy to him?"
"Yes; he is honest, manly, upright, just such
a boy as I should have been glad to have for my
son. Don't dissuade me, for the thought of doing
something for him gives me a new interest in
life."
"I shall not dissuade you, Anthony, for I believe
the boy to be all that you say. Of course if
you had a blood relation who was deserving, I
.bn 104.png
might make an objection. Has this boy relations?"
"Only a mother, who is mainly dependent
upon him. By the way, have you invested the
sum paid in lately?"
"No; but I have an application for it, or I
should say, for four-fifths of it. Curiously, the
applicant lives in this town."
"Who is it?"
"Collins, the shoe manufacturer."
"I am surprised at this. I thought he was
rich."
"He has lost money by investments in stocks,
and finds himself hard up."
"What does he offer?"
"Seven per cent, secured by a mortgage on
his shop."
"Let him have it."
"Are you willing that your name should appear
in the matter?"
"No; I shall transfer the sum to Mark, and
make you his trustee or guardian."
"I understand. Is he to know of his good
fortune?"
"Not at present. The boy was discharged only
yesterday from the shop of this Collins," added
Anthony, smiling.
.bn 105.png
"A good joke!" said the lawyer. "And now
the boy lends him money. That is returning
good for evil."
"Without knowing it."
"Precisely."
.bn 106.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch14
CHAPTER XIV. | AN IMPORTANT PROPOSAL.
.sp 2
"There is a further sum of a thousand dollars,"
suggested the lawyer. "What is your
pleasure in regard to that?"
"The boy is to have that too. Deposit it in
some savings' bank in your own name as his
trustee."
"That makes the boy worth five thousand
dollars—a large gift."
"Exactly, but I know of no better use for it."
"He is to remain ignorant of this also?"
"For the present, yes."
"Now for your instructions concerning the
will. I will note them down, and prepare the
document for your signature."
These directions were given, one-half of the
hermit's property being left to certain specified
charities, the remaining half to Mark Manning.
The lawyer wrote in silence. Then, pausing,
he said:
"Will you allow me, in right of our long friendship,
to make one suggestion?"
.bn 107.png
"Surely, John."
"Then let me ask if you are sure that there is
no one having a rightful claim upon you, and
who ought to be considered in this matter?"
"Do you mean Lyman?"
"By no means. He has forfeited any claim
he may once have possessed."
"Then what is your meaning?"
"Are you sure that your daughter left no
issue?"
Anthony's brow contracted, not with anger
but with pain. The old wound had not healed.
"I never heard of any," he answered, after a
pause.
"Yet there may have been a child."
"And if there were?"
"It would be your grandchild," said the lawyer,
firmly.
"And his child," said the hermit, bitterly.
"You should not impute that to the child for
blame."
"What would you have me do, old friend?"
"Make provision for the child, if there should
be one."
"What would you suggest?" asked Anthony,
slowly.
"I don't wish to injure the boy; I would only
.bn 108.png
suggest that charity begins at home. Divide
your estate into thirds; give one-third to Mark,
one to the child, if there be one, and one to
charity."
"I have no objection to that. But suppose
there be no child living?"
"Then divide that third between Mark and
the charitable societies you have enumerated."
"Wisely counseled, John, but why not give it
to you?"
"Because I am moderately rich already, and
need nothing more. Then, also, it would work
against my interest to find the child. I might
turn out to be as wicked and unprincipled as
most lawyers are said to be," he concluded, with
a smile.
"I have no fear of that. So that is your only
objection—"
"It isn't. Give it all to the boy in preference."
"No, let it be as you proposed."
"One thing more. Don't you think it is your
duty to ascertain whether you have a grandchild?
It may be living in poverty; perhaps in actual
want."
"You are right; I should have thought of
that before. But what steps would you advise
me to take?"
.bn 109.png
"Send some trusted messenger to the last place
where you have information that your daughter
lived. Have you tidings of her husband?"
"He died first. Both died of typhoid fever, as
I learned."
"Where did they die?"
"At a small place in Indiana—Claremont, I
think."
"Then you should send there, and make inquiries.
It would be well to go yourself, if you
could bring yourself to do it."
"But I couldn't."
"Then send a trusted messenger."
"I have none whom I could trust—except that
boy."
John Hardy looked thoughtful. He appeared
to be pondering something. Finally he said:
"Then send him. He is a boy, but he is faithful
and discreet. Moreover, I could advise him."
"Let it be so!"
"Can you spare him?"
"Yes, I am quite recovered, and he may not
be gone many weeks. If I need help I can easily
receive it."
"I would suggest a delay of a week or two, or
till the will is drawn up and signed, and some
other business attended to."
.bn 110.png
"I shall be guided entirely by your advice."
"Now shall I leave you some money?"
"No, I have enough to last for some time to
come."
"You don't keep it in this cabin, do you? It
would be imprudent. You would be exposed to
robbery."
"No, I have a place of concealment in the
woods. I shall go this afternoon, taking Mark
with me, to draw from it. It is my bank."
"The bank of the woods," suggested Hardy,
laughing.
"Yes."
Presently Mark returned, and conducted the
lawyer back to the station. Without the boy's
remarking it, his elderly companion drew him
out, weighed him mentally in the balance, and
decided that his client was not, after all, rash in
confiding in a mere boy.
"He's smart and honest!" was his mental
verdict.
At the station, he handed Mark a card containing
the address of his office.
"Unless I am much mistaken," he said, "Mr.
Taylor will have occasion to send you to my office
in the city before long."
"I shall be very glad to come," answered Mark,
.bn 111.png
gladly. "I don't often get a chance to come to
New York."
The lawyer shook hands with Mark, and
boarded the train.
Turning to leave the station, Mark encountered
the gaze of his two hunting companions, James
Collins and Tom Wyman, fixed curiously upon
him.
"Who is that old file?" asked James, with his
usual want of ceremony.
"A gentleman from New York," answered
Mark, briefly.
"What's his name?"
"John Hardy."
"How did you run across him?"
"I didn't; he ran across me."
"How did you get acquainted with him?"
"He asked me to be his guide. I walked about
with him."
"O, a tourist! Did he give you anything?"
"No."
"Then all your time and trouble was thrown
away," sneered James.
"I don't know about that. He invited me to
call at his office when I came to the city."
"That is hardly likely to do you any good.
Business doesn't call you to the city very often."
.bn 112.png
"That is true," said Mark, his temper undisturbed.
"A quarter would have helped you more, especially
now that you are out of work."
"I am glad you sympathize with me, James.
Perhaps you will ask your father to take me back
into the shop?"
"Not after the mean way in which you treated
me. I swore I'd come up with you, and I
have."
"I hope you'll enjoy your revenge."
"I do, you may be sure of that. If you had
minded your own business, it would have been
better for you."
"I am not sure about that. It may surprise
you, James, to hear that I wouldn't go back to
the shop, if your father were to call and ask me
to do so."
"That's a likely story!"
"Likely or not, it's true."
"I suppose you have come into a fortune," said
James, with a sneer.
This was what had actually happened, but
Mark had no more knowledge of his good fortune
than James.
Later in the day Mark presented himself at the
cabin in the woods.
.bn 113.png
"I thought you might have an errand for me,"
he said.
"So I have," returned the hermit. "Take
yonder spade and come with me."
.bn 114.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch15
CHAPTER XV. | THE HERMIT'S BANK.
.sp 2
Mark was considerably surprised by the order
he had received. What was he do with a spade?
They were in the woods, and there was no arable
land near. However, Mark was sensible enough
to understand that it was his duty to obey, not to
question.
"All right, sir!" he said, but there was a
wonder in his look which old Anthony noticed
with a smile. However, he did not immediately
throw any light on the mystery.
They walked possibly a quarter of a mile till
they reached a comparatively open space near the
center of which stood a tall tree.
"We will stop here," said Anthony.
Mark lowered the spade, which he had been
carrying on his shoulder, and waited further
instructions.
Old Anthony produced a compass to make sure
of his bearings, and a tape measure. One end of
.bn 115.png
this he gave to Mark, saying: "Stand by the
tree."
Mark, wondering as much as ever, took his
position beside the tree.
"A little more on that side!" was the next
direction.
When Mark was placed to suit him, Anthony
took the other end of the tape measure, and
measured due east sixteen feet.
"Yes," he said musingly, "this must be the
spot."
Marking the spot with a stone, he said:
"Bring the spade to me, Mark."
Mark did so.
"I suppose you wonder what I am going to
do?" said the hermit with a smile.
"Yes, sir," Mark admitted.
"This is my bank," explained Anthony.
Mark wondered whether the hermit was in his
right mind. He stood by curious and attentive,
while Anthony began to disturb the soil, throwing
up one spadeful of dirt after another.
He continued at his task for ten minutes, and
then desisted.
"I get fatigued easily," he said; "here, Mark,
take your turn."
Mark took the spade, and continued the excavation.
He was young and strong, and bore the
fatigue better than his employer. At length he
felt the spade striking something hard.
"I have struck something," he said.
"Very well, now proceed more carefully, so as
not to break the vessel. Uncover it, and then I
will tell you what to do——"
The hole was now about eighteen inches deep.
Mark cleared away some of the dirt, and disclosed
an earthen pot which appeared to be provided
with a cover.
"What shall I do now?" he asked.
"Stoop down, and remove the cover, and take
out what you find inside."
Mark got down on his knees, and bending over,
accomplished what was asked of him. To his
surprise he saw that the bottom of the pot was
covered with gold pieces.
"Take them out, and hand them to me," said
old Anthony.
"All of them, sir?"
"Yes, I may as well remove them to another
place. Besides the balance must be small."
The hermit counted the gold pieces, as they
were placed in his hands.
"There are but three hundred and fifty dollars
left!" he said.
.bn 117.png
To Mark this seemed considerable, though it
was evident the pot would have contained, if full,
many times as much.
"What shall I do with the pot?" asked Mark.
"You can leave it where it is. Anyone is
welcome to it, now that it is empty. Put the
cover on, and some one will one day stumble upon
treasure."
Mark filled up the hole, and disposed leaves
over it so as to conceal the work that had been
done.
"Very well done, Mark! The last time I did
all the work myself, but that was before I had
the rheumatism. It has stiffened my joints, and
weakened me as I find. Now let us go back."
Mark once more shouldered the spade, and
the two walked back side by side.
"I may as well explain how I came to deposit
my money there," said old Anthony. "I was
sensible that it would be dangerous to leave a
large sum in my cabin, and it was not convenient
or agreeable for me to make visits to the city
from time to time to draw money from my agent.
I was in the habit of going but once in a year or
two, and then bringing with me enough to last
me for a considerable period. I could, of course,
have hidden my money under the flooring of my
.bn 118.png
cabin, but that is the very place where burglars
would have searched, had they done me the honor
to look upon me as a miser, hiding concealed
treasures. It was for this reason that I selected
a hiding-place so far away from my dwelling.
Fearing that I might forget the exact place, I
chose a particular tree as a guide, and then measured
a distance of sixteen feet due east. Of
course there would be no danger of my mistaking
the place then."
"Somebody might have seen you digging
there, sir."
"True; I used to go early in the morning
when no one was likely to be in the wood. Besides,
I carefully looked about me before beginning
to dig, to make all secure."
"We didn't look about us this afternoon."
"No, it was not necessary. There is no money
left, and as for the earthen pot, any one is welcome
to it, who will take the trouble to dig for
it. I fancy it would hardly repay the labor."
"There is still considerable gold; are you not
afraid of being robbed?"
"There is a chance of it. I shall therefore give
you half of it to keep for me."
"I am glad you have so much confidence in
my honesty, Mr. Taylor. But I hope that no one
.bn 119.png
will suspect that I have so much money, or I
might be attacked."
"Better give the greater part to your mother
to lock up in a trunk or bureau drawer."
"I think I will, sir. It seems odd to have you
choose me as a banker, Mr. Taylor."
"I don't think I shall have any cause to repent
it, Mark."
"Nor I, so far as honesty goes, but I might be
robbed."
"We will take our chance of that."
.hr 10%
Mark and his employer supposed themselves
alone when they were engaged in disinterring
the golden treasure, but they were mistaken.
Two pairs of very curious eyes watched them
from behind a clump of bushes. These eyes belonged
to James Collins and Tom Wyman.
They were in the wood with their guns, looking
for squirrels, when they saw the approach of
Mark and the hermit.
"I wonder what they are going to do," said
James. "Mark has got a spade."
"I don't know. Suppose we hide, and then
we'll find out."
This proposal struck James favorably, and
they concealed themselves behind a clump of
.bn 120.png
low trees, as already described. With eager
eyes they watched the preliminary measurement,
and the subsequent excavation.
"The old man's a miser," whispered James.
"He's got gold hidden there."
"Just what I think," responded Tom, also in a
whisper.
"I wonder if there's much."
"Hush! We'll soon see."
They were not near enough to hear what passed
between Mark and Anthony, but they saw the
gold coins which the boy passed to his employer.
Then they saw the dirt replaced, and the spot
made to look as before.
When Mark and Anthony had gone, they
emerged from their hiding-place, eager and
excited.
"Well," said James, drawing a long breath,
"we've found the hermit's secret. He must be
a miser. I wonder how much more gold there is
in the hole."
"Thousands of dollars, very likely," said Tom,
who had a vivid imagination. "You know it
doesn't take a very big pile of gold to make a
thousand dollars."
"Mark Manning is pretty thick with old
Anthony. He trusts him more than I would."
.bn 121.png
"Mark'll rob him someday. See if he don't."
"I shouldn't wonder. I say, Tom, don't you
tell a living soul of what we've seen this afternoon.
If Mark steals the money, we can expose him.
He little thinks we know his secret."
Tom agreed to this, and the two boys went
home. When they next saw Mark, they regarded
him with a knowing look that puzzled him.
.bn 122.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch16
CHAPTER XVI. | LYMAN TAYLOR GAINS SOME INFORMATION.
.sp 2
When Lyman Taylor left his uncle and returned
to the city, he felt that his visit had been
a failure. His traveling expenses had amounted
to about two dollars, and he only carried back
five dollars with him. Added to this, his prospects
of remunerative employment were by no
means brilliant. To work, indeed, he was an
enemy, and always had been.
"Blessed if I know how I'm coming out," he
said to himself, ruefully; "if Uncle Anthony
had showed any enterprise, he ought to be well
off, and able to lend me a helping hand. Instead
of which he is settled down in a tumble-down
shanty in the woods, and isn't doing any good to
anybody."
Lyman resented it as a wrong done to himself
that his uncle was not in a condition to help him.
If he were only living in the city now, he might
quarter himself upon him. As matters stood, it
was out of the question. It made him shudder
.bn 123.png
to think of becoming a joint tenant of the lonely
cabin, with nothing to look to but the homely
fare, which no doubt contented his uncle.
"I shall have to shift for myself," he reflected
with a sigh; "I always was unlucky. Other fellows
are born with a silver spoon in their mouths,
and have rich fathers or uncles to provide for
them, while I may go to the poorhouse for all the
help I am likely to get from Uncle Anthony."
Arrived in New York, however, his prospects
rose a little. He met an old acquaintance on the
Bowery, and turned into a billiard saloon, where
he succeeded in a series of games in raising his
small capital to ten dollars.
This gave him a hint of a new way to make a
living—a way, as he considered, infinitely preferable
to a life of toil. Henceforth he frequented
billiard saloons, and occasionally varied his pleasant
labors by a game of cards. In spite, however,
of his praiseworthy efforts to make an honest
livelihood, there came a time when he was reduced
to his last quarter of a dollar.
He was sitting moodily in a cheap downtown
hotel, when he was addressed by a bearded man
dressed in rough miner's costume, a type of man
more frequently met in California or Colorado,
than in an Atlantic city.
.bn 124.png
"Have a cigar, stranger?" asked the bearded
man socially.
"Thank you; I don't care if I do," said
Lyman with alacrity.
"I'm a stranger in York," said the other, "only
arrived yesterday. You've got a right smart
city here; beats 'Frisco higher'n a kite!"
"Do you come from San Francisco?" asked
Lyman with interest.
"I'm from Californy—was up in the mines
mostly."
"Did you have much luck?"
"Wal, I made two or three piles, an' lost 'em
agin. However, I've got a little left. I've
always wanted to see York, and thought I might
as well come on and see it before I lost the
last."
"I'm glad to meet you," said Lyman, who was
speculating as to whether he couldn't make a
little something out of his new friend, before his
"pile" was wholly reduced in size. "I'm an old
Californian myself."
"You don't say so? when was you there?"
Lyman mentioned the time, and the country
where he had courted fortune.
"You don't say, stranger?" returned the
miner. "Why, I was at that identical place myself.
.bn 125.png
I bought a mine—leastways me and my
partner did—of an old man, named Taylor."
"Anthony Taylor?" asked Lyman, eagerly.
"That was the old fellow's name. Did you
know him, stranger?"
"I should say I did. He is my uncle. Did
you—pay much for the claim?"
"We paid five thousand dollars cash down."
Lyman Taylor whistled in amazement.
"Was it worth it?" he added.
"We took out ten thousand dollars, and I
heerd that the old man took out as much before
selling it to us."
"What month did you buy it?" asked Lyman,
breathless.
"Let me see, it was in September. You seem
to be interested, stranger?"
"I should say I was. That claim was half
mine, and my uncle never gave me a cent of the
purchase money."
"Where were you all the time?"
"I left in disgust, for we'd worked a long time
without making it pay."
"You left too soon. The old man struck it
rich some time early in August, and carried away
ten thousand dollars, besides what we gave him.
We didn't make so much of a spec, for too much
.bn 126.png
had been taken out already. Where is your
uncle now?"
"Living in the country. I went up to see him
two or three weeks since."
"How's he fixed? Did he hang on to his
pile?"
"He's hanging on to it now," answered Lyman,
with an oath. "He made out he was poor, and
sent me off with a beggarly five-dollar note."
"Perhaps he's lost his money."
"More likely he's keeping it out of the way.
He ought to give me half he made out of the
claim."
"I don't know about that, stranger. You
gave up and left, and all he made afterwards,
went of right to him."
Lyman Taylor, however, did not regard the
matter in that light. Discreetly losing sight of
the circumstances under which he left his uncle,
carrying off all the gold dust he had then accumulated,
he persuaded himself that he had suffered
a great wrong in not having shared in the
subsequent rich development.
"Just my luck!" he said to himself, moodily.
"If I'd only waited a couple of months I'd have
left California a rich man. How was I to guess
how the claim was going to pan out. I didn't
.bn 127.png
think Uncle Anthony would have treated me so
meanly. I wonder how much he's got left?"
This was an interesting subject of consideration,
but unfortunately, Lyman had no data to
go upon; or, rather, what data he had, were not
calculated to favor the presumption that his
uncle was a rich man.
It did not look very likely that a rich man, or
even one moderately well-to-do, would voluntarily
make his home in a poor cabin, like that
which old Anthony occupied.
Lyman began to fear that his uncle had managed
to lose by bad investments the money he
had obtained from the claims, and was really as
poor as appearances would seem to indicate.
"Are you livin' in this hotel?" asked the
miner.
"I'm not living anywhere in particular," answered
Lyman. "Fact is, I'm rather down on
my luck. There are no 'piles' to be made in
New York."
"I've been there myself, stranger. Here, take
this, and pay it back when it's convenient."
Lyman eagerly accepted the twenty-dollar gold
piece offered him by his liberal new acquaintance,
and leading the way to the bar, they cemented
their new-born friendship by a drink in true California
style. He then proposed a game of cards,
but the miner declined.
"I never cared much for keerds," he said.
"Excuse me! I don't mind playing a game of
pool if you're agreeable."
When the two parted, they were sworn friends.
Lyman, however, found that his miner friend
had all his wits about him, and that the twenty
dollar loan was all he was likely to extract from
him.
"I must make another visit to that uncle of
mine," said Lyman to himself, as he sauntered
down the Bowery. "He ought to pay me half
the money he got for that claim."
.bn 129.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch17
CHAPTER XVII. | ON THE TRAIL OF GOLD.
.sp 2
Keen on the scent of anything likely to turn
to his own advantage, Lyman Taylor arranged
the very next day to make a second visit to Pocasset,
and find out definitely, if possible, whether
his uncle had saved any of the large sum which
his claim had yielded him.
He hardly knew what to think. Anthony was
not the man to waste money on extravagant
living, but then he might have made poor investments,
and reduced himself to a pittance. Cases
of that kind were common enough in California,
as Lyman knew well enough.
He preferred, however, to think that his uncle
had turned miser, and was still the possessor of a
handsome fortune. In that case, as the only
near relative, it ought to come to him some day.
"Let me see," he mused, "how old is Uncle
Anthony! Fifty-nine!" he resumed, after a
mental calculation. "That isn't very old, but he
looks a good deal older. He is about played out—a
.bn 130.png
physical wreck," he reflected, complacently,
"and may not live a year.
"In that damp cabin it could not be expected.
Of course it's his own lookout. If he chooses to
live there, I don't see that it's any of my business.
I ought to come to a friendly understanding with
him, and get him to recognize me as his heir.
I dare say he's got his money hidden away in
some out-of-the-way place. It would be a sorry
joke if he should die, and it shouldn't be found."
Lyman shuddered uneasily, as he thought of
this contingency.
"He ought to place his money in charge of
some competent manager," he resumed. "I'd
take care of it myself, and save him all business
cares, if he'd let me."
Lyman did not appreciate the absurdity of this
plan. Few persons think themselves unfit to be
trusted with money. What he thought of his
own honesty can only be conjectured. Probably
he did not regard himself with the eyes of those
who knew him.
