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Title: Do and Dare
       A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

Author: Horatio Alger, Jr.

Release Date: May, 2004 [EBook #5747]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on August 23, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DO AND DARE ***




This eBook was created by Carrie Fellman <thhpht@yahoo.com>.





DO AND DARE

OR

A Brave Boy's Fight for Fortune

BY

HORATIO ALGER, JR.

NEW YORK






CHAPTER I.

THE POST OFFICE AT WAYNEBORO.





"If we could only keep the post office, mother, we should be all
right," said Herbert Carr, as he and his mother sat together in the
little sitting room of the plain cottage which the two had occupied
ever since he was a boy of five.

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

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

"Men are selfish, Herbert, and there is no office, however small,
that is not sought after."

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

Mrs. Carr referred to a blank book lying on the table in which the
post-office accounts were kept, and answered:

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

"I shouldn't think that would be much of an inducement to an
able-bodied man, who could work at any business."

"Your father was glad to have it."

"Yes, mother, but he had lost an arm in the war, and could not
engage in any business that required both hands."

"That is true, Herbert, but I am afraid there will be more than one
who will be willing to relieve me of the duties. Old Mrs. Allen
called at the office to-day, and told me she understood that there
was a movement on foot to have Ebenezer Graham appointed."

"Squire Walsingham's nephew?"

"Yes; it is understood that the squire will throw his influence into
the scale, and that will probably decide the matter."

"Then it's very mean of Squire Walsingham," said Herbert,
indignantly. "He knows that you depend on the office for a living."

"Most men are selfish, my dear Herbert."

"But he was an old schoolfellow of father's, and it was as his
substitute that father went to the war where he was wounded."

"True, Herbert, but I am afraid that consideration won't weigh much
with John Walsingham."

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

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

"Mr. Graham ought to be ashamed, with the profits of his store, to
want the post office also. His store alone pays him handsomely."

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

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

A few words are needed in explanation, though the conversation
explains itself pretty well.

Herbert's father, returning from the war with the loss of an arm,
was fortunate enough to receive the appointment of postmaster, and
thus earn a small, but, with strict economy, adequate income, until
a fever terminated his earthly career at middle age. Mr. Graham was
a rival applicant for the office, but Mr. Carr's services in the war
were thought to give him superior claims, and he secured it. During
the month that had elapsed since his death, Mrs. Carr had carried on
the post office under a temporary appointment. She was a woman of
good business capacity, and already familiar with the duties of the
office, having assisted her husband, especially during his sickness,
when nearly the whole work devolved upon her. Most of the village
people were in favor of having her retained, but the local influence
of Squire Walsingham and his nephew was so great that a petition in
favor of the latter secured numerous signatures, and was already on
file at the department in Washington, and backed by the congressman
of the district, who was a political friend of the squire. Mrs. Carr
was not aware that the movement for her displacement had gone so
far.

It was already nine o'clock when Herbert's conversation with his
mother ended, and he resolved to defer his call upon Squire
Walsingham till the next morning.

About nine o'clock in the forenoon our young hero rang the bell of
the village magnate, and with but little delay was ushered into his
presence.

Squire Walsingham was a tall, portly man of fifty, sleek and
evidently on excellent terms with himself. Indeed, he was but five
years older than his nephew, Ebenezer Graham, and looked the younger
of the two, despite the relationship. If he had been a United States
Senator he could not have been more dignified in his deportment, or
esteemed himself of greater consequence. He was a selfish man, but
he was free from the mean traits that characterized his nephew.

"You are the Carr boy," said the squire, pompously, looking over his
spectacles at Herbert, as he entered the door.

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

"Certainly," said the squire, a little ruffled at the failure of his
grand manner to impose upon his young visitor. "Did I not call you
the Carr boy?"

Herbert did not fancy being called the Carr boy, but he was there to
ask a favor, and he thought it prudent not to show his
dissatisfaction. He resolved to come to the point at once.

"I have called, Squire Walsingham," he commenced, "to ask if you
will use your influence to have my mother retained in charge of the
post office."

"Ahem!" said the squire, somewhat embarrassed. "I am not in charge
of the post-office department."

"No, sir, I am aware of that; but the postmaster general will be
influenced by the recommendations of people in the village."

"Very true!" said the squire, complacently. "Very true, and very
proper. I do not pretend to say that my recommendation would not
weigh with the authorities at Washington. Indeed, the member from
our district is a personal friend of mine."

"You know how we are situated," continued Herbert, who thought it
best to state his case as briefly as possible. "Father was unable to
save anything, and we have no money ahead. If mother can keep the
post office, we shall get along nicely, but if she loses it, we
shall have a hard time."

"I am surprised that in your father's long tenure of office he did
not save something," said the squire, in a tone which indicated not
only surprise but reproof.

"There was not much chance to save on a salary of four hundred
dollars a year," said Herbert, soberly, "after supporting a family
of three."