Such thoughts were passing through the mind
of the hermit's nephew, as he was traveling from
New York to Pocasset. Arrived at the depot, he
set out for the village at a brisk pace.
Presently he espied in advance of him a couple
.bn 131.png
of boys, whose figures looked familiar. It did
not take him long to recall the two boys he had
met in the pasture on his former visit. Of course
they were James and Tom.
"Just the ones I want to see," he said to himself.
"I may get some news from them."
He quickened his pace, and soon overtook
them.
"Good morning, young gentlemen!" he said,
urbanely. "I believe we have met before."
The boys turned around. They, too, recognized
him.
"Yes, sir," answered James. "You are old
Anthony's nephew."
"The same! I am glad you remember me.
Have you seen or heard of my uncle lately?"
"Yes; we saw him yesterday in the wood."
"Has he recovered from his rheumatic attack?"
"I guess so," said Tom. "He is looking pretty
well now."
"I came down to inquire his condition. I am
his only relative, and though he is prejudiced
against me, I can't help feeling anxious about his
health. Can you tell me anything about him?"
"He has that boy, Mark Manning, about him
all the time."
.bn 132.png
"What can be the boy's object in keeping
company with a poor old man, who has no way
of rewarding him?"
"I am not so sure about that," said James.
"About what?" asked Lyman, quickly.
"About his being poor."
"Have you any reason to think my uncle has
money?" asked Lyman, eagerly, fixing a sharp
glance of inquiry on the speaker.
James looked at Tom, as if to consult him
about the propriety of telling what he knew.
"As I am his nephew and only relation, and—heir,"
continued Lyman, "you can freely tell
me anything you have found out."
"Would you?" asked James, turning to his
companion.
"I don't see why not," returned Tom.
"Then," said James, who rather enjoyed the
prospect of telling the story, "I'll tell you what I
saw the other day—that is, Tom and I."
"Yes, yes, what did you see?" interrupted
Lyman, eagerly.
"We were out in the woods about a quarter of
a mile from the hermit's cabin, when we all at
once heard voices. Slipping behind a tree we
saw old Anthony and Mark coming along. Mark
had a spade over his shoulder. We wondered
.bn 133.png
what it all meant, and so kept hidden. Well,
the two came up to a big tree, and then measured
with a tape measure to a place about a rod
distant. Then old Anthony took the spade and
began to dig. But I guess he got tired, for
pretty soon he gave the spade to Mark, and got
him to dig."
"Well?" ejaculated Lyman, who was listening
with intense interest.
"Pretty soon he struck something hard. It
turned out to be an earthen pot with a cover."
"Did they take it up?"
"No; but Mark took off the cover, and then
took out, oh, such a lot of gold pieces."
"Just what I thought!" exclaimed Lyman, in
excitement. "I was sure my uncle kept his
money hidden in the ground somewhere. Do you
know how much money he took out of the jar?"
"There must have been hundreds of dollars—maybe
a thousand."
"And what then?"
"The cover was put on again, and then Mark
filled up the hole, and covered it with leaves, so
that nobody would think the ground had been
disturbed, then they went away."
"That shows there must be more money there,
don't you think so?"
.bn 134.png
"Of course, or they wouldn't have taken so
much trouble to cover it up again," answered
James, readily.
"You are right. I see you are sharp. What
a fine detective you would make!"
James looked pleased at this compliment, and it
inclined him in favor of the appreciative stranger.
"Do you think," asked Lyman, after a pause,
"you could find the spot again?"
"Yes, I guess so. Why?"
"I should like to go there."
"But," objected James, cautiously, "what
would you do if you found it?"
"I would dig down and find the jar."
"But you would have no right to do that; the
money belongs to old Anthony."
"Who is my uncle. But you are mistaken. I
don't want to take it. I want to see if the gold is
still there."
"Why shouldn't it be?"
"Because," answered Lyman, with a lucky
thought, "the boy knows where it is. What is
to prevent his going there by himself and carrying
off all there is. My uncle would have no
proof that it was he."
"I never thought of that," said James, quickly.
"It would be just like Mark."
.bn 135.png
"Do you think he is honest?"
"I wouldn't answer for him. He is a poor
boy."
"Exactly, and the gold would be a great temptation.
As the legal heir of Uncle Anthony, I
think I ought to look into the matter. Suppose
my uncle should die, wouldn't this Mark get the
money, even if he hasn't done it already, and no
one would be the wiser?"
"Of course!" James readily assented. "What
do you want us to do?"
"Lead me to the place, and let me see for
myself if the money is still there."
"Shall we, Tom?"
"I think it would be only fair."
"Then come along. I'll get a spade from the
house as we pass."
The spade was obtained, and the three set out
for the wood.
.bn 136.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch18
CHAPTER XVIII. | LYMAN'S DISAPPOINTMENT.
.sp 2
James was not without his share of curiosity,
and he was strongly desirous of seeing with his
own eyes the pot of gold, and so learning how
rich the hermit was.
Prejudiced as he was against Mark, he did not
really believe the boy would appropriate money
that did not belong to him, though it would have
been a satisfaction to him to find that his enemy
was in a scrape.
"That boy, Mark, seems to be an artful young
rascal," Lyman Taylor remarked, as they were
walking along together.
"He is all of that," said James, emphatically.
"My uncle is old, and his mind is weak. He
is very likely to be influenced by a sharp, unprincipled
boy."
"It's lucky you came down here to watch
him."
"That depends on whether I am able to put a
spoke in his wheel."
.bn 137.png
"Do you know whether your uncle has much
money?"
"I don't know, positively, but I have heard he
was very successful in California."
"If he is rich, I shouldn't think he would live
in such a tumble-down cabin," said Tom.
"Perhaps he has become a miser. His burying
money looks like it."
They entered the wood, and as the boys knew
their way all over it, they were able to go
straight to the tree.
"It was from this tree that old Anthony measured,"
said James.
"Can you tell in what direction?" inquired
Lyman, anxiously.
"This way, I am sure."
"Do you know how far?"
"Not exactly, but we can tell by seeing where
the ground has been disturbed."
Lyman Taylor took the spade and began to dig
vigorously. Such hard work was not generally
to his taste, but now he was spurred by a powerful
motive.
He would not have been sorry, now that he had
obtained the information he required, if the
boys had left him to work alone. But this they
had no intention of doing. They were very curious
to see the treasure unearthed, and ascertain
how much there was.
At length, the spade struck the earthen pot.
"I've touched it!" exclaimed Lyman, triumphantly.
He worked with redoubled energy, and soon laid
bare the buried vessel.
The boys drew near, eagerly, and looked into
the hole.
Lyman threw himself down upon his knees,
and removed the cover of the jar. No sooner
had he done so, when he uttered a fierce cry of
disappointment.
"Boys," he said, looking up with haggard
face, "there's nothing there!"
"No gold in the jar?" asked James, with a
blank look.
"Not a particle. Are you sure there was any
left?"
"We couldn't see, but it stands to reason that
it would not have been so carefully covered up
unless there had been some left."
"You are right there. Now, what has become
of it?"
"Can Mark have taken it?" said James, turning
to Tom.
"I don't know," answered Tom, doubtfully.
.bn 139.png
"That's just what happened. I'd like to wring
the young rascal's neck," said Lyman, fiercely.
"What are you going to do about it?" asked
James, curiously.
"I say, boys, it's pretty hard luck," complained
Lyman, "to see yourself robbed by an artful
young scoundrel. He's just taken in Uncle Anthony
by his artful ways, and is laying a trap
for his money."
"I see now," said James, quickly. "That's
what he meant by not caring about losing his
place in my father's shop."
"I'll go and warn my uncle against him," said
Lyman. "Boys, will you show me the shortest
way to the cabin?"
"Certainly, with pleasure."
Pleased with the idea of getting Mark into a
scrape, James guided the disappointed nephew to
the hermit's dwelling.
.bn 140.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch19
CHAPTER XIX. | THE HERMIT RECEIVES A CALL.
.sp 2
Old Anthony was sitting in his doorway,
thoughtfully smoking a pipe, when, chancing to
lift his eyes, his gaze fell upon the figure of his
nephew advancing towards the cabin. It was a
surprise, and not a pleasant one. He could not
divine Lyman's object in making this second
visit.
"How are you getting along, Uncle Anthony?"
inquired Lyman, in a conciliatory tone.
"Have you come all the way from New York
to ask me that question?" said the hermit,
dryly.
"Well, not altogether. Still, I wanted to
know whether you were better."
"I have got over my rheumatic attack," said
Anthony, shortly.
"I'm very glad. At your age it must be uncomfortable
to be sick—especially in such a place.
Can't I persuade you to come to New York, and
take comfortable lodgings?"
.bn 141.png
"Why should you desire it? Perhaps you
would propose to live with me?"
"And if I did, being your only relative, it would
be natural enough. With your means——"
"What do you know of my means?" demanded
the hermit, sharply.
"I have reason to think you are better off
than your position would indicate," announced
Lyman, watching the effect of the assertion on
his uncle.
"What reason?" inquired Anthony.
"Well, I know you were very successful in
California—after I left you. You struck it rich,
made a great deal of money, and then sold the
claim for a good round sum."
Anthony's countenance did not change, though
the communication was by no means a welcome
one.
"How much of this money do you think I have
now?" he asked, at length.
"I don't know."
"And I don't propose to tell you."
"I know you have some of it!"
"Very possibly. I cannot live for nothing."
"And I know where you keep it," added Lyman,
provoked by his uncle's manner.
"Indeed!"
.bn 142.png
"But I can't commend your prudence in putting
your money where it is so likely to be found—and
taken."
"Be a little more explicit. Let me know just
what you mean."
"Burying money in the ground is not very
wise."
Old Anthony was taken by surprise, and showed
it.
"So you know this? Where did you obtain
the information?" he asked.
"From some one who saw you and the boy,
Mark, digging for it."
"Well," said the old man, quietly, "I know of
no better place. People are honest round here,
and it will not be taken."
"I agree with you there, Uncle Anthony. It
won't be taken for a very good reason. There is
none there. The jar is empty."
"How do you know this, Lyman?" demanded
the hermit, with a searching look.
Lyman hesitated, but it seemed necessary to
tell the truth.
"Because, when I learned that you had been
so imprudent as to let the boy into your secret, I
concluded at once that he would take advantage
of his knowledge, and rob you. I therefore uncovered
//143.png
the place, and found it as I suspected.
The jar is empty."
Old Anthony betrayed no excitement on hearing
this.
"It is quite true," he said, quietly. "All the
gold has been taken."
"You knew this?"
"Certainly. I took the last gold piece myself.
Having no occasion for the jar, I left it there.
You are certainly very kind to take so much
interest in the safety of my property, but it is
needless. I am still able to take care of what
money I have left."
Lyman's face fell. He began to suspect that
this was only too true.
.bn 144.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch20
CHAPTER XX. | HOW LYMAN SUCCEEDED.
.sp 2
"I am afraid you misjudge me, Uncle Anthony,"
said Lyman, after a pause, during which
he reflected that his best course was, if possible,
to make a favorable impression upon the relative
who might be in possession of considerable
property. "I am afraid that you are prejudiced
against me."
"You must admit that I have reason," said
his uncle, dryly.
"It is true," replied Lyman, with an engaging
frankness; "I did not treat you well in California."
"I should say not. You disappeared, carrying
away two thousand dollars, leaving me penniless."
"Of course I was wrong. Still you had the
claim, out of which you made a good deal more
within a short time."
"When you left me," said the hermit, quietly,
.bn 145.png
"it looked as if it were worthless. That it
proved otherwise, was my good fortune."
"I won't argue the matter, Uncle Anthony. I
was young and heedless."
"Wicked would be a better word."
"And I have had bad luck; I am almost penniless
now. If you would be willing to help
me——"
"To what extent do you want help?" asked
Anthony, abruptly.
"If you could lend me fifty dollars, it would
set me on my feet."
"And in a week or two you would be coming
back for more."
"Upon my honor——"
"How much honor have you?" asked his
uncle, contemptuously. "Would you like to go
West?"
"Yes."
"Then I will give you the means of getting
there."
Lyman was under the impression that his uncle
proposed to hand him a sum of money, out of
which he decided to buy a western ticket if it
suited his convenience; Uncle Anthony would
be none the wiser.
"Yes, uncle, if you will give me a hundred
.bn 146.png
dollars, I will go to Chicago, and seek there a
chance to make an honest livelihood."
"Very well."
Old Anthony took out a memorandum book,
tore a leaf from it, and wrote a few lines, which
he handed to his nephew.
"What is this?" asked Lyman, suspiciously.
"It is an order on a friend of mine in New
York for a Chicago railroad ticket."
"And the money?"
"He will give you an order on a firm in Chicago
for the balance of the money, which will be
paid you there."
Lyman's countenance fell. It was clear that
the trick which he intended to play on his uncle
would be impossible.
"It seems to me," he said, "it would be better
to give me the money at once."
"I don't think so."
"I hope you have no suspicions of my good
faith."
"I won't express my opinion on that subject.
I will only say that the arrangement I have
suggested suits me best."
"Well," said Lyman, slowly, "I will try to
win your good opinion. I am afraid I have not
money enough to get back to the city."
.bn 147.png
He had over ten dollars in his pocket at that
moment, but it struck him that he had a good
excuse for securing a little more.
The hermit smiled contemptuously.
"Then suppose I had had no money to give you—how
would you have got back to the city?
Perhaps you meant to stay with me?"
"I will, Uncle Anthony, if you desire it."
"Thank you. I won't trouble you."
"I should have had to walk back. But, uncle,
I can't leave you without a word of warning."
"Well?"
"That boy, Mark, I am sure is scheming to
rob you."
"What do you know of Mark?"
"I know the reputation he bears in the town.
I know he has been discharged from the shoe-shop."
"Who told you?"
"Two boys whom I met. One is the son of
Mark's employer."
"I know the boys you mean. They dislike
Mark, but I prefer him to them."
A noise was heard at the door, and Mark entered.
He looked in surprise at the visitor, whom he
instantly recognized.
.bn 148.png
"You see, Mark," said the hermit, "my
nephew has kindly called to see me again. He
felt anxious about my health."
"I feel relieved to find you so much better,
uncle," said Lyman, by no means abashed at the
hermit's ironical words.
"It is the more creditable to him, this solicitude,
because he had only money enough to pay
his fare one way. Mark, you may give him five
dollars."
"Very well, sir,"
Mark drew a five-dollar gold piece from his
pocket, and handed it to Lyman.
"Does Mark carry all your money, uncle?"
asked Lyman.
"Not quite all."
"I hope he won't take a fancy to travel at
your expense."
Mark's face flushed indignantly, but he left old
Anthony to answer for him.
"I have perfect confidence in Mark," he said.
"Thank you, sir," Mark responded, gratefully.
"Have you anything for me to do this morning?"
the boy asked.
"No; I will give you a list of articles which
you may bring me from the village to-morrow."
.bn 149.png
"Then I will return, as I have some work to
do at home."
"Very well."
"I will go along with you, Mark," said Lyman,
suddenly.
"If you wish," answered Mark, but he would
rather have gone alone.
"Good-by, Uncle Anthony. It may be a good
while before I see you again. If you need me at
any time, write or telegraph."
"I will bear it in mind," said the old man,
dryly.
Mark and the dutiful nephew left the cabin
together.
"You've got a soft place, youngster," Lyman
began.
"I have an easy place, and a kind employer,"
said Mark.
"So you carry the old man's money, hey?"
"Some of it," answered Mark, eying his companion,
suspiciously.
"Don't looked scared, boy. I'm not going to
rob you. I only want to ask you a few questions.
How much money did you and he take from that
buried jar the other day?"
"Who told you about it?" asked Mark, in surprise.
.bn 150.png
"O, I know more about the old man's affairs
than you suppose," chuckled Lyman.
"I can't tell you."
"Won't, you mean," returned Lyman, scowling.
"I have no right to do so."
"Look here, boy, do you know that I am my
uncle's heir?"
"He never told me so."
"Then I tell you so."
"I hear you, sir."
"I'll tell you something else. I believe you are
trying to worm yourself into my uncle's confidence,
so as to rob him—and me."
"Your thinking so doesn't make it so," said
Mark, angrily.
"I warn you that you had better think twice
before you play such a dangerous game. You
have a bad reputation in the village."
"Who told you so?" demanded Mark, indignantly.
"Two of your companions."
"James Collins and Tom Wyman probably!"
said Mark, contemptuously.
"I know you were discharged from your place
in the shoe-shop."
"But for no good reason."
.bn 151.png
"That's what you say. How much money of
my uncle's have you in your pocket?"
"That I don't choose to tell," said Mark, firmly.
Lyman felt a strong inclination to take the
money by force, but prudence restrained him.
In that case, the order which he carried would
not be honored, and he would probably lose more
than he would gain.
Mark was apprehensive of an attack, and it
was with joy that he caught sight a little way in
advance of James and Tom, whom under other
circumstances he would not have cared to meet.
"You will now have company," he said, "and
I will hurry along."
Lyman did not oppose his purpose, and joined
the two boys.
.bn 152.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch21
CHAPTER XIX. | ALL ABOARD FOR NEW YORK.
.sp 2
The next day Mark found a letter in the post-office
directed to Anthony Taylor. According to
custom it appeared in a written list containing
the letters of those who had no boxes.
Mark called for it.
"Who is Anthony Taylor?" asked Tom Wyman,
who happened to be attending the office for
his father.
"Old Anthony," as the boys call him.
"I wonder if there's money in it!" said Tom,
holding up the letter, and trying to peep inside.
"That's none of our business," answered
Mark.
"Oh, you're mighty virtuous!" sneered Tom.
"If there is any money, I'll bet you'll get a share
of it."
"I get no money except my wages."
"How much does he pay you?"
"I would rather not tell," returned Mark, with
.bn 153.png
a smile. "You might try to get my place
away."
"As if I would work for an old tramp like the
hermit!" exclaimed Tom, disdainfully. "I suppose
he pays you about a dollar a week."
"That's better than doing nothing, isn't it?"
"Yes, it's better for you. I don't want your
place. I shall go to the city when my school days
are over."
"I wish you good luck, Tom, whenever you
do," said Mark, good-naturedly. "I must hurry
along with my letter."
"A letter for you, Mr. Taylor," announced
Mark, as he entered the cabin.
"From John Hardy," said the hermit, as he
scanned the address.
He opened the letter and read as follows:
.fs 85%
.in 4
"My Dear Old Friend: Your will is drafted
and ready for signature. You had better come
up to the city, and sign it. I know your reluctance
to leave your forest home, but it will
occur to you at once that your signature must
be witnessed, and though witnesses might be
found in Pocasset, it would involve a degree of
publicity which I presume you would wish to
avoid. Here I can easily get it witnessed by my
clerks.
"I suggest that you bring the boy, Mark, with
.bn 154.png
you, as he may be of service to you. Moreover,
I think it is high time that we spoke to him of
the mission on which you propose to send him.
"Your worthy nephew, Lyman, called upon me
to-day with your letter. He wished me to furnish
him with the money needed for his ticket,
but I thought it better to send a clerk to purchase
the ticket, and see him fairly off. He has just
returned, and reports that Lyman is on the way
to Chicago. I think you showed considerable
shrewdness in securing his removal from this
neighborhood. He may return, to be sure, but
the chances are that he will spend all the money,
and find himself stranded in Chicago. If this
compels him to work for a living, no harm will
result.
.in 0
.nf r
"Your friend as ever.
"John Hardy."
.nf-
.in 0
.fs 100%
Old Anthony laid down the letter thoughtfully.
He was reluctant to go to New York, but saw
that it was necessary. His reluctance was diminished
by the prospect of having Mark's company.
"Mark," he said, "can you go to New York
with me to-morrow?"
Mark stared at his employer in amazement.
The proposal was very unexpected.
"I am obliged to go up on business," explained
the hermit. "I wish I could delegate it to you,
but I must attend to it myself. It is so long
.bn 155.png
since I have been in a crowd, that I believe I
shall need some one to take care of me."
"I shall be very happy to accompany you, sir,"
said Mark, with alacrity.
"At what time does the morning train leave
the station?"
"Nine o'clock, sir."
"Then meet me there at fifteen minutes before
the hour."
"All right, sir."
"When shall we return?" asked Mark, after
a pause.
"When does the afternoon train leave the
city?"
"At three o'clock."
"We will return then."
"I only wanted to tell my mother when to expect
me."
It must be admitted that old Anthony looked
like an antediluvian figure in his old-fashioned
coat, with a short waist and long tails, as he
stood on the platform the next morning waiting
for the train. Two or three of the village boys
laughed rudely, but the hermit was buried in
thought, and took no notice of them. Mark,
himself, thought his employer looked queer, but
he saw nothing to laugh at.
.bn 156.png
"Are you going to town with old Anthony?"
asked one of the boys.
"Yes," answered Mark.
"People will take him for your grandfather."
"I don't mind."
"He looks like a rusty old tramp. His coat
looks as if it was made in the year one."
"He has a right to consult his own taste. He
has been kind to me, and I don't care to listen to
any rude remarks."
"You may buy two tickets, Mark," said the
hermit.
Mark did so.
Just as he was leaving the ticket-window, his
former employer, Mr. Collins, the shoe manufacturer,
took his place.
"Are you going to the city?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Who goes with you?"
"Mr. Taylor."
"Mr. Taylor?"
"The—the hermit."
"Oh!" returned the manufacturer, arching his
brows, "are you working for him?"
"Yes, sir."
"You might have been working for me, if you
had behaved yourself."
.bn 157.png
"I am satisfied with the change," answered
Mark.