"Ahem!" said the squire, sagely; "where there's a will there's a
way. Improvidence is the great fault of the lower classes."

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

Squire Walmsgham was secretly ambitious of representing his district
some day in Congress, and he felt that he had made a mistake. It
won't do for an aspirant to office to speak of the lower classes,
and the squire hastened to repair his error.

"That was not the term I intended to imply," he condescended to
explain. "I meant to say that improvidence is the prevailing fault
of those whose income is small."

"We haven't had much chance to be improvident!" said Herbert "We
have had to spend all our income, but we are not in debt--that is,
we have no debts that we are unable to pay."

"That is well," said Squire Walsingham, "but, my young
constituent--I mean my young friend--I apprehend that you do not
take a right view of public office. It is not designed to support a
privileged class in luxury."

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

"I am speaking in general terms," said the squire, hastily. "I mean
to say that I cannot recommend a person to office simply because he
or she needs the income."

"No, sir, I know that; but my mother understands the duties of the
office, and no complaint has been made that she does not make a good
postmaster."

"Possibly," said the squire, non-committally; "but I am opposed upon
principle to conferring offices upon women. Men are more efficient,
and better qualified to discharge responsible duties."

"Then, sir," said Herbert, his heart sinking, "I am to understand
that you do not favor the appointment of my mother?"

"I should be glad to hear that your mother was doing well," said the
squire, "but I cannot conscientiously favor the appointment of a
woman to be postmaster of Wayneboro."

"That means that he prefers the appointment should go to his
nephew," thought Herbert.

"If my mother were not competent to discharge the duties," he said,
his face showing his disappointment in spite of himself, "I would
not ask your influence, notwithstanding you were a schoolmate of
father's, and he lost his arm while acting as your substitute."

"I have already said that I wish your mother well," said the squire,
coloring, "and in any other way I am ready to help her and you.
Indeed, I may be able to secure you a situation."

"Where, sir?"

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

"Is Tom Tripp going away?" asked Herbert.

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

Herbert knew something of what it would be to be employed by Mr.
Graham. Tom Tripp worked early and late for a dollar and a half per
week, without board, for a hard and suspicious taskmaster, who was
continually finding fault with him. But for sheer necessity, he
would have left Mr. Graham's store long ago. He had confided the
unpleasantness of his position to Herbert more than once, and
enlisted his sympathy and indignation. Herbert felt that he would
not like to work for Mr. Graham at any price, more especially as it
seemed likely that the storekeeper was likely to deprive his mother
of her office and income.

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

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

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

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

Herbert left the house, feeling that his mother's removal was only a
matter of time.






CHAPTER II.

HERBERT'S CHANCE.





Herbert left the house of Squire Walsingham in a sober frame of
mind. He saw clearly that his mother would not long remain in
office, and without her official income they would find it hard to
get along. To be sure, she received a pension of eight dollars a
month, in consideration of her husband's services in the war, but
eight dollars would not go far towards supporting their family,
small as it was. There were other means of earning a living, to be
sure, but Wayneboro was an agricultural town mainly, and unless he
hired out on a farm there seemed no way open to him, while the
little sewing his mother might be able to procure would probably pay
her less than a dollar a week.

The blow fell sooner than he expected. In the course of the next
week Mrs. Carr was notified that Ebenezer Graham had been appointed
her successor, and she was directed to turn over the papers and
property of the office to him.

She received the official notification by the afternoon mail, and in
the evening she was favored by a call from her successor.

Ebenezer Graham was a small man, with insignificant, mean-looking
features, including a pair of weazel-like eyes and a turn-up nose.
It did not require a skillful physiognomist to read his character in
his face. Meanness was stamped upon it in unmistakable characters.

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

"Good-evening, ma'am," said the storekeeper. "I've called to see
you, Mrs. Carr, about the post office, I presume you have heard--"

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

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

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

"Just so--that is, the gov'ment appear to think a man ought to be in
charge of so responsible a position."

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

"You see, ma'am, it stands to reason that a man is better fitted for
business than a woman," said Ebenezer Graham, in a smooth tone for
he wanted to get over this rather awkward business as easily as
possible. "Women, you know, was made to adorn the domestic circles,
et cetery."

"Adorning the domestic circle won't give me a living," said Mrs.
Carr, with some bitterness, for she knew that but for the grasping
spirit of the man before her she would have been allowed to retain
her office.

"I was comin' to that," said the new postmaster. "Of course, I
appreciate your position as a widder, without much means, and I'm
going to make you an offer; that is, your boy, Herbert."

Herbert looked up from a book he was reading, and listened with
interest to hear the benevolent intentions of the new postmaster."

"I am ready to give him a place in my store," proceeded Ebenezer. "I
always keep a boy, and thinks I to myself, the wages I give will
help along the widder Carr. You see, I like to combine business with
consideration for my feller creeters."

Mrs. Carr smiled faintly, for in spite of her serious strait she
could not help being amused at the notion of Ebenezer Graham's
philanthropy.