"That boy is impertinent," soliloquized the village
magnate. "He can't get much pay from a
pauper. However, it serves him right. Of
course, it is only pride that makes him profess to
be satisfied."
Mark would have been surprised, had he known
that Mr. Collins was going up to the city to call
upon the person with whom the hermit had business.
Such was the fact, however. Mr. Collins
had applied to Mr. Hardy for a sum of four
thousand dollars, mortgaging therefor, his large
shoe manufactory, which had originally cost
double this sum.
As Mr. Hardy told old Anthony, he had ventured
into Wall Street, and the losses he had incurred
there, had forced him to raise money in
this way.
To-day had been fixed by Mr. Hardy for the
execution of the papers, and the transfer of the
sum required. Twelve o'clock was the hour appointed
by Mr. Hardy, for his business with the
manufacturer.
"What on earth can carry that old scarecrow
up to New York?" thought Mr. Collins, as he
eyed curiously old Anthony, who, with Mark,
.bn 158.png
was seated a few steps in front of him, in the
same car. "I suppose he has a pension from
some source, and is going to collect it."
It may be remarked that James Collins had
never communicated to his father the discovery
made in the forest, connected with the pot of
gold.
.bn 159.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch22
CHAPTER XXII. | IN AN OFFICE ON BROADWAY.
.sp 2
Mr. Hardy's office was in a large, high building,
on Broadway. It was the fifth floor, but
there was an elevator constantly running, which
made it nearly as easy of access as if it had been
on the first.
Mark had never before ridden in an elevator,
and he enjoyed the novelty of it. From a directory,
near the entrance, they ascertained that
Mr. Hardy occupied office No. 55, and this was
easily found.
"Welcome to New York," said the agent, advancing
cordially, to greet his visitors. "Good
morning, Mark. So you have piloted my old
friend safely."
"I think he has piloted me, sir. I know very
little of the city."
"I have not been here for five years," said
Anthony, reflectively. "I am unused to the
noise, and it confuses me."
"I like it," said Mark.
.bn 160.png
"You are young, and enjoy new and busy
scenes," said Mr. Hardy. "Would you like to
travel?"
"Very much, sir."
"Perhaps you may some time."
"I am afraid it will be a long time before I am
able."
"Possibly not."
Mark, however, did not detect any special
significance in these words.
"You may sit down here, and read a morning
paper, Mark," said the agent, "while I transact
a little business with Mr. Taylor."
The two entered an inner office, where Mr.
Hardy produced an official-looking document, to
which he called the attention of the hermit.
"Read it over," he said, "and see if it meets
your views."
"Precisely," answered Anthony, after he had
taken the time necessary to read it.
"Then it may as well be signed at once."
Mr. Hardy summoned three clerks from the
outer office, and in their presence as witnesses
the will was signed.
"I suppose I may as well leave the document
with you, John," said Anthony.
"It will be as well. Now, about the other
.bn 161.png
matter. It seems to me you may as well send
Mark at once in search of some clue to the possible
existence of a grandchild. Before doing so,
however, may I suggest something?"
"Certainly."
"I don't like the idea of your living in that
lonely cabin. Why can't you seek a home in the
house of your young secretary? Has he a good
mother?"
"She is a very worthy woman."
"Has she a room for you?"
"I think so."
"What do you think of my proposal?"
"I have been thinking of such a change myself.
For the first time in five years I am beginning
to find my cabin home monotonous."
"I am glad to hear it. You will be much better
off in a home where you can be taken care
of."
"I will attend to the matter without delay on
my return."
"So far, so good. Now, let me call in Mark,
and speak to him of our plan."
Mark, at the summons, entered the back
office.
"Mark," said Mr. Hardy, "we want you to
take a journey."
.bn 162.png
"I shall be very glad to do so, sir."
"It will be a long one."
"The longer the better," answered Mark, his
eyes sparkling.
"Your first stopping place will be Chicago."
The boy's eyes sparkled with excitement.
"I should like nothing better," he said.
"The commission will be to trace out Mr. Taylor's
daughter, and find out whether she left a
child. Necessary instructions will be given in
writing."
"Do you think I am old enough?" asked Mark,
excited but doubtful whether he was competent
for the duty assigned him.
"Discretion is more needful than age," answered
Mr. Hardy. "Perhaps an older messenger
would be better, but as my friend wishes to
avoid publicity, he is disposed to try you. Would
your mother be willing to have you go?"
"I think so, sir, but I hate to leave her
alone."
"Mr. Taylor proposes to board with her while
you are absent, if you think she would be willing
to receive him."
"I know she would be glad to secure such a
boarder," answered Mark, quickly; "with that
help she would be able to get along very well."
.bn 163.png
"Then that matter is probably settled. Now
a few words to guide you in your quest."
These words need not be repeated here, as in
following Mark's journey it will be understood
what they were.
Their business concluded, Mark and the hermit
left the office and descended to the ground floor.
They were just leaving the building when
Squire Collins entered.
He arched his brows in surprise. "You here?"
he said, addressing Mark.
"Yes, sir."
"On what errand?"
Mark was privately of opinion that he had as
much right to ask the manufacturer's business
as the latter his, but he answered: "Mr. Taylor
had business here."
Squire Collins smiled contemptuously. It did
not strike him that the hermit's business was
likely to be of any great moment. So people
often deceive themselves and assume a superiority
to which they have little claim.
"Probably old Anthony has just been paid his
pension," he thought, as he left them, and made
his way to the elevator.
He, too, ascended to the fifth floor, and leaving
it there went to John Hardy's office.
.bn 164.png
"Good morning, Mr. Collins," said Hardy.
He knew nothing of the manufacturer's home
title. "I shall be at leisure in five minutes."
The five minutes passed.
"Now I am at your service," he said.
"Have you decided to let me have the money,
Mr. Hardy?" asked the manufacturer, trying to
conceal his anxiety.
"Taking as security a mortgage on your manufactory?"
"Yes, sir."
"I think I can let you have it."
Squire Collins looked much relieved.
"You will find the security ample," he said.
"The building is worth double the sum I am
borrowing."
"Is it well insured?"
"Yes, sir."
"The policies of insurance must be placed in
my hands."
"Of course."
"I have to take all precautions, as the money
is not mine, but belongs to a boy for whom I am
trustee."
"I see."
Squire Collins had no curiosity as to the name
of the boy referred to. He would have been very
.bn 165.png
much amazed had he been told that it was the
very boy whom he had discharged from his employment
only a short time previous. For that
matter, Mark would have been quite as much
surprised.
In the course of half an hour the proper papers
had been made out, a check for four thousand
dollars handed to Squire Collins, and the shoe
manufacturer left the office in as good spirits as
Mark had done half an hour before.
"By-the-way," remarked the Squire at his
supper table that evening, "I met two persons
from Pocasset in the city to-day."
"Who were they?" asked James.
"Old Anthony and Mark Manning."
"What could have taken them to the city?"
"I presume Anthony receives a small pension
from some source, and went up to collect it."
"I think it very likely," said James, thinking
of what he had seen in the forest. "I presume
it isn't much."
"Probably not."
"I shouldn't think he'd have gone to the expense
of taking Mark."
"The old man looked dazed. I presume he
doesn't feel safe in going alone."
"Very likely Mark asked to go. He's fastened
.bn 166.png
himself on the old man, and means to get all he
can out of him."
It is wonderful how prejudice colors our
opinion of others.
.bn 167.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch23
CHAPTER XXIII. | MARK'S MISSION.
.sp 2
Three days later, two things puzzled the good
people of Pocasset. One was the removal of old
Anthony from his lonely cabin to the small but
comfortable cottage of Mrs. Manning. It was
voted by the village people a very sensible move,
but they were at a loss to understand how the
recluse had been persuaded to change his mode of
life. It was generally supposed that he was quite
poor, but the two or three dollars a week he
would be able to pay the widow would be a help.
A room on the second floor was appropriated to
old Anthony, where he spent much of his time.
Every day, however, he wandered off to the
woods, which had been his residence for several
years. Though he said little, he was soon convinced
that he had bettered himself by his removal.
Mrs. Manning provided plain, well-cooked
meals, which were far more attractive
than the extemporized lunches with which he had
thus far been content.
.bn 168.png
There was another circumstance, however, that
equally puzzled the good people of the village.
This was the disappearance of Mark. He was
no longer seen walking about the streets, and
many were the inquiries made of his mother as to
where he had gone. At the request of old Anthony
she answered very indefinitely. She could not
tell just where Mark was, but he was employed.
He would probably be home in a few
weeks.
Among those whose curiosity was most keen
were James Collins and Tom Wyman.
"Where do you think Mark has gone?" said
James one day, throwing away a half-smoked
cigarette.
"I don't know any more than the man in the
moon," answered Tom. "I asked his mother the
other day when I met her in the street, but I
couldn't get any satisfaction out of her."
"Perhaps he has gone to the city in search of
a place."
"I shouldn't wonder."
"He can't get anything to do here. Father
won't take him back into the shop."
"He was at work for old Anthony."
"That couldn't amount to much. The hermit
is as poor as Job's turkey."
.bn 169.png
"Do you know this? How about the gold we
saw?"
"It was all he had," said James, who was in
the habit of jumping at conclusions. "My father
says he gets a small pension from some person in
the city. Some rich relative, I suppose, is taking
care of him. Do you know, Tom, I should be
glad to come across Mark blacking boots, or selling
papers in the city?"
"Why?"
"He is so mighty independent—poor and proud—that
I believe he actually thinks himself as
good as you or I."
"He is pretty pert, that's a fact."
"If he were only humble, and showed that he
knew his place, I'd get father to take him back
into the shop. It's his own fault that he got
discharged."
"It's a good thing for his mother having a
boarder, as Mark isn't able to help her."
"Pooh! what does that amount to? He probably
pays two or three dollars a week. However,
I suppose that's a good deal to her."
Mark would have been amused, but not surprised,
if he could have heard this conversation between
his two old companions. At present, however,
he had other things to occupy his attention.
.bn 170.png
He had already reached Chicago and was staying
there a day or two before going farther.
His ultimate destination was Claremont, in
Indiana, the place where the daughter of the
hermit was understood to have died. It was about
seventy-five miles from Chicago, and could be
reached in three hours. Mark felt that he could
do no better in his brief stay in Chicago than walk
about, and make himself familiar with the principal
streets and avenues, and gain some knowledge
of the western metropolis.
He kept his eyes wide open, and noticed all
that came in his way. Everywhere throngs of
busy wayfarers, and not one of whom he had
ever seen before. It seemed strange to him, for
in Pocasset he knew everybody.
"The world is larger than I thought," he reflected,
"and there are more people in it. I wish
I could see one familiar face."
He had hardly formulated the wish when his
glance rested on a form that seemed strangely
familiar. It was a man, tall, slender, with a
slouching gait.
"That must be Lyman Taylor," he decided,
with a natural start of astonishment.
It was indeed the man whom he had last seen
in the woods at Pocasset. He had not thought
.bn 171.png
to meet him, though he remembered now to have
heard that Lyman had been sent to the West by
his uncle.
On the whole, Mark was not as much pleased as
he expected to see this familiar face. He did not
care to be recognized, as Lyman might have his
curiosity excited, and make him trouble.
Suddenly Lyman turned, and his glance fell
upon Mark. The boy lowered his head, and
walked on without notice. Lyman did not recognize
him, though he was vaguely conscious of
something familiar in Mark's appearance. But
before he left New York, Mark had been provided
with a new check traveling suit, and a hat of a
different style from the one he was accustomed
to wear.
Moreover, Lyman had no thought of meeting
the country boy in a western city. So he turned
his glance in a different direction, and descended
the steps that led to a basement pool and billiard
room.
"I would follow him down there, if I dared
risk discovery," thought Mark. "However, it is
none of my business what he does, as long as he
doesn't annoy his uncle."
Lyman Taylor would have been glad to see
Mark, or any one else representing his uncle.
.bn 172.png
The sum he had brought away with him had
nearly all melted away, and his prospects were
by no means brilliant. The thought of engaging
in any employment by which he might earn an
honest and independent livelihood was by no
means attractive to him.
In the afternoon of the second day Mark started
by train for Claremont, and arrived at the Claremont
Hotel in time for supper.
He found Claremont to be a fair sized town,
containing perhaps four thousand inhabitants.
It seemed to be growing rapidly, like most western
towns favorably situated. After a comfortable
supper he bethought himself of whom he could
make inquiries as to the object of his journey.
As he sat in the office, a tall man, with long
hair, and a look of speculation in his eyes accosted
him.
"Have you just arrived in town, young man?"
"Yes, sir," answered Mark.
"Are you calculatin' to settle here?"
"No, sir; I am only here on a little business."
"Drummer, I reckon!"
"No, sir; I do not represent any business
house."
"You do look rather young for a drummer,
but you said you were travelin' on business."
.bn 173.png
"My business is of a different nature, sir."
"Just so! if I can help you, I will. I am Colonel
Enoch Tarbox, well-known hereabouts."
"Thank you for your offer. If you will allow
me, I will ask you one or two questions."
"Go ahead, young man; I'm ready to give
you any information in my power."
"I am in search of a family named Ransom,
who lived here some years ago."
"John Ransom?"
"Yes, sir."
"You won't find him; he's dead."
"So I have heard. Did you know him or his
wife?"
"I've drank with John Ransom many a time
at this very bar. He was rather fond of a social
glass."
"Did you know his wife?"
"I've seen her often. She's dead too. They
both died of a fever."
"I suppose they had no children," said Mark,
putting the question anxiously.
"Let me see," said the colonel slowly, evidently
searching his memory; "yes, I believe there was
a child, a little boy."
"Is he alive?" asked Mark eagerly.
"There you've got me, stranger. Children
.bn 174.png
ain't much in my line. I never heerd of Ransom's
child dying. I reckon it left town though."
"Where could I get any information about it,
do you think?"
Colonel Tarbox reflected.
"I reckon you'd better go to Mrs. Finn; she
was intimate with Mrs. Ransom. She lives in
the little white cottage alongside of the Presbyterian
church."
"Thank you, Colonel Tarbox; I am much indebted
to you for what you have told me."
"Don't mention it. Won't you take a drink?"
This kind offer Mark declined rather to the
colonel's dissatisfaction. He decided to call upon
Mrs. Finn the next day.
.bn 175.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch24
CHAPTER XXIV. | WHAT MARK DISCOVERED.
.sp 2
As the clock on the Presbyterian church struck
nine, Mark stood knocking at the door of the
little cottage hard by.
The door was opened by a comely woman of
middle age, who, not recognizing Mark, looked
at him inquiringly.
"What can I do for you?" she asked.
"My name is Mark Manning," said Mark, introducing
himself. "I have been directed to
you as likely to give me some information about
Mrs. Ransom, who—"
"Yes, yes," interrupted Mrs. Finn, not waiting
for Mark to finish his sentence. "Poor dear!
I know all about her. Come in, do!"
She led the way into the neat sitting-room,
where she invited Mark to be seated. Then she
changed parts with Mark and began to ask questions.
"Are you related to Mrs. Ransom?" she asked.
.bn 176.png
"No," answered Mark, "but I come from one
who is."
"Alas, it is too late! The poor woman is dead."
"I know that, but did she leave a child?"
"Yes, a little boy. She sat great store by
little Jack."
"And what has become of him?" asked Mark,
eagerly.
"That is more than I can tell. A tall gentleman—I
don't rightly know his name—appeared
at the funeral, said he was a relation, and took
off little Jack to St. Louis, I think."
"A tall gentleman—a relation!" repeated
Mark, surprised. "What was his appearance?"
Mark was destined to be surprised, for Mrs.
Finn's description tallied exactly with the appearance
of Lyman Taylor. This was a surprising
discovery. Mark was sharp enough to guess
that Lyman's object was to remove from his
path any rival claimant to his uncle's property,
supposing him to possess any.
"I think I know who you mean," he said, after
a pause.
"Was it really a relation of Mrs. Ransom?"
"If it was the one I suppose, it was her cousin."
"I am glad to hear it. Then poor Jack was
taken care of."
.bn 177.png
"I am not sure about that," said Mark, gravely.
"Though a relative, he is a selfish, bad man, and
I am afraid he meant the poor boy no good."
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Finn,
startled, "you don't think he would murder the
innocent child?"
"No, I don't think that, but I think he wanted
to put him where his grandfather would never
find him."
"Is it his grandfather you come from, then?"
"Yes; he does not even know of his grandchild's
existence, but if I find him, the boy will
never need any other protector. Can you tell me
anything of Mrs. Ransom—of her husband?"
"Poor Mrs. Ransom was a sweet woman, who
deserved a better fate. As for her husband, he
was a drunkard, and a loafer. Those are hard
words, but he deserved them both. They hadn't
much money, but what there was he spent for
liquor at the hotel yonder. More than once his
poor wife and little child wouldn't have had any
breakfast if I hadn't taken some over."
And warm-hearted Mrs. Finn wiped away a
tear.
"Did her husband treat her very badly? Did
he beat her?"
"I am afraid he did when he was very far gone,
.bn 178.png
but, poor thing! she never complained. She
always looked sad, though, and she didn't enjoy
her life very much."
"Did she ever speak of her father?"
"Once only. She told me she had ill-treated,
him, and been a disobedient daughter. I think
it was in marrying Ransom."
"Did she ever write to him?"
"She told me she did once, but never received
an answer. 'He won't forgive me,' she said, with
a sigh, and never wrote again."
"I am sure he did not receive the letter, Mrs.
Finn. If he had, he would have noticed it."
"I hope so; at any rate she was sadder than
ever when no letter came to her in return. Finally,
her husband took sick with a fever. Bad as he
had been to her, she nursed him like a devoted
wife as she was. But she couldn't save him.
Hardly was he dead, when she, too, caught sick,
and in the end she died. While she was sick I
took little Jack home, for fear he would catch the
fever too. I was thinking of adopting him after
his mother's death, when the man I spoke of called
and took away the boy, saying he would provide
for him."
"And that was—how many years ago?"
"Nearly six, I think."
.bn 179.png
"And I suppose you have neither seen nor
heard of him since?"
Mrs. Finn shook her head.
"Where does little Jack's grandfather live?"
she asked.
"Near New York."
"Is he a rich man?"
"Moderately rich. He is well able to take care
of his grandson, if he could find him."
"I wish I could tell you more, I am sure," said
Mrs. Finn heartily. "If the poor boy yet lives,
Heaven knows what his condition may be. If
you could find the man that took him away——"
"I can," answered Mark.
"Then why don't you go to him, and ask him
where to find the child?"
"Because it is against his interests to have
him found. He and the little boy are the only
heirs to the grandfather's property. His uncle
has good reason to dislike him, and if the boy is
found, Lyman Taylor will get nothing, I feel sure."
"Well, well! What wickedness there is in the
world!" ejaculated Mrs. Finn. "What will you
do?"
"I don't know. I shall have to consider."
"Did the grandfather send you out here?"
"Yes."
.bn 180.png
"Excuse my remarking that you are very
young to undertake such a responsible task."
"I think so myself, Mrs. Finn," Mark answered,
modestly. "But it so happened that he hadn't
much choice. I shall do my best, and if I can't
find him, I shall go home and report, and advise
Mr. Taylor to send an older and more competent
person."
"You won't be offended by what I said?"
"Certainly not. Any one would think as you
do. Is there any other information you can give
me, Mrs. Finn?"
Mrs. Finn shook her head.
"I am afraid not," she said.
"You are sure the boy was carried to St.
Louis?"
"Quite certain."
"I might go to St. Louis, but without any clue
I am afraid I should stand little chance of succeeding."
"You might advertise."
"That is true," said Mark. "Indeed, it appears
to be the only thing I can do. How old
would the boy be now?"
"About eight years old, I think."
"Thank you."
Mark took out a small memorandum book, and
.bn 181.png
noted down the small amount of information he
had obtained.
It did not appear to be much, and yet it was of
great importance. He had ascertained that Mrs.
Ransom had left a child, and moreover that
Lyman Taylor had been aware of the fact, and
had conspired to keep its existence from old
Anthony.
"Does he know where it is now?" Mark asked
himself.
Mark was inclined to think not. Shortly after
the boy was carried away, Lyman had gone East,
got into trouble, and served a term of some years
in a prison.
During those years, probably the boy had
drifted out of his knowledge. Doubtless he could
furnish a clue, but for obvious reasons, it would
not do to apply to him.
"I am very much obliged to you for your information,"
said Mark, as he rose to go.
"You are heartily welcome, sir. Would you
mind writing me, if you find out anything about
poor Jack?"
"I will certainly do so, Mrs. Finn. I shall lose
no time in going to St. Louis."
"Heaven speed you, and bring you success,"
said Mrs. Finn, fervently.
.bn 182.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch25
CHAPTER XXV. | THE LITTLE MATCH BOY.
.sp 2
"Matches! Matches! Here's your nice
matches!" was heard in a shrill treble, proceeding
from a little boy on Clark Street, in Chicago.
He looked thin and pale, and it was easy to
see the poor little fellow was poorly fed, as well
as ill-clad.
"Only five cents a package!" the little fellow
continued to cry; and he looked wistfully in the
faces of those who passed him, hoping for a possible
purchaser.
"Clear out of my way there, you brat!" said
a rough voice. "Do you want to take up the
whole sidewalk?"
The boy shrank timidly, as the man who had
addressed him swaggered by. He would not
have dared to resent the rudeness, but another
did. It was a stout, and healthy-looking woman,
with a large basket on her arm, whose heart
warmed towards the poor little match boy, sent
out so early to earn his livelihood.
.bn 183.png
"You ought to be ashamed to speak to the
poor boy that way!" she said, warmly.
"Mind your business, woman!" retorted Lyman
Taylor, for it was he whose rough speech
had been quoted.
"I always do," said the woman. "It's my
business to speak my mind to such brutes as
you!"
Lyman vented his wrath in a volley of oaths,
for his language was by no means choice, when
his anger was excited. He might have been
more prudent, if he had known that a policeman
was just behind.
"Stop that, my man, unless you want me to
take you in!" said the burly officer.
Lyman Taylor turned sharply round, but
quailed when he saw the officer.
"This woman has insulted me," he said, sullenly.
"I just spoke to him for abusin' that poor
match boy," said the good woman.
"I heard it all," said the officer. "Move on,
my man, and behave yourself, if you don't want
to get into trouble."
Such a scene was sure to attract a small crowd.
One kind-hearted man drew out a dime from his
pocket and handed it to the match boy.
.bn 184.png
"Here, my lad," he said; "take this, and
I hope it'll do you good."
"Here are two boxes of matches for you, sir."
"No, keep them. I give you the money."
"Here's another dime," said a young man, of
literary aspect. He was a reporter on one of the
Chicago daily papers, who, in spite of the cases of
poverty and privation that came under his notice
every day, still preserved a warm and sympathetic
heart.
Then a lady followed his example, and in the
end, the match boy had received a sum much
larger than the value of his small stock-in-trade.
Lyman Taylor's rudeness had proved to him a
piece of good luck, in opening the hearts of those
who would otherwise have passed him by without
notice.
Smiling with pleasure at the child's good fortune,
the good woman who had resented Lyman's
rudeness so warmly, went on her way. If all
had hearts as warm, there would be little misery
or suffering in the world. It is often those who
have little, that are most ready to help others
poorer than themselves. I must not omit to add,
that among the contributors to the little match boy's
fund was the policeman, who placed a
.bn 185.png
nickel in his hands, with the admonition to
"brace up and be a good boy!" This was true
charity, for out of his salary the officer had to
support a large family of his own, and therefore
had very few nickels to spare. He was bluff of
aspect, but kind of heart.
"It's a shame to send out such a child on the
streets," he said to himself. "Think of my Rob
having to lead such a life!"
The policeman looked sober, for, should anything
happen to him, as in his exposed life might
very well happen, he knew not what would be
the fate of his little ones. They might be as
badly off as the poor match boy.
The little match boy's thin face showed signs of
satisfaction as he looked at the collection of small
coins which had been given him by the pitying
crowd. He turned into an alleyway and counted
it. It amounted to seventy-six cents. This was
a phenomenal sum for the small merchant. And
the best of it was, he had his stock of merchandise
left.
A thought entered the little boy's mind,
prompted by his craving for food.
"Would it be wrong for me to take a little of
this money and buy me some dinner?" he said to
himself. "I am so hungry. Aunt Peggy only
.bn 186.png
gave me a slice of bread for breakfast, and it's
most two o'clock now."
Only a slice of bread, and he had been walking
about for hours, trying to sell matches. The
fruit of all his labor was the sale of two boxes at
five cents each. But he had seventy-six cents
besides, and they were his. They had not been
given to Aunt Peggy, but to him. So, at least,
he reasoned. Not that he meant to keep it all
himself. He intended to give the greater part to
the woman who was the only guardian he knew,
but he thought he had a right to use fifteen
cents for himself. It wasn't much, but he knew
a place—a cheap place—where for this sum he
could get a cup of coffee and a plate of beefsteak.
At the thought of this delicious repast the match
boy's mouth watered. When had he eaten
meat? Three days ago Peggy had given him a
bone to pick. There was not much on it, but
when he had got through with it there was none
at all.
Johnny could not resist the temptation. He
suspended sales, and made his way to a cheap
restaurant on a side street. With eager steps he
entered, and sat down at a wooden table from
which nearly all the paint had been worn off, and
scanned the bill of fare.
.bn 187.png
It seemed to him that there was nothing better
than the dish he had already mentally selected.
A greasy looking waiter approached, and said
sharply, "What'll you have, kid?"
"Cup o' coffee an' plate of beefsteak!" answered
Johnny.
"Sure yer got money enough to pay for it?"
"I wouldn't have asked for it if I hadn't," said
Johnny, emboldened by his unusual wealth.
"All right, then! Sometimes chaps come in
and order their dinner, and skip off before it
comes time to pay."
The greasy looking waiter went to the back of
the room, and soon returned with the banquet
Johnny ordered.
He set it down with a jerk.
.bn 188.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch26
CHAPTER XXVI. | LUCK FAVORS LYMAN.
.sp 2
No patron of Delmonico's probably ever contemplated
his sumptuous meal with more satisfaction
than shone in the little match boy's eyes,
as he gazed with watering mouth at the overdone,
tough-looking steak, the mashed potato,
the three slices of stale bread and dab of butter,
which furnished the solid material of his meal.
A cup of muddy coffee completed the bill of fare.
After all, appetite is the best sauce, and Johnny
had appetite enough to make his meal seem
palatable.
Johnny did not stand upon ceremony, but
"pitched in." It is not an elegant expression,
but it describes accurately the energy with which
the boy disposed of his dinner. Ten minutes
sufficed for its entire disappearance. There was
not even a crumb left.
"That was bully!" said Johnny to himself,
with a sigh of supreme satisfaction "I wish I
could have such a lay out every day."
.bn 189.png
But he evidently thought this was unattainable
happiness. He did not even think of reserving
from his little fund, enough to provide a similar
feast on the following day—partly because he was
an honest little fellow, and partly because he
stood in fear of the burly woman whom he called
Aunt Peggy.
"I wouldn't have Aunt Peggy know I've been
here for something," he thought.
There seemed little chance of it, but, as ill
luck would have it, as he was emerging from the
restaurant, a boy he knew passed with a blacking-box
on his shoulder.
"What have you been doin' in there?" asked
Tim Roach. "Been havin' yer dinner?"
"I just got a little to eat," answered Johnny,
ill at ease.
"Got any more money?"
"A little."
"Then just treat a feller, won't yer? I'll do as
much for you to-morrer."
"I can't, Tim, the money isn't mine."
"You won't, you mean."
"I would if the money belonged to me."
"Does Peggy know yer went in there?" asked
Tim, slyly.
"Don't tell her, Tim! I was so hungry."
.bn 190.png
"Then treat!"
"I can't, Tim!"
"All right!" replied Tim, nodding. "I'll let
Peggy know how you spend her money."
Poor Johnny! These last words alarmed him
terribly.
Lyman Taylor's stock of money was getting
low. He was not a good financial manager. But
even if he had been, he would not have been able
long to live without work. When his stock of
ready money was reduced to five dollars, he began
to consider anxiously where he could obtain
a further supply. It is not strange that his
thoughts should have reverted to his uncle.
"I wonder if Uncle Anthony is well fixed or
not. He got considerable money in California,
but may have lost it. The old man is close-mouthed,
and I can't worm the secret out of him.
If I had any hold on him——" continued Lyman,
thoughtfully.
He sauntered along till he came to a pool-room,
connected with a cheap hotel, of the kind he
was in the habit of frequenting. No one chanced
to be playing, and by way of filling up the time
he took up a St. Louis paper, and ran his eye
listlessly over it.
But at one place in the advertising columns,
.bn 191.png
his listlessness suddenly vanished, and his face
assumed a look of eager interest. This was the
advertisement that attracted his attention:
.fs 85%
.in 4
"Information Wanted.—Any one who can
give information concerning a child named Jack
Ransom, who was brought to St. Louis a little
more than five years since, is desired to communicate
with Mark Manning, at the Planters' Hotel.
The boy, if living, is now seven or eight years of
age."
.in 0
.fs 100%
"Well, I'll be——hanged!" ejaculated Lyman
Taylor. "How, in the name of all that's mysterious,
has my uncle got hold of a clue to little
Jack's existence?
"So he's sent that country cub—Mark Manning—out
to investigate. He must be crazy to
trust a green boy, who has always lived in the
country.
"But what beats me, is how he learned so
much. I did take the boy to St. Louis, and
placed him with an old woman, who very likely
has starved or beaten him to death by this time.
But suppose she hasn't," continued Lyman, after
a pause.
"Suppose the child is still living. If I could
only find out, then I would have the hold on my
uncle that I require. I would kidnap the boy,
.bn 192.png
and not part with him under a good round
sum."
Lyman's face brightened, but only for an instant.
It was a capital scheme, but how was he
to get hold of the boy? How did he know if he
were living?
He would have been amazed if he had known
that he had seen the boy that very day, selling
matches in the streets.
There was one thing, however, that seemed
clear to Lyman. His uncle must still have a
comfortable property, or he would not be able to
send a messenger to St. Louis in search of his
lost grandson.
"The old man may have twenty thousand dollars,
for aught I know," reflected Lyman; "and
doesn't spend the income of half that as he lives
now. No doubt that country boy has an inkling
of it, and is planning to get hold of it. That boy
is foxy, and knows what he is about, I'll be
bound."
This estimate did not exactly agree with the
one Lyman had recently expressed of Mark, but
he did not think it necessary to be consistent.
"Twenty thousand dollars!" he repeated, and
his nephew almost starving here in Chicago. Oh,
it was a cunning scheme to buy me off for a paltry
sum, and give a free field to that boy. That's
a pretty way for a man to treat his only living
relation.
"But who could have put it into his head that
his grandson was alive? I presume the little
beggar has kicked the bucket before this. If I
only could get hold of him, I would make the
old man pay handsomely for his return."
The chances, however, did not seem very flattering,
and Lyman had no money to expend in
searching for the boy, apart from the doubt
whether he was still living. Gradually a new
idea came to him. He might pick up some boy
who would answer the purpose, whom he could
palm off on his uncle as his grandson. True, it
would be raising up a rival heir; but he was thoroughly
persuaded that in no case did he himself
stand any chance of succeeding to his uncle's
property.
"It will be worth something," he muttered,
"to cut out that country boy. All I have to do,
is to find a boy who is without relatives, and I
can concoct some story that will impose upon
Uncle Anthony. That little match boy, for
instance! Why wouldn't he do?"
Lyman became so excited by his castle building,
that he determined to lose no time in carrying
out his design. He left the tavern, and
retraced his steps to the place where he had encountered
the match boy. Johnny, after eating
his dinner, had resumed his business, and was
within a block of the same place offering his
wares to the passers by.
He was a little worried by Tim's threat to
expose his extravagant dinner to the old woman
with whom he lived, but persistently refused to
buy off his persecutor.
"I say, little boy, what's your name?"
Johnny turned round at these words, and recognized
in the man addressing him, the one with
whom he had already had trouble. His face
showed the fear which he not unnaturally felt.
"Don't be frightened, my boy!" said Lyman,
with an ingratiating smile. "I am afraid I was
rough to you this morning. Don't mind it! I
was worried about my business affairs, and
didn't mean what I said. Shake hands, and let
us be friends."
With rather a bewildered look, Johnny allowed
Lyman to take his small, thin hand, and looked
perplexed.
"Come, you don't harbor no malice, my lad,
do you?" said Lyman with a smile.
"No—o," answered Johnny, doubtfully.
.bn 195.png
"The fact is, I feel an interest in you, my boy.
You look like a little cousin of mine that I
haven't seen since he was a baby."
Johnny was more and more puzzled. The
neglected little match boy was not used to such
attention.
"Did you ever live in St. Louis?" asked Lyman,
at a venture.
"Yes," answered the match boy.
Lyman opened his eyes in surprise. He had
not expected such an answer. Even then he did
not suspect that Chance had led him to the very
boy whom he desired to meet.
"Have you any father or mother?" he asked.
"No sir."
"Good!"
Johnny could not understand why his questioner
should be pleased to hear that he was an
orphan. Lyman Taylor seemed to him a very
incomprehensible man. He felt rather uncomfortable
in his presence, and hoped the man would
go away, and leave him to attend to his business.
"Who do you live with, then, sonny?" was
Lyman's next question.
"With my aunt."
"What is your aunt's name?"
"I always call her Aunt Peggy."
.bn 196.png
"What?" exclaimed Lyman, in a tone that
made the little match boy jump. "You live
with an old woman named Peggy?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is she your aunt?"
"I suppose so. I always call her Aunt Peggy."
"It's the very boy!" was Lyman's exulting
thought. "I'm in luck at last. Lyman, old
man, your plans are going to be realized."
"Were you ever called Jack?" he asked, anxiously.
"Yes; that's what Aunt Peggy calls me.
Other people call me Johnny."
"My boy," said Lyman, fervently, "I can't
tell you how glad I am to see you. I am sure
now you are my little cousin. Where does Peggy
live?"
The match boy named the place—a poor street
in a poor neighborhood.
"Take me there at once. I want to see your
Aunt Peggy."
"But Peggy will be mad if I don't stay and
sell matches, sir."
"Come along; I will make it right with her."
Lyman took the little boy's hand, and the two
turned off Clark Street, and went in pursuit of
Peggy.
.bn 197.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch27
CHAPTER XXVII. | OLD PEGGY.
.sp 2
Tim Roach was not only selfish, but liked
to make mischief. He resolved to be revenged
upon Johnny for declining to "treat" him to a
dinner, and having plenty of time on his hands,
took pains to seek out the humble home tenanted
by old Peggy.
It was on the third floor of a tall, shabby brick
house, not far from the Chicago and Alton depot.
Tim had been there before, and didn't require directions.
He ascended the rickety staircase,
nearly treading on two dirty faced children
belonging to a neighbor of Peggy's, who were
playing on the landing. As a third child, older,
made her appearance, Tim stopped long enough
to inquire, "Is Peggy at home?"
"Yes," answered the girl. "She's home, but,
oh my, ain't she tight!"
"That's nothin' new," said Tim, composedly.
He knocked at Peggy's door, and receiving no
answer, opened it.
.bn 198.png
The old woman had thrown herself on a
truckle bed at one corner of the room, and was
breathing noisily with her eyes half closed.
"Is it you, Johnny!" she asked, without turning
her head.
"No, it's me!"
"Who's me?"
"Tim Roach."
"What do you want?"
"I've just seed Johnny, Peggy."
"Has he sold many matches? Where is
he?"
"I seed him in an eatin' house. He was eatin'
a bully dinner."
"What!" exclaimed Peggy, now thoroughly
roused, raising herself on her elbow. "What's
that you say, Tim Roach?"
Tim, quite enjoying the commotion he had
raised, repeated his information.
"So he's spendin' my money in fillin' his stomach,
the little wretch!" exclaimed Peggy.
"That's why he brings home so little money. The
ungrateful little imp that I've slaved and slaved
for these last six years, takin' advantage of a poor
old woman when her back's turned! Where
was it, Tim, dear?"
Tim mentioned the restaurant.
.bn 199.png
"And what was he eatin', Tim?"
"He ordered a cup o' coffee and beefsteak—I
don't know what else he had."
"I'll learn him to chate and decave me!" said
the old woman, angrily. "He only brought
home twenty-five cents yesterday, and I takin'
care of him, and buyin' him close and vittles."
"I guess he buys some dinner every day," said
Tim.
"And I never to suspect it! Tim, dear,
you're a good boy to come and tell me. You
wouldn't treat your best friend that way?"
"No, I wouldn't!" said Tim, virtuously.
"What are you goin' to do to him, Peggy?"
"Where's my stick, Tim? Do you see it anywhere?"
"No, I don't," answered Tim, after a search.
"Some of them children downstairs must have
carried it off."
"I can buy you a cane for ten cents."
"And where would the ten cents come from I
would like to know. I'll bate him wid my fists,
the ongrateful young kid."
"What are you goin' to give me for tellin' you,
Peggy?" asked Tim.
"I'll give you a penny the next time I see
you," said Peggy, vaguely.
.bn 200.png
"That isn't enough. Give me a nickel to buy
a glass of beer?"
"I haven't got it, Tim. I wish I had, for I'm
awful dhry myself."
"I wouldn't have come all the way to tell you
if I'd know'd that," said Tim, discontentedly.
Just then a noise was heard on the stairs, and
Tim, opening the door wider, looked out.
"Here's Johnny now, Peggy!" he said in excitement.
"Come home the middle of the afternoon, too,
the young rascal!" ejaculated the old woman.
"I'll fix him!"
"So here you are, you young——," commenced
Peggy, as Johnny made his appearance, but the
threat with which she was about to conclude,
died in the utterance, when she saw that Johnny
was closely followed by a tall man of middle age.
"Who are you, sir?" she asked irritably, "and
what brings you here? If you're the agent, I
haven't got any money for you."
"Don't you remember me, Peggy?" asked
Lyman, sinking with rare courage into a chair
which cracked under his weight.
"No, sir, I don't. If I had my glasses, perhaps——"
"I see you've got company, Peggy," continued
.bn 201.png
Lyman, with a significant look at Tim. "I
would like to speak to you alone. It'll be to
your advantage, mind," he added, detecting a
suspicious look on the old woman's face. "Just
send the two boys out to play, and we'll speak
together."
"First, hand over what money you've got,
Jack," said Peggy. "I ain't goin' to have you
wastin' it outside. Let me see your matches!
How many boxes did you sell?"
"Five," answered Johnny.
"Only five!" exclaimed the old woman, holding
up her hands. "You were playin' in the
strates, I'll be bound!"
"No, I wasn't, Aunt Peggy. I tried to sell
more, but——"
"Oh, yes, I understand! And you'd done so
well you thought you'd buy yourself a dinner
off my money. Come here and let me shake
you!"
"Tim told you!" said the little boy, with a reproachful
look at his betrayer.
"Yes, he told me, and he was a good bye for
doin' it."
"He said he'd tell if I didn't buy him some,
too."
"Is that threu?" asked Peggy.
.bn 202.png
"Hark to him!" said Tim, with virtuous indignation.
"It's a lie, and he knows it."
"Did you spend all the money, Jack?" demanded
Peggy. "If you did——"
"But I didn't, Aunt Peggy. Some good people
gave me some money, and——"
"It was for me, then. How dared you spind it?"
"I've brought most of it home, Peggy. See
here!" and Johnny took out a handful of small
silver coins and pennies, and poured them into
the old woman's lap.
Peggy was agreeably surprised. She saw that
there was nearly a dollar, much more than Johnny
generally brought home, and it put her in a good
humor.
"You've done well, Jack!" she said. "I won't
grudge the money you spent for a bit of dinner.
Now go out and play wid Tim."
"I don't want to play with him. He told on
me."
"My lad," said Lyman, "can't you bring a
bottle of beer for your good aunt and myself.
Here's money; you can bring back the change."
"You go, Jack, for the gentleman," said
Peggy, quite restored to good humor. "I don't
mind sayin' that my throat is just parched with
bein' so dhry."
.bn 203.png
Johnny went out, and soon returned, for he
had not far to go. In spite of his company being
so unwelcome, Tim went and returned with
him.
"Won't you give me a little, Peggy," he
asked.
"No, I won't. You wanted Jack to trate you
on my money. Now clear out, and never let me
see your ugly face here ag'in."
"That's the thanks I get for tellin' you!"
complained Tim. "And after runnin' myself
out of breath, too!"
"Clear out wid you! And you, Jack, go back
and see if you can't sell some more matches. It's
only the middle of the afternoon, and there's
plenty of time before sunset to sell half-a-dozen
boxes."
Johnny obeyed, not unwillingly, for he was not
partial to home, nor did he enjoy Peggy's company.
Tim accompanied him, but Johnny, gentle
as he was, refused to have anything to say to
him. Tim felt that he was badly treated.
Johnny turned his back on him, and Peggy had
utterly failed to acknowledge the service he had
rendered her. Tim was of opinion that it was a
cold world, and that there was little encouragement
to be virtuous.
.bn 204.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch28
CHAPTER XXVIII. | LYMAN'S PLAN.
.sp 2
"Here's your health, Peggy!" said Lyman,
emptying his glass.
"Thank you, sir!" said Peggy, following his
example. "You're very kind, I'm sure, and I
ought to remember you, but my memory ain't
what it was."
"So you don't remember me?"
"I can't remimber that I iver set eyes on your
face before, sir."
"Then you don't remember the man that
brought you a small child to take care of near
six years ago?"
"Shure it's himself!" ejaculated the old woman,
peering curiously into Lyman's face. "I
only saw you twice, and that's why I forgot.
Shure it was a cruel thrick you played upon a
poor old woman, when you gave her a baby to
take care of, and then, five long years never sent
her even a penny. It's hundreds and hundreds
.bn 205.png
of dollars I've spent on little Jack, and he no kin
to me!"
"No doubt he has been brought up in the lap of
luxury! He looks like it," said Lyman with an
amused smile.
"And now you've come to pay me all I spent
on the child?" insinuated Peggy.
"Well, not just yet. The fact is, Peggy, unavoidable
circumstances prevented my communicating
with you, and the same won't admit of my
paying over the hundreds of dollars that Jack has
cost you."
"Then what do you want of me?" inquired the
old woman disappointed.
"I think I can see a way by which both of us
can make something out of the boy. By-the-way,
it strikes me just at present that he is supporting
you instead of you taking care of him."
"He only brings in a few pennies a day," said
Peggy. "Shure it's hardly enough to pay his
salt."
"Then Jack must be immoderately fond of salt.
However, I'll let you into a secret. His grandfather
is looking for him."
"His grandfather?"
"Yes; no doubt you are surprised that Jack
possesses a grandfather, but that is a fact. His
.bn 206.png
grandfather is my uncle, and what is more to the
purpose he has a fair property."
"And little Jack is goin' to be rich?" gasped
Peggy in amazement.
"Well, I don't know! That depends on
whether we allow his grandfather to find him."
"And why shouldn't he? Wouldn't he be
givin' a big reward?"
"That is where you come to the point, my good
Peggy. If he will make it worth our while, we
may restore him to the old gentleman."
"And how much would he be givin', d'ye
think?" asked Peggy, her bead-like eyes sparkling
with greed.
"I shouldn't wonder, Peggy, if you might get a
hundred dollars out of it."
"A hundred dollars—after my takin' care of
the boy ever since he was a babby. Now you're
jokin'."
"Well, you see, his grandfather isn't a rich
man—" explained Lyman, fearing he had unduly
raised the expectations of the old woman.
"You said he was!" retorted Peggy sharply.
"I said he had a comfortable property—for a
country town. That means a few thousand
dollars."
.bn 207.png
"He sha'n't have him for such a thrifle,"
snapped Peggy.
"The police might take him from you, without
your getting a cent."
"How would they know, unless you told 'em?"
asked Peggy suspiciously.
"Look here, Peggy!" said Lyman in a conciliatory
tone. "We've got to stand by each other
in this thing. Just leave the matter in my hands,
and I'll manage it as well as I can. I'll get as
much money from the old gentleman as I can."
"And you'll give me half?"
"Of course—that is, after necessary expenses
are paid."
"And what am I to do then?"
"Nothing, except to stay here, and see that
nobody gets hold of Jack. Does he know who
he is?"
"He thinks I'm his aunt."
"And is proud of the connection, no doubt,"
said Lyman, who could not restrain his tendency
to sarcasm. "Well, perhaps that is as well.
Don't let any one know that it is not true. We
can keep quiet till the time comes to make it
known. Now, I'll leave you, and take the first
step by writing to my uncle. Good afternoon,
Peggy! I'll call again in a day or two."
.bn 208.png
"Couldn't you leave me a dollar or two before
you go?" whined Peggy. "Me health is very
poor, and I can't work, and it's only a few pennies
the boy brings in."
"You're better off than I am," said Lyman
curtly, "for I am out of employment and I have
no boy to bring me in pennies. I don't know but
I'd better take Jack at once, and then you won't
have to take care of him."
"I'll kape him," said the old woman hurriedly—for
she had no wish to lose the income the match
boy brought in, small as it was. "I'll kape him,
for he's used to me life, and he's happier here."
"Just as you like, Peggy!" returned Lyman
with a smile at the success of his stratagem.
"I'd help you if I could, but I'm almost at the
bottom of my purse as it is. I'll see you again in
a day or two, and report progress."
"I've done a good day's work," reflected Lyman,
as he picked his way downstairs, nearly slipping
on a piece of orange peel on one of the steps.
"It was a piece of good luck, my finding Jack so
soon after seeing that St. Louis paper—but I must
write an effective letter to my uncle."
Lyman went to the Sherman House, and entering
the writing-room procured a sheet of note
paper, and penned the following note:
.bn 209.png
.fs 85%
.rj
"Chicago, September 7, 18—.
.in 4
"My Dear Uncle:
"I am afraid you are feeling anxious about me,
and I will therefore relieve your affectionate solicitude,
by saying that I am well in health, but
low—very low in pocket. It costs more to live in
Chicago than in Pocasset, and the sum of money
with which you provided me is nearly gone. As
I am a little afraid this hint won't be sufficient to
open your heart, let me add that I can make it
worth your while to be generous.
"It has come to my knowledge that you have
sent out Mark Manning in search of your grandson.
How you came to suspect that my cousin
left a boy I can't imagine, but I don't mind telling
you that you are correct. She did leave a
boy, whose name is Jack Ransom. He is now
about eight years of age. I know where he is
and can lay my hands upon him at any moment.
Whether I will or not depends on how you propose
to deal with me. Of course it isn't to my
interest that the boy should be found, as outside
of him I am your natural and legal heir. I know
that Mark Manning is scheming to get possession
of your property when you are gone, but I am
sure you wouldn't throw it away on a stranger,
when your brother's son is living.
"Now, Uncle Anthony, I am going to make you
a proposition. Bear in mind, if you please, that I
am the only one who can restore little Jack to you.
Only one other person knows about him and she
.bn 210.png
never heard of you, and doesn't know Jack's last
name. If you will guarantee me five thousand
dollars within three months, two thousand being
cash down, I will myself bring on little Jack, and
place him in your arms. Now, I am sorry to say
that the boy has a miserable home, and is scantily
supplied with the necessaries of life. A miserable
career of poverty and perhaps crime, awaits him
unless you come to my terms. Let me know as
soon as possible what you propose to do.
"A letter directed to me at the Chicago post-office
will reach me safely.
.in 8
.nf b
"Your affectionate nephew,
"Lyman Taylor."
.nf-
.in 0
.fs 100%
Anthony received this letter in due time, and
deemed it of sufficient importance to warrant a
visit to New York. He wished to lay it before
Mr. Hardy, and ask his advice.
.bn 211.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch29
CHAPTER XXIX. | MARK RECEIVES A TELEGRAM.
.sp 2
"My good friend," said Mr. Hardy, "have you
any reason to think your nephew's statement is
to be relied upon?"
"I hope so," answered Anthony. "I am getting
to be an old man, and I should like to feel
that some one of my own blood would survive
me, and profit by a part of the competence which
God has bestowed upon me."
"It may be simply a money-making scheme on
the part of Lyman," said the agent, thoughtfully.
"Finding that he has little chance of becoming
your heir, he wants to secure a handsome reward
for restoring to you your grandson. Why has he
not proposed it before?"
"Because he did not know I had any property
to leave, or else because he supposed his own
chances of inheriting good. After the last interview
with me, he probably lost the hope of profiting
by my death."
"There is something in what you say, Mr.
Taylor. What is your own idea?"
.bn 212.png
"I would give five thousand dollars, if necessary,
to secure the return of my grandson. It
would give me an object to live for."
"I should be exceedingly sorry to see that sum
pass into the hands of such a rascal as your
graceless nephew."
"Would you offer two thousand?"
"I would hold no serious negotiations with
him."
"But I would run the risk of leaving the poor
boy to a life of poverty, and myself to a lonely
old age."
"My idea is this. I will telegraph to Mark
Manning, who is now in St. Louis, the particulars
of your nephew's offer, with instructions
to go at once to Chicago, find out Lyman, and
put a detective on his track. If his story is
true, he probably visits the boy from time to
time. In this way it can be discovered where
the boy lives, and steps can be taken to secure
him."
"I approve of your plan," said Anthony. "Let
it be carried out at once."
"There will be this advantage," added Hardy.
"Your enterprising nephew will not realize any
benefit from his nice little scheme for trading upon
your affections."
.bn 213.png
"Do as you think best, my good friend. Your
judgment is always better than mine."
John Hardy rapidly penned the following despatch.
.fs 85%
.in 4
"Mark Manning, Planter's Hotel, St. Louis:
Go at once to Chicago and find Lyman Taylor.
He knows where child is. Employ a detective,
and track him to boy's residence. Don't let him
suspect your object. Keep me apprised of your
progress.
.in 8
John Hardy."
.in 0
.fs 100%
This despatch reached Mark within two hours.
He had been in St. Louis several days, and had
learned nothing. Two or three persons had called
upon him with bogus information in the hope of
a reward, but he was sharp enough to detect the
imposition. He was beginning to despair of
success when Mr. Hardy's telegram was received.
Mark brightened up. He saw his way clearer
now.
He went out to purchase a ticket for Chicago,
and on his return found a second telegram in
these words:
.fs 85%
.in 4
"Lyman admits knowledge of boy, and offers
to restore him for five thousand dollars."
.in 0
.fs 100%
"I will endeavor to thwart Mr. Lyman Taylor,"
.bn 214.png
said Mark to himself. "He is a greater rascal
than I thought."
Mark paid his bill and took the next train for
Chicago. He arrived late, and registered at the
Fremont House, where he prepared himself for
the difficult work that lay before him by taking
a good night's rest. In the morning he awoke
hopeful and determined, and after breakfast
went out to walk. He had no clue to the where-abouts
of Lyman, but thought it possible he
might meet him as he had done before in the
streets.
He walked about for two hours, keeping his
eyes wide open, but though he scanned many
hundreds of faces, that of Lyman Taylor was
not among them. Yet his walk was to be more
successful than he anticipated.
Little Jack still continued his street trade of
selling matches. Peggy was not willing to give
up the small revenue she obtained from the boy's
sales. Sometimes, also, a compassionate passer-by
would bestow a dime or nickel on the boy,
pitying him for his thin face and sad expression.
Sometimes, if Tim were not by, he would buy a
cheap lunch, for the scanty rations which he received
from Peggy, left him in a chronic state of
hunger.
.bn 215.png
It was fortunate that the poor boy indulged
himself thus, or his feeble strength would hardly
have held out against hunger and hard work
combined.
Unwittingly Jack had made an active enemy
in Tim Roach. His refusal to treat, Tim persuaded
himself, was very mean, and his indignation
was increased by the ill-success of his attempt
to secure pay for the information given to
Peggy. He was anxious to be revenged upon
Jack, and was only waiting for an opportunity.
Malice generally finds its opportunity after
awhile. One day Jack set down his basket of
matches a moment while he ran into a shop to
change a twenty-five cent piece. Tim was close
at hand, and slyly secured the basket, and fled
swiftly through a narrow passage-way with his
booty. He had not only secured a stock of merchandise,
but he had got Jack into trouble.
When Jack came out and found his basket
gone he was in dismay.
"Who took my basket?" he inquired of an
applewoman, who kept a stand close by.
"There was a bye here just now—bigger than
you. He must have run off wid it when my back
was turned away."
"Where did he go?" asked Jack, anxiously.
.bn 216.png
"I didn't mind."
"What was he like?"
"Shure I've seed him here afore wid you.
You called him Tim."
"It was Tim Roach!" exclaimed Jack. "He's
a mean boy. He took it to get me into trouble."
"Shure he looks like a thafe."
The tears started to Jack's eyes.
"I don't know what to do," he said, piteously.
"I am afraid Peggy will beat me when I get
home."
"Who is Peggy?" asked a new voice.
Jack looked towards the speaker. He saw a
pleasant-faced boy, apparently about sixteen.
"She's the woman I live with," answered Jack.
"What will she beat you for?" asked Mark,
for it was he. He had just come up, and hadn't
heard of Jack's misfortune, but his heart was
stirred to sympathy, by the sadness visible upon
the little boy's face.
"For losing my matches," and thereupon Jack
told his story to his new acquaintance.
"How much were the matches worth?" asked
Mark.
"There were fourteen boxes. They cost me
three cents a piece. Then there was the basket.
That cost a quarter."
.bn 217.png
"Do you know where to buy more?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then take this dollar bill, and get a new
supply."
Jack's little face glowed with gratitude.
"Oh, how kind you are!" he said.
"Do you generally stand here?" asked Mark.
"Yes, sir."
"Does this Peggy send you out every day?"
"Yes, sir."
"Is she related to you?"
"I thought she was my aunt," answered the
match boy, "but last evening a gentleman called
on Peggy, I heard them talking when they
thought I was asleep," Jack continued in a lower
tone. "I heard the gentleman say I had a grandfather
living at the East, and that he would pay
a good sum to get hold of me. I wish he would,
for Peggy doesn't give me enough to eat, and
sometimes she beats me."
"Tell me about this gentleman," said Mark in
excitement. "Is he tall?"
"Yes, sir."
"With black hair and whiskers?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know his name?"
"No, sir; but there he is now!"
.bn 218.png
Mark followed the direction of the boy's
finger, and he recognized, though his head was
turned, the familiar form of Lyman Taylor on
the opposite side of the street.
.bn 219.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch30
CHAPTER XXX. | MARK MAKES ARRANGEMENTS WITH JACK.
.sp 2
Mark's excitement was at fever heat. In the
most wonderful manner he had succeeded almost
without an effort. He could not doubt that this
boy was the very one of whom he was in search.
He was apprehensive that Lyman would turn,
and on recognizing him penetrate his design and
arrange to defeat it. But fortunately the object
of his dread appeared to have other business in
hand and kept on his way, never turning back.
"How old are you?" he asked, thinking it best
to make assurance doubly sure.
"Peggy says I'm goin' on eight," answered
the match boy.
"That is the right age," thought Mark.
"Have you always lived in Chicago?" he continued.
"No, sir; Peggy brought me from St. Louis
when I was a very little child."
"I suppose you don't remember much about
St. Louis?"
.bn 220.png
"I don't remember it at all."
"What does Peggy do for a living?"
Jack shrugged his shoulders.
"Nothing much," he answered; "she says she
isn't well enough to work."
"Surely she does not depend wholly upon what
you earn?"
"I don't know. Sometimes she gets money in
a letter. I think it comes from her son."
"Then she has a son?"
"Yes."
"Where does he live?"
"I saw one of his letters once. It said Fall
River on the wrapper. I think he works in a
factory."
"Fall River is a city in Massachusetts. I have
never been there, but I hear that they have factories
there."
"So you can read writing?" asked Mark after
a pause.
"Yes, a little."
"And I suppose you can read books and
papers?"
"A little. I went to a primary school for a
little while, and afterwards a lady used to hear
my lessons. She lived in the same place with
us."
.bn 221.png
"Did you like studying?"
"Ever so much. I should be happy if I could
go to school again, but Peggy says I know enough,
and she needs me to earn my living."
"Do you know the name of that gentleman
you pointed out to me?"
"No, I don't think I heard Peggy mention his
name."
"How long has he been in the habit of coming
to see you and Peggy?"
"He has only been there two or three times.
Peggy didn't remember him at first. I think
they used to know each other a good while
ago."
"Suppose this gentleman's story were true,
and you had a grandfather at the East who could
take good care of you, would you be willing to
go to him?"
"Would he be kind to me? Do you know
him?" asked the little fellow eagerly.
"Yes, I know him, and I am sure he would be
very kind to you. Would you be willing to leave
Peggy?"
"Yes," answered little Jack promptly.
"How does she treat you?"
"If I bring home a good bit of money, she pats
me on the head and says I am a good boy, but if I
.bn 222.png
am not lucky she is very cross, and sometimes she
beats me."
Mark's sympathies were aroused. Jack was so
small, and weak in appearance, that it seemed to
him revolting to think of his being at the mercy
of a cruel old woman. Half unconsciously his
fist doubled up, his teeth closed firmly together,
and he just wished he had the merciless Peggy in
his power.
"Is Peggy temperate?" he asked.
Jack looked at him inquiringly.
"Does she drink?" Mark asked, changing the
form of his question.
"She drinks beer, and sometimes whiskey,"
answered Jack.
"Does she get—drunk?"
"Sometimes."
"How does it affect her?"
"It makes her sleepy or cross. I always
run away when she has been drinking—when
I can, but sometimes she locks the door and
fastens me in. Then, if I can, I hide under the
bed."
"Poor boy! you have a hard time of it. Now,
Jack, can you keep a secret?"
Jack nodded, and his face assumed a cunning
look, for the poor boy had more than once felt
.bn 223.png
obliged to practice dissimulation, in the rough
school in which he had been trained.
"Yes," he answered.
"Then I am going to tell you a secret. Your
grandfather sent me out here to find you."
"He sent you!" ejaculated Jack.
"Yes."
"But I thought he sent that gentleman—the
one I pointed out to you."
"No; that gentleman, as you call him, is your
mother's cousin. He is a near relation of yours."
"But he spoke to Peggy about carrying me
back to my grandfather."
"He has an object in view. He won't give you
up to your grandfather unless he gets a large sum
of money. I suppose he has promised to give
Peggy some of the money."
"Yes, I heard him promise Peggy a hundred
dollars."
Mark smiled.
"Then I think he is going to cheat Peggy," he
said. "He wants five thousand dollars for himself."
"Why, that is a good deal more than a hundred
dollars."
"Yes, it is fifty times as much. Did Peggy
seem to be satisfied with a hundred?"
.bn 224.png
"No; she said it was very little, but he said
perhaps my grandfather would give her as much
as that every year."
"It is evident he proposes to take the old
woman in."
"I don't care, if he will only take me back to
my grandfather. Will he give me enough to
eat?"
"My poor child, are you hungry?" asked Mark,
compassionately.
"Yes; I think I am always hungry," sighed
Jack. "Peggy says I eat too much."
"You don't look much like it. Now Jack, one
thing more. Would you be willing to leave
Peggy, and go to New York with me?"
"Would you take me to my grandfather?"
"Yes; that is just what I want to do."
"I am ready to go now," said Jack, putting
his hand confidingly in Mark's.
"That is well, but it will be better to wait till
to-morrow. What time do you get up in the
morning?"
"About eight o'clock. It isn't any use to go
out too early."
"And at what time do you come here, Jack?"
"About half-past eight or nine."
"Then I will meet you to-morrow, somewhere
.bn 225.png
about that time, and I will have tickets ready to
take us to New York. We can catch the ten
o'clock train. There isn't any danger of Peggy
keeping you, is there?"
"Not unless she thinks I am goin' to run
away."
"She mustn't suspect that. We must be sure
to keep that from her. I suppose you have no
other clothes than those you have on?"
"No, sir."
"I will hunt up a clothing-store, and get you
fitted out before we start. I shouldn't like your
grandfather to see you in that ragged suit."
Jack looked down at his jacket, frayed, tattered
and greasy, and said:
"I've often wished I had nice clothes like that
boy," and he pointed out a boy of about his own
age, dressed in knickerbockers.
"You shall have your wish to-morrow, Jack.
Now I suppose you had better go and buy some
more matches, so that Peggy won't suspect anything."
"Yes, sir."
"You'll be sure to meet me to-morrow, Jack?"
"Yes, sir."
"And don't let Peggy suspect from your looks
that anything is going on."
.bn 226.png
"Yes, sir."
"Everything looks favorable," thought Mark
as he walked slowly to his hotel. "To-morrow
at this time Peggy and the worthy Lyman will
be mourning for a lost boy."
.bn 227.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch31
CHAPTER XXXI. | JACK TALKS IN HIS SLEEP.
.sp 2
Jack was naturally very much excited by the
new prospects that opened out before him. He
had seen little happiness in his short life. It is a
sad thing to say that he had hardly ever known
what it was to eat a full meal. Cold and pinching
privation, and long, toilsome days in the
streets, had been his portion hitherto. Was it
possible, he asked himself, that all this was to be
changed.
Was he to have a home like other boys, and a
relation who was able to supply him with the
comforts of which he knew so little?
It seemed like a dream, and little Jack might
have been tempted to distrust the information
which had been given to him. But somehow he
could not help feeling confidence in what Mark
told him. He felt that Mark would not deceive
him, and the dream must come true after
all.
Jack finished out the day as usual, and went
.bn 228.png
home. Peggy's attention was at once called to
the new basket.
"Where did that come from?" she asked.
"My basket was stolen, and a kind gentleman
gave me money to buy this." Jack answered.
"Was the matches stole too?"
"Yes; he gave me money enough to buy as
many as I lost."
"Who stole 'em? Do you know?"
"I think it was Tim Roach. He was hangin'
round, at the time I lost it."
"Did he snatch it from you?"
"No; I laid it down a minute while I went into
a cigar store to get a quarter changed for a gentleman
who had just bought a box of matches, when
Tim picked it up and ran away."
"I'd like to get hold of Tim!" said Peggy
wrathfully. "I'd wring his neck for him, the
little wretch!"
Then a new and cunning idea came to Peggy.
"I tell you what to do, Jack," she said; "just
you go out to-morrow mornin' without any basket,
and begin to cry, and tell people that you've
had your matches stolen. Then somebody'll give
you money, and you can bring it home."
"But that would be tellin' a lie, Peggy," objected
Jack.
.bn 229.png
"And what if it is!" retorted Peggy. "You
needn't be so dreadfully good. It ain't a lie
that'll hurt anybody, and the gentlemen that
gives you the money won't miss it."
It occurred to Jack that it would suit his plans
to go out the next morning without the basket.
Considering how he had been brought up, his
conscience was unusually tender, and he would
not have liked to leave the city without returning
the basket and his stock-in-trade to Peggy. Besides,
she could have him arrested for theft, if
she chose. He decided, therefore, that he would
make no further objection to Peggy's proposal.
"Just as you say, Peggy," he said, submissively.
"That's a good boy!" said Peggy, good-humoredly.
"That's a pretty good snap!" she said to
herself, complacently. "I don't know why we
shouldn't foller it up. It'll be more than the
profit of the matches, and Jack can do it two or
three times a day."
It did, indeed, seem a very ingenious method of
raising money, and answered the purpose of
begging, without being open to the usual objection.
.if h
.il fn=p220.jpg w=500px
.ca
The old woman drawing near the pallet, strove to catch the words that fell from the boy's lips.
.ca-
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: The old woman drawing near the pallet, strove to catch the
words that fell from the boy's lips.]
.if-
Jack usually got tired with being about the
streets all day, and after he had eaten the frugal
.bn 230.png
.bn 231.png
.bn 232.png
supper with which Peggy had provided him, he
lay down on a pallet provided for him in the
corner of the room, and was soon asleep. But
with such a momentous secret on his mind, it
will not be a matter of surprise that Jack's
thoughts, even in sleep, were occupied with his
new plan. Whenever he was restless he was apt
to talk in his sleep, and did so on the present
occasion.
Peggy had not gone to bed, but sat in an old
wooden rocking-chair, smoking a pipe.
"What's the boy sayin'?" she asked herself,
as Jack began to talk. "I'll listen, and then if
he's been up to any mischief, he'll out with it."
She removed the pipe, and drawing near the
pallet, bent over, and strove to catch the disconnected
words that fell from the boy's lips.
"I'm goin'—to—my grandfather!" she heard
Jack say, and the words startled her.
"Who's been talkin' to him about his grandfather?"
Peggy exclaimed, startled. "I didn't
know he'd heard a word about him."
"He says—he will—take me!" continued Jack,
in a drowsy tone.
"He says he'll take him!" repeated Peggy, in
surprise and alarm. "Who's he, I'd like to
know."
.bn 233.png
Her suspicions fell at once upon Lyman. No
one, so far as she knew, had any knowledge of
Jack's relations except Lyman. Evidently Lyman
had been talking to the boy on the sly.
"The villain!" said Peggy, indignantly; "I
know what he's up to. He wants to get the boy
away from me, and get all the reward himself.
He's going to leave Peggy out in the cowld, and
abduct the boy on the sly. I've found him out,
the artful schamer. So he thinks he can over-rache
ould Peggy, does he? He'll find it's a
cowld day when ould Peggy gets left."
Jack began to talk again.
"He says he'll take me off in the cars," he
continued. "I like to ride in the cars. My grandfather
will give me enough to eat, and I won't
have to sell matches for a livin'."
"The ongrateful young kid," commented
Peggy, looking angrily at the sleeping boy. "So
he wants to lave me who've took care of him
ever since he was a babby, and he don't mind it
no more'n if I was a puppy dog. I that have
been a mother to him!"
Peggy rocked back and forward, and actually
persuaded herself that little Jack was very ungrateful.
It is curious how we misrepresent
matters from our own point of view. It was
.bn 234.png
Jack who had supported Peggy, and she was far
more indebted to him than he was to her, but
somehow she could not see it. She did, however,
understand fully how unpleasant it would be to
lose Jack's services, unless she could receive, as
Lyman had led her to expect, an adequate compensation
from his grandfather.
Peggy deliberated as to what was best to be
done. In the first place, she wanted to find out
for a certainty whether Lyman had really entered
into a conspiracy against her and meant to
abduct Jack without her knowledge or consent.
It seemed on the whole, the best thing to get up
herself and follow Jack the next morning, and
make sure that Lyman did not have a secret conference
with him.
When Jack was ready to start out the next
morning, Peggy asked with apparent carelessness,
"Jack, dear, do you ever see the tall gentleman
that calls here sometimes?"
"Yes, Peggy; I saw him yesterday," answered
Jack, readily.
"And what did he say to you?" she asked
eagerly.
"He didn't speak to me at all."
"That's a lie!" Peggy said to herself. "He
told the bye not to tell." But she didn't think it
.bn 235.png
best to charge Jack with it, and so through him
put Lyman on his guard.
"Remember, lad, you've got no better friend
than ould Peggy. If you should lave her, she'd
die of grafe."
"Thank you, Peggy," said Jack, but he was
not much impressed by this declaration of affection
from one who often beat and systematically
starved him.
Five minutes after Jack had left the house,
Peggy threw on her old cloak, and, at a safe distance,
followed her youthful charge, meaning to
keep him under her eye, and watch lest he
should be carried off by Lyman Taylor. But
luckily for Jack, whose meeting with Mark would
otherwise have been detected, she changed her
plan, when she recognized a little in advance
Lyman himself on State Street.
"It'll be better to watch him," she decided,
and gave up following Jack.
Meanwhile Jack had not been at his usual
stand more than ten minutes, when Mark came
up.
"I am glad you are ahead of time, Jack," he
said. "Come along with me."
.bn 236.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch32
CHAPTER XXXII. | JACK IS PURSUED.
.sp 2
"Are you goin' to take me away to-day?"
asked Jack, who wished to be assured that the
dream was coming true.
"Yes, Jack, but I can't take you away as you
are. I know a place near by where you can take
a good bath. I will leave you then, and go
round by myself and buy you some clothes. I
can guess your size."
He led the way to a barber's shop which advertised
baths, procured a ticket, and leaving Jack
with strict injunctions to wash himself thoroughly,
sallied out in search of an outfit for his
young companion. That did not take long. He
returned with two good sized bundles, and requested
Jack to dress himself in them. When
Jack emerged from the bath-room he was quite
transformed. He was still thin, and his features
looked pinched, but his dress was, in all respects,
that of a boy belonging to a well-to-do family.
"Now I think I must have your hair cut, and
you will do."
.bn 237.png
In truth, Jack's long, elf-like locks made his
face appear even thinner than it really was.
"Don't you want to be shaved, too, young
man?" asked the barber, jocosely.
"Perhaps he wants to be shaved," said Jack,
pointing to Mark, with a smile.
Mark colored a little, realizing that he scarcely
needed that operation any more than Jack.
"Now look at yourself in the glass, Jack!"
said Mark.
Jack obeyed, and looked first bewildered, then
pleased. He thought at first that he was looking
at another boy.
"Is that me?" he inquired, almost incredulously.
"I think it is. Peggy wouldn't know you,"
answered Mark, with a smile.
"I don't want her to," answered the little
boy.
Mark had forgotten one thing—a pair of shoes.
As he scanned Jack critically, he noted the omission,
and said, "Jack, we must go to a shoe
store. It will never do for a young gentleman
like you to wear a pair of shoes out at the toes
and sides."
"They don't look very well," said Jack, with a
downward look.
.bn 238.png
"As you may be taken for my son," said Mark
gravely, "I want you to look well."
"You're only a boy!" said Jack, who was inclined
to a literal understanding of what was told
him.
"You wouldn't take me for twenty-five, then,
Jack?"
"No, you're not that, are you?"
"Well, not quite."
They had not far to go to a shoe store, but it
took some time to get fitted to a pair of shoes, on
account of Jack's having a high instep. This
delay came near wrecking their plans. Tim
Roach, who usually passed his time in roaming
about the streets, without any special occupation,
caught sight of Jack as he entered the shoe store
with Mark. He let his eye rest upon him carelessly
at first, but his indifferent glance was soon
succeeded by a look of the most intense amazement.
"My eye!" he exclaimed, "if that isn't little
Jack dressed out like a prince! What's happened,
I wonder, and who's that with him? I
jest wish he'd rig me out that way."
Tim did not make himself known, but peered
curiously in at the door of the store.
"I wonder whether Peggy knows about it?"
.bn 239.png
he soliloquized. "I don't believe she does.
Wouldn't she open her eyes to see the kid rigged
out that way. I'd like to tell her."
Circumstances seemed to favor the gratification
of this wish, for not many rods away he caught
sight of Peggy and Lyman Taylor talking together.
"I'll go and tell her," he said.
We will precede him and relate what had
taken place between the two schemers. Peggy
had started out with the confident belief that
Lyman had played her false, and meant to carry
away Jack without her knowledge or consent.
It did, indeed, look as if she were correct, for it
must be remembered that she knew nothing of
Mark's mission to Chicago, Lyman not having
thought it necessary to tell her. She wanted to
meet Lyman and "have it out with him," if she
found any confirmation in her suspicions.
Lyman chanced to turn, and seeing Peggy
with her eyes fixed on him, retraced his steps till
he reached her.
"Do you want to see me, Peggy?" he asked.
"Yes, I wanted to see you, Mr. Lyman Taylor,
and ask what you mane by tryin' to stale away
the bye from me?"
Lyman stared at her in surprise.
.bn 240.png
"I don't know what you mean," he answered,
with a shrug of his shoulders. "I thought it
was understood that we would restore the boy to
his grandfather if he would make it worth our
while."
"And you didn't mane to take away the bye
without my knowin' it?"
"Certainly not. Who told you so?"
"And you haven't told the bye about goin'
back to his grandfather?"
"I haven't spoken a word to the boy on the
subject."
"Then how did he know about it?"
"Does he know about it?"
Peggy then told her companion about what she
had overheard Jack say in his sleep the night before.
Lyman Taylor was surprised and alarmed,
and these feelings were so evident on his face that
Peggy acquitted him of any breach of faith.
"I don't understand it," he said, meditatively.
"I have never spoken a word about the matter
except in your room. Did you ask him about it?"
"I asked him when did he see you, and he said
yesterday."
"He might have seen me, but I had no conversation
with him."
"So he said."
.bn 241.png
"He told the truth. I don't think any harm
is done, Peggy. He must have overheard what
we were talking about when we supposed him
asleep."
"That's true. Maybe he did."
"That won't interfere with our plans that I
can see. I have written to my uncle and expect
to hear from him in a few days. I will let you
know what he says as soon as I get the letter."
Then it was that Tim Roach came up, looking
preternaturally knowing.
"How are you, Peg?" he said. "Are you
walkin' wid your beau?"
"Go away wid you! You're always botherin'."
"You'd orter see what I did jest now," said
Tim, wagging his head.
"What did you see, then?"
"I seed your Jack rigged out like a prince in
new clothes and a new hat. Didn't he look
fine?"
"You saw Jack dressed that way?" gasped
Peggy.
"Yes, I did."
"You're lyin' now."
"Wish I may die if I didn't."
"Where was he?"
.bn 242.png
"In Simpson's shoe store, pickin' out a nice new
pair of shoes."
"How could the boy get all these things without
money?" asked Lyman incredulous.
"There was a big boy wid him was buyin' the
things."
"A big boy!" repeated Lyman quickly; "how
old was he?"
"Maybe sixteen or seventeen."
An expression, full of dismay, overspread Lyman
Taylor's face.
"It is Mark Manning!" he exclaimed. "Quick,
boy, tell me where he is."
"In Simpson's shoe store."
"And who is Mark Manning?" asked Peggy
bewildered.
"The boy his grandfather sent out here to find
him. It's he that has been telling Jack about his
grandfather. Quick, Peggy! we must go and
stop him, or he'll take Jack away and leave us
out in the cold."
The ill-matched pair hurried to the place indicated
by Tim.
.bn 243.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch33
CHAPTER XXXIII. | MARK ELUDES HIS PURSUERS.
.sp 2
Little Jack had been fitted with a pair of shoes,
and Mark had settled for them, when the little
boy chancing to look towards the entrance of the
store, was almost paralyzed by the sight of Peggy
and Lyman looking in at the window. His eyes
were good, and he could read on Peggy's face a
malicious exultation, which boded ill for him when
he should again find himself in her clutches.
Mark, who had not seen them, noticed the fear
upon the face of his little charge.
"What's the matter, Jack?" he asked.
"It's them!" answered Jack, hoarsely.
"Who's them?"
"Peggy—and the gentleman."
"Where are they?"
"Looking in at the winder."
Mark had his wits about him, and did not turn
round. He wished Peggy and her confederate to
think themselves undiscovered, while he rapidly
considered what was best to be done.
.bn 244.png
Should he leave the store by the front door,
Jack would at once be pounced upon by Peggy,
and there would be a scene.
He might eventually recover Jack, but in the
meantime the boy would be ill-treated, stripped
of his good clothes, and perhaps carried out of the
city. Just as success seemed assured, he was
confronted by defeat.
What was to be done?
Mark was not a boy to give in, unless compelled
to do so. An idea came to him.
"Jack," he said in a low voice, "don't look towards
the window again. Don't let them know
you have seen them."
"You won't let Peggy get hold of me!" said
the boy in a trembling voice.
"Not if I can help it."
Turning to the salesman who had waited upon
him, Mark said:
"There are some people at the door that I want
to avoid meeting. Is there any back entrance to
the store?"
"Yes," answered the clerk.
"Will you be kind enough to guide us to it?"
"Certainly."
"Don't look behind you, Jack, but come with
me. Don't be alarmed!"
.bn 245.png
The salesman guided them to a door opening on
a narrow street. Boxes of goods were so piled up,
that this door could not be seen from the window
into which Peggy and Lyman were looking.
"Where are they going?" Peggy asked.
"To look at some goods in the back part of the
store," answered Lyman.
This reassured Peggy, who kept her position,
feeling sure that Jack could not escape her when
he came out.
"I'll sell his new clothes," she thought complacently.
"I'll be in luck after all."
Once out of the store, Mark looked about him.
He felt that it behooved him to get beyond the
reach of Jack's pursuers as soon as possible.
Circumstances favored him. Just at the head
of the street, he saw a lady descend from a hack.
"Hurry up, Jack," he said. "We'll get into
this cab."
The driver was about to drive away, after
settling with his fare, when Mark hailed him.
"Are you unengaged?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Can you drive me at once to the Union
Depot in Van Buren Street?"
"Yes, sir."
He dismounted from the box, opened the door
.bn 246.png
for his next passengers, and they got in. Then
resuming his place on the box, he drove rapidly
away.
It so chanced that he passed by the front of
the very store from which they had just emerged.
Little Jack stole a glance out of the window of
the cab.
"There's Peg!" he said.
Following his example, Mark also caught sight
of the two with their faces glued to the window,
still looking in, unconscious that their prey had
escaped them.
Mark smiled. He felt like a victor, and rather
enjoyed the thought of having outgeneraled the
fox.
"I hope they'll have a good time watching for
us, Jack," he said.
The little boy still felt nervous.
"Do you think they'll catch me?" he asked.
"No, Jack, I think they'll get left this time."
The cab made its way rapidly through the
crowded streets, and in a very short time drew
up at the Union Depot.
Mark paid the driver, and accompanied by
Jack, made his way to the ticket office.
"How soon will there be a train East?" he
asked.
.bn 247.png
"In ten minutes."
"That will suit us, Jack."
He bought tickets, and, the cars being ready,
they took their seats in a comfortable car of the
Lake Shore and Michigan Railroad.
"If they should come here!" suggested Jack,
nervously.
"They would have to run fast, if our train
leaves on time. There is no danger, Jack.
Even if they suspect that we have left the store,
they wouldn't know where we are gone."
Still, even Mark felt relieved and reassured
when the signal was given and the long train
began to steam out of the depot.
"Wouldn't you like to go back and bid Peggy
good-by?" he asked, jocosely.
"I hope I shall never see Peggy again," answered
the little boy, shuddering.
"If you ever do, there won't be any danger of
her doing you any harm. Your grandfather will
take care of that."
In his hurry to leave the city, Mark had been
compelled to leave his bill at the hotel unpaid,
but his valise was left behind as security. At
the first opportunity he telegraphed to the land-lord,
promising to remit the necessary money,
.bn 248.png
and asking him to hold the valise till instructed
where to send it by express.
We will now go back to Peggy and Lyman,
who were impatiently maintaining their watch
at the window of the shoe store.
When fifteen minutes had passed, and Jack and
Mark did not appear, they became alarmed.
"Where are they?" muttered Peggy. "It's
long enough they are stayin'."
"You are right, Peggy."
Just then a policeman tapped him on the
shoulder. He had been watching them for some
time and their conduct seemed to him suspicious.
"What are you doing here, my man?" he
asked, suspiciously. "You had better move
on."
"We are waiting for some one to come out,"
answered Lyman.
"How long do you mean to wait? Is this
woman with you?"
"Yes," answered Lyman, reluctantly, for he
was not proud of his companion, whose appearance
was hardly calculated to do him credit.
"Shure, my little bye has been shtole," she put
in, "and he's in the store now wid the man that
shtole him."
.bn 249.png
"Then you'd better go in and claim him
instead of standing here and blocking up the
sidewalk."
"I think I will follow your advice," said Lyman.
"Will you be kind enough to stay here a
minute, in case I need your help?"
"Very well; only be quick."
Lyman entered the store, and failing to see
Jack and Mark, addressed one of the salesmen.
"Two boys were in here a short time since,"
he said; "one large one and one small one. Can
you tell me where they are?"
It happened that the salesman addressed was
the same one who had guided the boys to the
back entrance. At least fifteen minutes had
elapsed, and there would be no danger in telling
the truth.
"They went away some time since," he answered.
"They did not go out the front door, for I've
been there all the time."
"There's another door," quietly retorted the
clerk.
"Where?" asked Lyman, in dismay.
"In the rear of the store."
"Sold, by thunder!" exclaimed Lyman, under
his breath. "How long have they been gone?"
.bn 250.png
"Fifteen minutes. Were they friends of
yours?"
"The small boy was my son," answered Lyman,
unblushingly.
"And was the woman I saw with you at the
window his mother?" asked the salesman, with
a smile.
"Certainly not," answered Lyman, coloring
with indignation. "The older boy has abducted
him."
"Why didn't you come in sooner, then?"
"I wish I had."
Great was Peggy's dismay when Lyman told
her what he had learned. She had fully decided
to beat Jack soundly, and now she was baffled
of her revenge. The two confederates spent the
rest of the day in wandering about the streets of
Chicago in search of Jack and his friend, but
their search was in vain.
.bn 251.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch34
CHAPTER XXXIV. | MRS. MANNING'S HOUSE IS SOLD.
.sp 2
It is now time to return to Pocasset and inquire
how our old acquaintances are prospering.
It was still a matter of wonder what had become
of Mark. Mrs. Manning gave no information,
and no letters were received at the post-office
which would throw light on the mystery.
Mark, by arrangement, directed all his letters to
Mr. Hardy, who inclosed and forwarded them
to the Pocasset office. Tom Wyman, the postmaster's
son, was puzzled to account for the
letters received from New York by Mrs. Manning.
"They must be from Mark," said James Collins.
"They don't seem to be in Mark's hand-writing."
"He probably gets some one to direct them for
him, so as to throw dust in our eyes."
This was the conclusion upon which the two
boys finally settled.
Another cause of wonder was the hermit's
visits to the city. Since he had heard that his
.bn 252.png
grandson was living, he went up often to consult
with Mr. Hardy. Family affection in him had
not died out. It had only been dormant, and
now it was thoroughly reawakened.
"I long to see my daughter's boy," he said.
"It will give me something to live for. I tremble
lest the cup of happiness should be dashed
from my lips, just as my hopes are awakened."
"Don't be anxious, old friend. Your affairs
are in good hands. Mark is only a boy, but he
has far more discretion and fidelity than most
men. Do you know what I have in view?"
"Well?"
"If he succeeds in this enterprise I propose,
with his mother's permission, to take him into
my office, and train him up in my business. I
have hitherto employed boys simply as boys, but
Mark is one whom I can train up for a responsible
position. I am getting older every year, and
when I am really old, I shall be glad to have a
young man at my side upon whom I can shift
the burden of my business. Do you think his
mother would object?"
"Mrs. Manning is a sensible woman. I think
she will be glad to have her son so well provided
for. If it is necessary I will myself advise her to
commit him to your charge."
.bn 253.png
At length a telegram came from Mark, and by
good luck when Mr. Taylor was in the office of
his agent. It ran thus:
.fs 85%
.in 4
"John Hardy, New York.
"I am on my way to New York with little
Jack. Particulars when we meet.
.in 0
.rj
"Mark Manning."
.fs 100%
"There, old friend, what do you say to that?"
asked John Hardy, triumphantly. "Didn't I
tell you the boy would succeed? Was my confidence
misplaced?"
"He had my confidence from the first," said
Anthony, his face luminous with happiness,
"but I knew he had an adroit enemy in my
nephew Lyman. I didn't dare to expect that a
country boy would be equal to the emergency."
"Now, you can go home with a light heart. In
a day or two, your grandson will be with you.
What are your plans respecting him? Shall you
take him to Pocasset?"
"I don't think I can do better. He will need a
woman's care, and I know of no one who will
prove kinder than Mrs. Manning."
"She has this in her favor at any rate. She
has brought up her own boy well. But will the
house be large or comfortable enough?"
.bn 254.png
"I am not very particular for myself. You
will judge that when you remember the cabin in
the woods, where I spent several years. The
house is small, however, but there is another
vacant, much larger and handsomer, which I can
buy or rent, already furnished. The owner and
occupant died recently, and his heirs, living in a
distant state, want to sell it. It has a handsome
lawn and a garden attached. It stands near the
house of Mr. Collins."
"Well, you are able to gratify your own taste
in the matter. I will send Mark down as soon as
he arrives."
When Anthony reached home, he found Mrs.
Manning anxious and perturbed. The cause will
require some explanation.
The small cottage in which Mark and his
mother lived did not belong to them. They
rented it from Deacon Brooks, an old farmer living
just out of the village, at five-dollars monthly
rental. For a special reason Squire Collins desired
to possess it. He owned the lot adjoining,
and it occurred to him that the two combined
would make a desirable property. The house,
which was a cottage, could be raised one story,
and made much more commodious. In that case,
it would easily command more than twice the
.bn 255.png
rent. The foreman of the shoe-shop stood prepared
to rent it of him, as soon as the alteration
was made.
He therefore approached Deacon Brooks, with a
proposition to purchase it.
"I don't know," said the deacon. "I never
thought of sellin', but I can't say I'm opposed to
it. I'm getting good rent from the widder Manning."
"There's no knowing, deacon, how long she'll
be able to pay her rent," said the squire, nodding
with a meaning look.
"Sho! you don't say! She ain't lost any
money, has she?"
"She had none to lose. Her boy Mark has
about supported her with his small earnings in
the shop. But he isn't employed there any
longer."
"I heard something of that. Did you discharge
him?"
"Yes; he got too uppish—wasn't willing to
obey orders. I was sorry to discharge him on his
mother's account, but it was his own fault."
"Seems to me I haven't seen him round the
village lately?"
"No; he has gone to the city on some wild-goose
expedition. My boy James thinks he is
.bn 256.png
blacking boots or selling papers. As to that I
can't say, but it isn't likely he is able to help his
mother much."
"I hear Mrs. Manning has a boarder?"
"Yes; it's the old hermit that lived in the
woods. I believe he has a small pension from
some relations, but it doesn't amount to much.
Probably he doesn't pay more than two or three
dollars a week board. That won't go far, eh,
deacon?"
"You're right there, squire. It costs a sight to
live. How much do you think my grocery bill
came to last month?"
"I don't know," answered the squire, with a
curious smile. The deacon had the reputation of
being very close-fisted, and it was rather amusing
to hear him speak of the cost of living.
"Fifteen dollars and sixty-seven cents," said
the deacon, with the air of one who hardly expected
to be believed.
"I believe you have six in family," said Squire
Collins, with a smile.
"Yes, six, including the hired man."
"I pity your family," thought the squire, who,
at all events, kept a liberal table.
"Yes, it costs a great deal to live," he added,
"and, of course, the Widow Manning, though her
.bn 257.png
family is small, can't live on nothing. When
she finds she can't pay all her bills, she will probably
begin by being remiss in her rent."
"That's so, squire! She's allus paid so far
right up to the handle, though."
"When she had Mark's help; but as I told you
he is not now in a condition to help his mother.
Well, what do you say? Shall I have the
house?"
Then commenced the bargaining. Both parties
were sharp, but at length a conclusion was
reached. Squire Collins agreed to pay eight
hundred and fifty dollars for the cottage, five
hundred to remain on bond and mortgage, at six
per cent. In a day or two the necessary papers
were made out, and then Squire Collins took a
walk over to the cottage, to inform Mrs. Manning
that the house had passed into his possession, and
it would be necessary for her to find another
home.
It might have been supposed he would feel
some compunction, but he did not have much feeling
or sympathy for the widow. The ill-feeling
between Mark and his son had its effect upon
him also.
.bn 258.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch35
CHAPTER XXXV. | NOTICE TO QUIT.
.sp 2
There are some men who enjoy the prospect
of dealing a blow, and watching the effect—men
whose best feelings have been deadened, and who
have lost all sympathy for those less fortunate
than themselves. That Squire Collins was a
man of this kind will not seem strange to those
who have followed the course of this story. He
set out for Mrs. Manning's cottage with a comfortable
complacency, though he knew that the communication
he had to make would bring her great
trouble and sorrow.
Quite unconscious of the impending blow, Mrs.
Manning was sitting at the front window engaged
in sewing, while her thoughts were with
her absent boy, whom she seemed to miss more
and more as his absence lengthened. Casually
looking up from her work, she saw with considerable
surprise the dignified figure of Squire Collins
turning in at her gate.
"What can bring the squire here," she thought.
.bn 259.png
She was not in the habit of receiving or expecting
calls from her aristocratic townsman, and
concluded that he must have some special object
in calling.
Perhaps he had come to offer to take Mark
back into the shop. If so, it might be the best
thing for her son. She knew very little of old
Anthony's circumstances, and she did not anticipate
any permanent position for Mark from
that quarter.
"Good morning, Squire Collins," she said, politely.
"Good morning, Mrs. Manning," he responded,
somewhat stiffly.
"Won't you come in?"
"Thank you; I will step in for a few minutes,
I have a little business to speak of."
"It must be that he means to take Mark back
into the shop," thought the widow, cheerfully.
She led the way into the plain sitting-room,
and invited the village magnate to take a seat.
"Ahem! your son Mark is away?" remarked
the squire, inquiringly. This confirmed Mrs.
Manning in her conjecture as to the squire's
errand.
"Yes," she answered; "but I think he will be
at home before long. I miss him a great deal."
.bn 260.png
"I suppose he can't make a living in New
York," thought the squire. Rather fortunately
he didn't inquire where Mark was, since this
would have embarrassed Mrs. Manning, who
knew that it was a secret not to be mentioned,
and yet would have been reluctant to offend the
squire by withholding the information.
"Probably he will be as well off at home," said
the squire. "I don't believe much in boys leaving
home on wild-goose expeditions. They think
it perfectly easy to earn a living elsewhere, but
they are pretty apt to reap only disappointment."
"I dare say you are right, squire," said Mrs.
Manning, leading up to the subject of a return to
the shop; "but there didn't seem to be anything
for Mark to do at home."
Squire Collins understood her object, but had
no intention of offering employment to Mark.
He looked at the widow with a peculiar smile,
and enjoyed the disappointment which his next
words were calculated to bring.
"I dare say Mark can hire out to some good
farmer," he replied, indifferently. "Farming is
a good healthy business."
Mrs. Manning sighed, for she rightly interpreted
that no place in the shop was to be offered
to Mark.
.bn 261.png
"Ahem!" said the squire, changing the subject;
"you have a boarder, I understand?"
"Yes; Mr. Taylor makes his home with us."
"A sensible move on his part. It was a
strange thing to live in the woods by himself so
many years. I hope he will be able to pay his
board."
"He pays regularly every week," answered
the widow.
"I presume he's quite poor?"
"Mark thinks he has considerable money, but
I have no means of judging, except that he pays
his bills promptly."
Squire Collins shrugged his shoulders.
"Mark is an inexperienced boy," he said. "The
truth is, as I understand, old Anthony receives
a small pension from some relatives in New York.
It can't be much, but I hope, for your sake,
that he has enough to pay his board."
Mrs. Manning began to wonder whether this
was what Squire Collins came to talk about. She
was soon more fully informed.
"How long have you lived in this cottage,
Mrs. Manning?" asked the squire.
"Ten years, sir."
"You hire of Deacon Brooks?"
"Yes, sir."
.bn 262.png
"Ahem! I came here this morning to acquaint
you with the fact that I have just bought the
property."
"Has Deacon Brooks sold to you?" asked the
widow, in surprise.
"Yes; the papers have passed, and the transfer
has been made. I am now the legal owner."
"I shall be glad to keep the house, Squire
Collins, if you have no other views," said Mrs.
Manning. "I have been paying five dollars a
month rent, and if that is satisfactory——"
"The fact is, Mrs. Manning," interrupted the
squire, "I have other views. I intend to raise
the house a story, and have promised to rent
it, when completed, to my foreman, Mr. Lake,
who contemplates marriage. He is boarding at
present, as you know."
Mrs. Manning was very much disturbed. It is
no light thing to be forced to leave a house which
has been one's home for a period of ten years,
especially in a country town where surplus houses
are generally scarce and hard to find.
"I don't know where I can go," said the
widow, anxiously.
"No doubt you'll find some place," said the
squire, carelessly.
"How soon do you want me to vacate the
.bn 263.png
house, Squire Collins?" asked Mrs. Manning,
anxiously.
"At the end of the month."
"But that is only a week from to-day."
"Quite true."
"That is a very short time."
"It ought to be time enough, Mrs. Manning,"
said the squire, stiffly.
"I would be willing to pay a little higher rent
if you would allow me to remain, Squire Collins."
"Quite out of the question, Mrs. Manning.
Indeed, I will say that I think you already pay
all you can afford to. I doubt whether you will
be able—with Mark out of employment—to keep
up your present rent. As I understand, about
all your income comes from a boarder, whose
means must be extremely limited, and who, in
all probability, will end his days in the alms-house."
"I don't know of any other house in the
village."
"Well, you can think it over; of course that is
your own affair, not mine."
"If Mark were only at home," said the perplexed
woman; "I would know better what to
do."
.bn 264.png
"You had better send for him then. Good
morning."
Squire Collins rose and left the presence of the
widow whom he had made thoroughly anxious
and unhappy.
In the course of the afternoon old Anthony
came home. He was looking unusually jubilant
and happy, in direct contrast with the widow's
anxious face.
"Mrs. Manning," he said, "I bring you good
news."
"I am glad of it, sir, for I have only bad news."
"And what is your bad news?"
"I must leave this house."
"How is that?" asked the hermit, looking
surprised.
"Because it has been sold. Squire Collins has
bought it, and says that he is intending to enlarge
it, and then let it to Mr. Lake, his foreman."
"And that is all your bad news?"
"Yes, sir; but I consider it bad enough. I
don't know where I can go."
"I will let you have my cabin in the woods
rent free," said the hermit, with a smile.
"I don't know but I shall have to go there,"
said the widow, sighing.
.bn 265.png
"You don't ask me what my good news is,"
said Anthony.
"I would like to hear it, sir."
"By day after to-morrow Mark will be home."
Mrs. Manning's face did brighten up at this
intelligence.
"This is really good news," she said gladly.
"Mark will advise me what to do."
"Mark will not come alone. Do you think,
Mrs. Manning, you can accommodate another
boarder?"
"Who is it, sir?"
"A little boy. I don't care to keep it secret.
It is my grandson."
"Your grandson?"
"Yes; I sent Mark out West to find him. He
has succeeded in his mission, and the two are now
on the way home."
"I shall be glad to take him, sir, if I have anywhere
to receive him. Squire Collins's visit has
rather upset me, and I don't know what to do, or
where to turn."
"If your only trouble is about a house, I will
undertake to find one for you. Don't borrow any
trouble on that score."
"But I don't know of any house that will come
within my means."
.bn 266.png
"I am afraid, Mrs. Manning, that you haven't
confidence in me. I tell you again, not to borrow
any trouble. I may as well tell you that this
house will not be large enough for your increased
family, and that I intended to propose to you to
take another."
The widow's anxiety was somewhat relieved.
Still she could not help wondering what house
old Anthony would succeed in finding. There
was one comfort. In two days Mark would be at
home, and would be able to help him.
.bn 267.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch36
CHAPTER XXXVI. | THE HERMIT SECURES A HOUSE.
.sp 2
A short distance from the house occupied by
Squire Collins was one which had been for six
months vacant. It had been erected as a summer
residence by a New York gentleman, and
occupied by him for several seasons. It was the
finest house in the village, and it seemed a pity it
should remain untenanted.
Mr. Beech, the builder, now spent his summers
at various watering-places, and had apparently
tired of Pocasset. It was understood that the
house was left in the hands of Mr. Thompson,
who was authorized to let it to a responsible
tenant.
Old Anthony the next morning made it in his
way to call at the office of Mr. Thompson. The
latter received him with his usual courtesy.
"I hear that you are boarding with Mrs. Manning,
Mr. Taylor," he said.
"Yes."
"I think you must find it much more agreeable
than your life in the woods."
.bn 268.png
"I do; I am getting over my misanthropy,
and am taking more cheerful views of life."
"That is good. My son Frank is an intimate
friend of Mark, and thinks a great deal of him
and his mother."
"So do I," responded the hermit. "Mark is a
straightforward boy, and will succeed life."
"I hope so. I wish I had anything for him to
do—Frank would be glad. Perhaps in time I may
find him a place."
"I think I shall be able to provide employment
for Mark myself," said the hermit, quietly.
Mr. Thompson regarded him with surprise.
Like the rest of the villagers, he had been in the
habit of regarding old Anthony as a man of
limited means.
"By-the-way, Mr. Thompson, I called this
morning on a little matter of business," continued
the hermit. "I believe you have the rental of
the Beach house."
"Yes," answered Mr. Thompson, somewhat
surprised.
"I am acquainted with a family who are on the
lookout for a house in Groveton. This, I think,
would suit them, if the rent is not too high."
"It is, you know, a fine house. Would your
friends like to have it furnished?"
.bn 269.png
"I think so."
"In that case, the rent will be four hundred
dollars a year, or a hundred dollars a quarter.
In the city, or at Long Branch, as you probably
are aware, four times as much would be required."
"I think that will be satisfactory. Can immediate
possession be given?"
"Yes; I will at once set the cleaners to work,
and have it got ready by the end of the week.
One question I am obliged to ask. Is the party
for whom you are acting, responsible, in a pecuniary
way?"
"The first quarter's rent will be paid in advance."
"Pretty satisfactory. May I ask the name of
the tenant?"
"There are reasons for keeping it secret for a
few days."
"Oh, well, that is not material."
Old Anthony never said a word about what he
had done, for, as my readers will conjecture, he
meant to have Mark and his mother occupy the
house. It did, however, get noised about, that
Mr. Beach's house was taken. Squire Collins
among others, was curious to ascertain something
about the new tenants, and made a call on Mr.
.bn 270.png
Thompson, with the special object of finding
out.
"I am no wiser than you, Squire Collins," said
Mr. Thompson. "Of course we shall all know in
a few days."
"By whom was the matter negotiated?"
"There again I am bound to secrecy, but all
will be known."
"Of course the party must have ample means,
and I look forward to having a pleasant neighbor—there
are very few in the village with whom
we can associate, on an equality, and so any good
family is an acquisition."
"You are more fastidious than I, Squire Collins,"
said Mr. Thompson smiling. "I don't value
men according to the size of their pocket-books."
"You must admit, however, that refinement
and wealth are likely to go together. You are
not too democratic for that?"
"I am not sure. I have known many rich
people who were very far from being refined.
By-the-way, I hear that you have bought the
house occupied by Mrs. Manning."
"Yes."
"Shall you allow her to remain there?"
"No; I mean to enlarge it, and let my foreman
occupy it."
.bn 271.png
"That will be a disappointment to Mrs. Manning."
"Oh, I suppose so," said the squire, carelessly;
"but that is her lookout, not mine."
"I really don't know of any house in the village
she can obtain."
Squire Collins shrugged his shoulders.
"I really haven't troubled my mind about the
matter," he said.
"If I had time, I don't know but I would build
them a small cottage on the vacant lot I have on
Glen Street."
"Take my advice, and don't; the widow is in
very precarious circumstances. Her son, Mark,
is out of employment."
"Can't you find him something to do, in your
shop?"
"I could, but do not feel disposed to. He is a
very independent boy, and more than once, he
treated my son, James, in a disrespectful way.
No; he must shift for himself some other way."
"Of the two boys, I certainly very much prefer
Mark," thought Mr. Thompson; but politeness
prevented his saying so.
Squire Collins soon took his leave, having
failed to acquire the information he sought.
.bn 272.png
.bn 273.png
.bn 274.png
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch37
CHAPTER XXXVII. | CONCLUSION.
.sp 2
Meanwhile, Mrs. Manning could not help
feeling anxious, about her prospects of a house.
"Have you heard of any house, Mr. Taylor?"
she asked.
The hermit smiled.
"Don't be troubled, Mrs. Manning," he said;
"when you leave this house you will find another
one to move into."
Mrs. Manning was silenced, but still disquieted.
She was even tempted to wonder whether old
Anthony was really quite right in his mind. But
there was nothing to be done. She could only
wait, patiently.
The next day Mark arrived with little Jack.
He was looking unusually well, his journey having
given him a healthy color, and added to his
flesh. Jack was still thin and pale, but was
beginning to look better than when under Peggy's
care.
.if h
.il fn=p260.jpg w=500px
.ca
The hermit was much moved, as he took the boy in his arms and kissed him.
.ca-
.if-
.if t
[Illustration: The hermit was much moved, as he took the boy in his arms
and kissed him.]
.if-
The hermit was much moved, as he took the
boy in his arms and kissed him.
.bn 275.png
"I can see my daughter's looks in you, Jack,"
he said. "I fear your life has been a sad one,
poor child. It shall be my task to repay you for
the hardships you have had to meet in your short
life."
Little Jack seemed to take instinctively to the
rough-looking but, kind-hearted old man. The
poor match boy seemed to have drifted into a
haven of rest.
"Shall I ever have to go back to Peggy?" he
asked.
"Never, my child. This good lady," indicating
Mrs. Manning, "will supply the place of your
own mother."
"I will sell matches for you, if you want me to,
grandfather. I didn't like working for Peggy,
but I will work for you."
"My dear Jack, instead of working you must
go to school, and learn all you can. When you
are grown up, it will be time for you to work."
It soon became noised about that the little boy,
who was seen about the village with Mark, was
the hermit's grandson. But the grandson of
old Anthony was not considered a very important
person, and only excited passing interest.
Mark was let into the secret of the new home
to which Mr. Taylor proposed to move, and he
.bn 276.png
was naturally pleased to think that his mother's
condition was to be so much improved.
Nothing had leaked out in the village, however,
about the contemplated removal.
The week was nearly ended when Mark happened
to meet James Collins in the street.
James had been informed by his father that Mrs.
Manning had received notice to leave the cottage,
and it gratified his dislike of Mark. What puzzled
him was, Mark's apparent indifference and
evident good spirits.
"Perhaps he thinks my father will relent, and
let him stay, but he'll find himself mistaken as I
shall let him know when I get a chance."
The chance came that very day.
"Hallo!" said James, as Mark was about to
pass him.
"Hallo!" responded Mark smiling.
"I hear you've got to move."
"So I hear."
"It's high time you were finding a new house."
"I think so myself, but that's my mother's
business."
"You needn't think my father will let you
stay where you are."
"Don't you think he would let us stay a month
longer?"
.bn 277.png
"No, I don't."
"He wouldn't put us out in the street, would
he?"
"Look here, Mark Manning, I see what you
are at. You want to impose on my father's good
nature. I shall warn him of your plan."
"Just as you please, James."
The result was that Squire Collins, sharing to
some extent his son's apprehensions, made a call
that same evening at the cottage. All the family
were at home.
After the usual greetings were over, the squire
said:
"I suppose, Mrs. Manning, you will be ready
to move on Saturday?"
"Suppose my mother can't get a house," suggested
Mark.
"She must find a house," said the squire, severely.
"She has had time enough to find one.
You mustn't blame me if I say that move you
must on Saturday."
"You need have no anxiety, Squire Collins,"
said Mrs. Manning, with dignity. "I intend to
move on that day."
"And where, may I ask?" inquired the squire,
with curiosity.
"We move into the Beach house," answered
.bn 278.png
Mark, his eyes fixed with smiling interest on the
village magnate.
"What!" exclaimed the squire in amazement
and incredulity. "Do you mean the house near
mine?"
"Yes."
"You must be crazy," he gasped. "That is a
very elegant house, and the rent is high."
"I think we can pay it."
"And your furniture is unfit for so handsome
a residence, even if there were enough of it."
"We hire the house with its present furniture,"
said Mark complacently.
"I don't understand it at all!" exclaimed the
perplexed squire. "How can you, being almost
a beggar, dream of living there?"
"I think, Squire Collins," said old Anthony,
quietly, "that you are somewhat in error as to
my young friend Mark's circumstances."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that he has a very good property
for a boy of his age."
Mark was as much amazed as the squire at
this statement. The latter said with a sneer:
"And where is this famous property?"
"I will inform you with pleasure. There are a
thousand dollars to his credit in a savings' bank
.bn 279.png
in New York, and he holds a mortgage of four
thousand dollars on your manufactory."
Even Mark thought Anthony was out of his
mind.
"Why," stammered the squire, "I negotiated
that mortgage through Mr. Hardy, of New York."
"Exactly! The money he advanced he held in
trust for Mark."
"I can't believe this!" exclaimed the squire in
mortification and bewilderment.
"Is this really true, Mr. Taylor?" asked Mark.
"Yes. Let me inform you, Squire Collins,
that though I have lived as a hermit, I am really
a moderately rich man, and some time since
transferred without his knowledge five thousand
dollars to Mark here, who, as you see, is really
chief owner of the shop from which you discharged
him."
"I didn't dream of this!" ejaculated the
squire.
"I presume not," said the hermit dryly.
"If Mark chooses to come back into the shop, I
will raise his wages."
"My friend Hardy intends to offer Mark a
position in his office in the city, which I think
will suit him better. It only remains to say
that this cottage will be vacated on Saturday."
.bn 280.png
"I don't want to inconvenience Mrs. Manning,"
said the squire, filled with respect by the
unexpected prosperity of those whom he had
come to bully. "Stay another week if you wish."
"We don't wish, thank you," said Mark.
It was a wonderful story that Squire Collins
had to tell at home, and the deep chagrin of
James can be imagined. But he was worldly
wise, and he soon decided to court the boy he had
hitherto despised. What annoyed him most was
the thought Mark held a mortgage on his
father's shop, and was to live in a house handsomer
than his own.
.hr 15%
Five years have elapsed since the incidents
recorded above. Mark fills a responsible position
in the office of Mr. Hardy, with a handsome salary.
Little Jack is now a rosy, healthy child of
thirteen, and those who remembered him as a
match boy would not know him now. His grandfather's
happiness is bound up in his little grandson,
but he is still very much attached to Mark,
and he has made a new will, in which he divides
his fortune equally between these two.
Lyman Taylor is again within the walls of a
penitentiary, having forged a check upon a well-known
merchant of Chicago; and old Peggy,
.bn 281.png
taking Jack's place, is to be seen any day on
Clark or State streets, with a basket of matches,
which she makes an excuse for appealing to the
charity of passers by. Her face is growing redder
and redder, as her potations increase, and she
will probably end her career in a hospital or
alms-house.
James Collins is now a clerk in Newport, on a
small salary, with which he is very much discontented,
and from time to time asks a loan of
his old schoolfellow, Mark, to whom he is now
compelled to look up. He has developed extravagant
tastes, and is always in debt. I greatly
fear that neither his habits nor his fortunes
will improve as he grows older. For our hero,
Mark, and those who belong to him, we may anticipate
brighter days and greater prosperity, as
a fitting recompense of industry and good habits.
.sp 4
.ce
THE END.
.bn 282.png
.pb
A. L. Burt's Catalogue of Books for
Young People by Popular Writers, 52-58
Duane Street, New York
.hr 20%
BOOKS FOR BOYS.
.sp 2
.ni
Joe's Luck: A Boy's Adventures in California. By
Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
The story is chock full of stirring incidents, while the amusing situations
are furnished by Joshua Bickford, from Pumpkin Hollow, and the
fellow who modestly styles himself the "Rip-tail Roarer, from Pike Co.,
Missouri." Mr. Alger never writes a poor book, and "Joe's Luck" is certainly
one of his best.
Tom the Bootblack; or, The Road to Success. By
Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
A bright, enterprising lad was Tom the Bootblack. He was not at all
ashamed of his humble calling, though always on the lookout to better
himself. The lad started for Cincinnati to look up his heritage. Mr.
Grey, the uncle, did not hesitate to employ a ruffian to kill the lad. The
plan failed, and Gilbert Grey, once Tom the bootblack, came into a comfortable
fortune. This is one of Mr. Alger's best stories.
Dan the Newsboy. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Dan Mordaunt and his mother live in a poor tenement, and the lad is
pluckily trying to make ends meet by selling papers in the streets of New
York. A little heiress of six years is confided to the care of the Mordaunts.
The child is kidnapped and Dan tracks the child to the house
where she is hidden, and rescues her. The wealthy aunt of the little
heiress is so delighted with Dan's courage and many good qualities
that she adopts him as her heir.
Tony the Hero: A Brave Boy's Adventure with a
Tramp. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price
$1.00.
Tony, a sturdy bright-eyed boy of fourteen, is under the control of
Rudolph Rugg, a thorough rascal. After much abuse Tony runs away
and gets a job as stable boy in a country hotel. Tony is heir to a
large estate. Rudolph for a consideration hunts up Tony and throws
him down a deep well. Of course Tony escapes from the fate provided
for him, and by a brave act, a rich friend secures his rights and Tony
is prosperous. A very entertaining book.
The Errand Boy; or, How Phil Brent Won Success.
By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth illustrated, price $1.00.
The career of "The Errand Boy" embraces the city adventures of a
smart country lad. Philip was brought up by a kind-hearted innkeeper
named Brent. The death of Mrs. Brent paved the way for the hero's
subsequent troubles. A retired merchant in New York secures him the
situation of errand boy, and thereafter stands as his friend.
Tom Temple's Career. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Tom Temple is a bright, self-reliant lad. He leaves Plympton village
to seek work in New York, whence he undertakes an important mission
to California. Some of his adventures in the far west are so startling that
the reader will scarcely close the book until the last page shall have been
reached. The tale is written in Mr. Alger's most fascinating style.
Frank Fowler, the Cash Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Frank Fowler, a poor boy, bravely determines to make a living for
himself and his foster-sister Grace. Going to New York he obtains a
situation as a cash boy in a dry goods store. He renders a service to a
wealthy old gentleman who takes a fancy to the lad, and thereafter
helps the lad to gain success and fortune.
Tom Thatcher's Fortune. By Horatio Alger, Jr.
12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Tom Thatcher is a brave, ambitious, unselfish boy. He supports his
mother and sister on meagre wages earned as a shoe-pegger in John
Simpson's factory. Tom is discharged from the factory and starts overland
for California. He meets with many adventures. The story is told
in a way which has made Mr. Alger's name a household word in so many
homes.
The Train Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo,
cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Paul Palmer was a wide-awake boy of sixteen who supported his mother
and sister by selling books and papers on the Chicago and Milwaukee
Railroad. He detects a young man in the act of picking the pocket of a
young lady. In a railway accident many passengers are killed, but Paul
is fortunate enough to assist a Chicago merchant, who out of gratitude
takes him into his employ. Paul succeeds with tact and judgment and
is well started on the road to business prominence.
Mark Mason's Victory. The Trials and Triumphs of
a Telegraph Boy. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price
$1.00.
Mark Mason, the telegraph boy, was a sturdy, honest lad, who pluckily
won his way to success by his honest manly efforts under many difficulties.
This story will please the very large class of boys who regard
Mr. Alger as a favorite author.
A Debt of Honor. The Story of Gerald Lane's Success
in the Far West. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price
$1.00.
The story of Gerald Lane and the account of the many trials and disappointments
which he passed through before he attained success, will
interest all boys who have read the previous stories of this delightful
author.
Ben Bruce. Scenes in the Life of a Bowery Newsboy.
By Horatio Alger, Jr. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Ben Bruce was a brave, manly, generous boy. The story of his efforts,
and many seeming failures and disappointments, and his final success, are
most interesting to all readers. The tale is written in Mr. Alger's
most fascinating style.
The Castaways; or, On the Florida Reefs. By James
Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
This tale smacks of the salt sea. From the moment that the Sea
Queen leaves lower New York bay till the breeze leaves her becalmed off
the coast of Florida, one can almost hear the whistle of the wind
through her rigging, the creak of her straining cordage as she heels to
the leeward. The adventures of Ben Clark, the hero of the story and
Jake the cook, cannot fail to charm the reader. As a writer for young
people Mr. Otis is a prime favorite.
.bn 284.png
Wrecked on Spider Island; or, How Ned Rogers Found
the Treasure. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Ned Rogers, a "down-east" plucky lad ships as cabin boy to earn
a livelihood. Ned is marooned on Spider Island, and while there discovers
a wreck submerged in the sand, and finds a considerable amount
of treasure. The capture of the treasure and the incidents of the
voyage serve to make as entertaining a story of sea-life as the most
captious boy could desire.
The Search for the Silver City: A Tale of Adventure in
Yucatan. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Two lads, Teddy Wright and Neal Emery, embark on the steam
yacht Day Dream for a cruise to the tropics. The yacht is destroyed
by fire, and then the boat is cast upon the coast of Yucatan. They
hear of the wonderful Sliver City, of the Chan Santa Cruz Indians,
and with the help of a faithful Indian ally carry off a number of the
golden images from the temples. Pursued with relentless vigor at last
their escape is effected in an astonishing manner. The story is so
full of exciting incidents that the reader is quite carried away with
the novelty and realism of the narrative.
A Runaway Brig; or, An Accidental Cruise. By
James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
This is a sea tale, and the reader can look out upon the wide shimmering
sea as it flashes back the sunlight, and imagine himself afloat with
Harry Vandyne, Walter Morse, Jim Libby and that old shell-back, Bob
Brace, on the brig Bonita. The boys discover a mysterious document
which enables them to find a buried treasure. They are stranded on
an island and at last are rescued with the treasure. The boys are sure
to be fascinated with this entertaining story.
The Treasure Finders: A Boy's Adventures in
Nicaragua. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Roy and Dean Coloney, with their guide Tongla, leave their father's
indigo plantation to visit the wonderful ruins of an ancient city. The
boys eagerly explore the temples of an extinct race and discover three
golden images cunningly hidden away. They escape with the greatest
difficulty. Eventually they reach safety with their golden prizes. We
doubt if there ever was written a more entertaining story than "The
Treasure Finders."
Jack, the Hunchback. A Story of the Coast of Maine.
By James Otis. Price $1.00.
This is the story of a little hunchback who lived on Cape Elisabeth,
on the coast of Maine. His trials and successes are most interesting.
From first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative. It bears us
along as on a stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses
its force.
With Washington at Monmouth: A Story of Three
Philadelphia Boys. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine
edges, illustrated, price $1.50.
Three Philadelphia lads assist the American spies and make regular
and frequent visits to Valley Forge in the Winter while the British
occupied the city. The story abounds with pictures of Colonial life
skillfully drawn, and the glimpses of Washington's soldiers which are
given shown that the work has not been hastily done, or without considerable
study. The story is wholesome and patriotic in tone, as are
all of Mr. Otis' works.
.bn 285.png
With Lafayette at Yorktown: A Story of How Two
Boys Joined the Continental Army. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental
cloth, olivine edges, illustrated, price $1.50.
Two lads from Portmouth, N. H. attempt to enlist in the Colonial
Army, and are given employment as spies. There is no lack of exciting
incidents which the youthful reader craves, but it is healthful excitement
brimming with facts which every boy should be familiar with,
and while the reader is following the adventures of Ben Jaffrays and
Ned Allen he is acquiring a fund of historical lore which will remain
in his memory long after that which he has memorized from text
books has been forgotten.
At the Siege of Havana. Being the Experiences of
Three Boys Serving under Israel Putnam in 1762. By James
Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine edges, illustrated,
price $1.50.
"At the Siege of Havana" deals with that portion of the island's
history when the English king captured the capital, thanks to the
assistance given by the troops from New England, led in part by Col.
Israel Putnam.
The principal characters are Darius Lunt, the lad who, represented as
telling the story, and his comrades, Robert Clement and Nicholas
Vallet. Colonel Putnam also figures to considerable extent, necessarily,
in the tale, and the whole forms one of the most readable stories founded
on historical facts.
The Defense of Fort Henry. A Story of Wheeling
Creek in 1777. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine
edges, illustrated, price $1.50.
Nowhere in the history of our country can be found more heroic or
thrilling incidents than in the story of those brave men and
women who founded the settlement of Wheeling in the Colony of
Virginia. The recital of what Elisabeth Zane did is in itself as
heroic a story as can be imagined. The wondrous bravery displayed
by Major McCulloch and his gallant comrades, the sufferings of
the colonists and their sacrifice of blood and life, stir the
blood of old as well as young readers.
The Capture of the Laughing Mary. A Story of Three
New York Boys in 1776. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental
cloth, olivine edges, price $1.50.
"During the British occupancy of New York, at the outbreak of the
Revolution, a Yankee lad hears of the plot to take General Washington's
person, and calls in two companions to assist the patriot cause. They
do some astonishing things, and, incidentally, lay the way for an
American navy later, by the exploit which gives its name to the
work. Mr. Otis' books are too well-known to require any particular
commendation to the young."—Evening Post.
With Warren at Bunker Hill. A Story of the Siege of
Boston. By James Otis. 12mo, ornamental cloth, olivine
edges, illustrated, price $1.50.
"This is a tale of the siege of Boston, which opens on the day after
the doings at Lexington and Concord, with a description of home life
in Boston, introduces the reader to the British camp at Charlestown,
shows Gen. Warren at home, describes what a boy thought of the
battle of Bunker Hill and closes with the raising of the siege. The
three heroes, George Wentworth, Ben Scarlett and an old ropemaker,
incur the enmity of a young Tory, who causes them many adventures
the boys will like to read."—Detroit Free Press.
.bn 286.png
With the Swamp Fox. The Story of General Marion's
Spies. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, Illustrated, price $1.00.
This story deals with General Francis Marion's heroic struggle in the
Carolinas. General Marlon's arrival to take command of these brave
men and rough riders is pictured as a boy might have seen it, and
although the story is devoted to what the lads did, the Swamp Fox
is ever present in the mind of the reader.
On the Kentucky Frontier. A Story of the Fighting
Pioneers of the West. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.
In the history of our country there is no more thrilling story than
that of the work done on the Mississippi river by a handful of frontiers-men.
Mr. Otis takes the reader on that famous expedition from the
arrival of Major Clarke's force at Corn Island, until Kaskaskia was
captured. He relates that part of Simon Kenton's life history which
is not usually touched upon either by the historian or the story teller.
This is one of the most entertaining books for young people which has
been published.
Sarah Dillard's Ride. A Story of South Carolina in
1780. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
"This book deals with the Carolinas in 1780, giving a wealth of detail of
the Mountain Men who struggled so valiantly against the king's troops.
Major Ferguson is the prominent British officer of the story, which is
told as though coming from a youth who experienced these adventures.
In this way the famous ride of Sarah Dillard is brought out as an
incident of the plot."—Boston Journal.
A Tory Plot. A Story of the Attempt to Kill General
Washington. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price $1.00.
"'A Tory Plot' is the story of two lads who overhear something
of the plot originated during the Revolution by Gov. Tryon to capture
or murder Washington. They communicate their knowledge to Gen.
Putnam and are commissioned by him to play the role of detectives
in the matter. They do so, and meet with many adventures and hair-breadth
escapes. The boys are, of course, mythical, but they serve to enable
the author to put into very attractive shape much valuable knowledge
concerning one phase of the Revolution."—Pittsburgh Times.
A Traitor's Escape. A Story of the Attempt to Seize
Benedict Arnold. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
"This is a tale with stirring scenes depicted in each chapter,
bringing clearly before the mind the glorious deeds of the early
settlers In this country. In an historical work dealing with this
country's past, no plot can hold the attention closer than this
one, which describes the attempt and partial success of Benedict
Arnold's escape to New York, where he remained as the guest of
Sir Henry Clinton. All those who actually figured In the arrest
of the traitor, as well as Gen. Washington, are included as
characters."—Albany Union.
A Cruise with Paul Jones. A Story of Naval Warfare
in 1776. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
"This story takes up that portion of Paul Jones' adventurous life
when he was hovering off the British coast, watching for an opportunity
to strike the enemy a blow. It deals more particularly with
his descent upon Whitehaven, the seizure of Lady Selkirk's plate, and
the famous battle with the Drake. The boy who figures in the tale
is one who was taken from a derelict by Paul Jones shortly after this
particular cruise was begun."—Chicago Inter-Ocean.
.bn 287.png
Corporal Lige's Recruit. A Story of Crown Point and
Ticonderoga. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price $1.00.
"In 'Corporal Lige's Recruit,' Mr. Otis tells the amusing story
of an old soldier, proud of his record, who had served the king
in '58, and who takes the lad, Isaac Rice, as his 'personal
recruit.' The lad acquits himself superbly. Col. Ethan Allen 'in
the name of God and the continental congress,' infuses much
martial spirit into the narrative, which will arouse the keenest
interest as it proceeds. Crown Point, Ticonderoga, Benedict
Arnold and numerous other famous historical names appear in this
dramatic tale."—Boston Globe.
Morgan, the Jersey Spy. A Story of the Siege of Yorktown
in 1781. By James Otis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
"The two lads who are utilised by the author to emphasise the details
of the work done during that memorable time were real boys who lived
on the banks of the York river, and who aided the Jersey spy in his
dangerous occupation. In the guise of fishermen the lads visit Yorktown,
are suspected of being spies, and put under arrest. Morgan risks
his life to save them. The final escape, the thrilling encounter with a
squad of red coats, when they are exposed equally to the bullets of
friends and foes, told in a masterly fashion, makes of this volume one
of the most entertaining books of the year."—Inter-Ocean.
The Young Scout: The Story of a West Point Lieutenant.
By Edward S. Ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
The crafty Apache chief Geronimo but a few years ago was the most
terrible scourge of the southwest border. The author has woven,
in a tale of thrilling interest, all the incidents of Geronimo's
last raid. The hero is Lieutenant James Decker, a recent graduate
of West Point. Ambitious to distinguish himself the young man
takes many a desperate chance against the enemy and on more than
one occasion narrowly escapes with his life. In our opinion Mr.
Ellis is the best writer of Indian stories now before the public.
Adrift in the Wilds: The Adventures of Two Ship-wrecked
Boys. By Edward S. Ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Elwood Brandon and Howard Lawrence are en route for San Francisco.
Off the coast of California the steamer takes fire. The two boys
reach the shore with several of the passengers. Young Brandon becomes
separated from his party and is captured by hostile Indians,
but is afterwards rescued. This is a very entertaining narrative of
Southern California.
A Young Hero; or, Fighting to Win. By Edward S.
Ellis. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
This story tells how a valuable solid silver service was stolen from
the Misses Perkinpine, two very old and simple-minded ladies. Fred
Sheldon, the hero of this story, undertakes to discover the thieves and
have them arrested. After much time spent in detective work, he
succeeds in discovering the silver plate and winning the reward. The
story is told in Mr. Ellis' most fascinating style. Every boy will be
glad to read this delightful book.
Lost in the Rockies. A Story of Adventure in the
Rocky Mountains. By Edward S. Ellis. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.
Incident succeeds incident, and adventure is plied upon adventure,
and at the end the reader, be he boy or man, will have experienced
breathless enjoyment in this romantic story describing many adventures in
the Rockies and among the Indians.
.bn 288.png
A Jaunt Through Java: The Story of a Journey to the
Sacred Mountain. By Edward S. Ellis. 12mo, cloth,
illustrated, price $1.00.
The interest of this story is found in the thrilling adventures of
two cousins, Hermon and Eustace Hadley, on their trip across the island
of Java, from Samarang to the Sacred Mountain. In a land where the
Royal Bengal tiger, the rhinoceros, and other fierce beasts are to be
met with. It is but natural that the heroes of this book should have a
lively experience. There is not a dull page in the book.
The Boy Patriot. A Story of Jack, the Young Friend
of Washington. By Edward S. Ellis. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, illustrated,
price $1.50.
"There are adventures of all kinds for the hero and his friends, whose
pluck and ingenuity in extricating themselves from awkward fixes are
always equal to the occasion. It is an excellent story full of honest,
manly, patriotic efforts on the part of the hero. A very vivid description
of the battle of Trenton is also found in this story."—Journal of
Education.
A Yankee Lad's Pluck. How Bert Larkin Saved his
Father's Ranch in Porto Rico. By Wm. P. Chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price $1.00.
"Bert Larkin, the hero of the story, early excites our admiration,
and is altogether a fine character such as boys will delight in, whilst
the story of his numerous adventures is very graphically told. This
will, we think, prove one of the most popular boys' books this season."—Gazette.
A Brave Defense. A Story of the Massacre at Fort
Griswold in 1781. By William P. Chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price
$1.00.
Perhaps no more gallant fight against fearful odds took place during
the Revolutionary War than that at Fort Griswold, Groton Heights, Conn.,
in 1781. The boys are real boys who were actually on the muster rolls,
either at Fort Trumbull on the New London side, or of Fort Griswold on
the Groton side of the Thames. The youthful reader who follows Halsey
Sanford and Levi Dart and Tom Malleson, and their equally brave comrades,
through their thrilling adventures will be learning something more
than historical facts; they will be imbibing lessons of fidelity, of bravery,
of heroism, and of manliness, which must prove serviceable in the arena
of life.
The Young Minuteman. A Story of the Capture of
General Prescott in 1777. By William P. Chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price $1.00.
This story is based upon actual events which occurred during the British
occupation of the waters of Narragansett Bay. Darius Wale and William
Northrop belong to "the coast patrol." The story is a strong one, dealing
only with actual events. There is, however, no lack of thrilling adventure,
and every lad who is fortunate enough to obtain the book will find not
only that his historical knowledge is increased, but that his own patriotism
and love of country are deepened.
For the Temple: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. By G. A.
Henty. With illustrations by S. J. Solomon. 12mo, cloth, olivine
edges, price $1.00.
"Mr. Henty's graphic prose picture of the hopeless Jewish resistance
to Roman sway adds another leaf to his record of the famous wars of
the world. The book is one of Mr. Henty's cleverest efforts."—Graphic.
.bn 289.png
Roy Gilbert's Search: A Tale of the Great Lakes. By
Wm. P. Chipman. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
A deep mystery hangs over the parentage of Roy Gilbert. He arranges
with two schoolmates to make a tour of the Great Lakes on a steam
launch. The three boys visit many points of interest on the lakes.
Afterwards the lads rescue an elderly gentleman and a lady from a sinking
yacht. Later on the boys narrowly escape with their lives. The
hero is a manly, self-reliant boy, whose adventures will be followed
with interest.
The Slate Picker: The Story of a Boy's Life in the
Coal Mines. By Harry Prentice. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
This is a story of a boy's life in the coal mines of Pennsylvania.
Ben Burton, the hero, had a hard road to travel, but by grit and energy
he advanced step by step until he found himself called upon to fill the
position of chief engineer of the Kohinoor Coal Company. This is a
book of extreme interest to every boy reader.
The Boy Cruisers; or, Paddling in Florida. By St.
George Rathborne. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
Andrew George and Rowland Carter start on a canoe trip along the
Gulf coast, from Key West to Tampa, Florida. Their first adventure
is with a pair of rascals who steal their boats. Next they run into
a gale in the Gulf. After that they have a lively time with alligators
and Andrew gets into trouble with a band of Seminole Indians.
Mr. Rathborne knows just how to interest the boys, and lads who are
in search of a rare treat will do well to read this entertaining story.
Captured by Zulus: A Story of Trapping in Africa.
By Harry Prentice. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
This story details the adventures of two lads, Dick Elsworth and Bob
Harvey, in the wilds of South Africa. By stratagem the Zulus capture
Dick and Bob and take them to their principal kraal or village. The
lads escape death by digging their way out of the prison hut by night.
They are pursued, but the Zulus finally give up pursuit. Mr. Prentice
tells exactly how wild-beast collectors secure specimens on their native
stamping grounds, and these descriptions make very entertaining reading.
Tom the Ready; or, Up from the Lowest. By Randolph
Hill. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00.
This is a dramatic narrative of the unaided rise of a fearless, ambitious
boy from the lowest round of fortune's ladder to wealth and the
governorship of his native State. Tom Seacomb begins life with a purpose,
and eventually overcomes those who oppose him. How he manages
to win the battle is told by Mr. Hill in a masterful way that thrills
the reader and holds his attention and sympathy to the end.
Captain Kidd's Gold: The True Story of an Adventurous
Sailor Boy. By James Franklin Fitts. 12mo, cloth, illustrated,
price $1.00.
There is something fascinating to the average youth in the very idea
of buried treasure. A vision arises before his eyes of swarthy Portuguese
and Spanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming eyes. There
were many famous sea rovers, but none more celebrated than Capt. Kidd.
Paul Jones Garry inherits a document which locates a considerable
treasure buried by two of Kidd's crew. The hero of this hook is an
ambitious, persevering lad, of salt-water New England ancestry, and his
efforts to reach the Island and secure the money form one of the most
absorbing tales for our youth that has come from the press.
.hr 20%
For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the
publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York.
.pb
.sp 4
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.it Transcriber's Notes:
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.it Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
.it Unbalanced quotation marks were silently corrected.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Spelling and hyphenation was made consistent when a predominant \
form was found in this book; otherwise it was not changed.
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