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

"Thomas Tripp isn't exactly the kind of boy I want in my store,"
said Mr. Graham. "He's a harum-scarum sort of boy, and likes to
shirk his work. Then I suspect he stops to play on the way when I
send him on errands. Yesterday he was five minutes longer than he
need to have been in goin' to Sam Dunning's to carry some groceries.
Thomas doesn't seem to appreciate his privileges in bein' connected
with a business like mine."

Tom Tripp was hardly to blame for not recognizing his good luck in
occupying a position where he received a dollar and a half a week
for fourteen hours daily work, with half a dozen scoldings thrown
in.

"How do you know I will suit you any better than Tom?" asked
Herbert, who did not think it necessary to thank Mr. Graham for the
proffered engagement until he learned just what was expected of him,
and what his pay was to be.

"You're a different sort of a boy," said Ebenezer, with an attempt
at a pleasant smile. "You've been brought up different. I've heard
you're a smart, capable boy, that isn't afraid of work."

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

The new postmaster's jaw fell, and he looked uneasy, for he always
grudged the money he paid out, even the paltry dollar and a half
which went to poor Tom.

"I always calkerlate to pay fair wages," he said; "but I ain't rich,
and I can't afford to fling away money."

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

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

"I pay Thomas a dollar and fifty cents a week," answered the
storekeeper, in a tone which indicated that he regarded this, on the
whole, as rather a munificent sum.

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

"Them are the hours," said Ebenezer, who knew better how to make
money than to speak grammatically.

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

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

"You get paid rather better, I presume."

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

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

Mr. Graham looked disturbed, for he had reasons for desiring to
secure Herbert, who was familiar with the routine of post-office
work.

"Well," he said, "I might be able to offer you a leetle more, as you
know how to tend the post office. That's worth somethin'! I'll give
you--lemme see--twenty-five cents more; that is, a dollar and
seventy-five cents a week."

Herbert and his mother exchanged glances. They hardly knew whether
to feel more amused or disgusted at their visitor's meanness.

"Mr. Graham," said Herbert, "if you wish to secure my services, you
will have to pay me three dollars a week."

The storekeeper held up both hands in dismay.

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

"Yes, sir; I will come for a short time for that sum, till you get
used to the management of the post office, but I shall feel
justified in leaving you when I can do better."

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

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

For twenty minutes the new postmaster tried to beat down his
prospective clerk, but Herbert was obstinate, and Ebenezer rather
ruefully promised to give him his price, chiefly because it was
absolutely necessary that he should engage some one who was more
familiar with the post-office work than he was. Herbert agreed to go
to work the next morning.






CHAPTER III.

A PRODIGAL SON.





Herbert did not look forward with very joyful anticipations to the
new engagement he had formed. He knew very well that he should not
like Ebenezer Graham as an employer, but it was necessary that he
should earn something, for the income was now but two dollars a
week. He was sorry, too, to displace Tom Tripp, but upon this point
his uneasiness was soon removed, for Tom dropped in just after Mr.
Graham had left the house, and informed Herbert that he was to go to
work the next day for a farmer in the neighborhood, at a dollar and
a half per week, and board besides.

"I am glad to hear it, Tom," said Herbert, heartily. "I didn't want
to feel that I was depriving you of employment."

"You are welcome to my place in the store," said Tom. "I'm glad to
give it up. Mr. Graham seemed to think I was made of iron, and I
could work like a machine, without getting tired. I hope he pays you
more than a dollar and a half a week."

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

Tom whistled in genuine amazement.

"What! has the old man lost his senses?" he exclaimed. "He must be
crazy to offer such wages as that."

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

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

"Because he wanted me to take care of the post office. I know all
about it, and he doesn't."

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

"Then I shall leave him."

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

The next two or three days were spent in removing the post office to
one corner of Eben-ezer Graham's store. The removal was
superintended by Herbert, who was not interfered with to any extent
by his employer, nor required to do much work in the store. Our hero
was agreeably surprised, and began to think he should get along
better than he anticipated.

At the end of the first week the storekeeper, while they were
closing the shutters, said: "I expect, Herbert, you'd just as lieves
take your pay in groceries and goods from the store?"

"No, sir," answered Herbert, "I prefer to be paid in money, and to
pay for such goods as we buy."

"I don't see what odds it makes to you," said Ebenezer. "It comes to
the same thing, doesn't it?"

"Then if it comes to the same thing," retorted Herbert, "why do you
want to pay me in goods?"

"Ahem! It saves trouble. I'll just charge everything you buy, and
give you the balance Saturday night."

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

So the storekeeper, considerably against his will, drew three
dollars in bills from the drawer and handed them to his young clerk.

"It's a good deal of money, Herbert," he said, "for a boy. There
ain't many men would pay you such a good salary."

"I earn every cent of it, Mr. Graham," said Herbert, whose views on
the salary question differed essentially from those of his employer.

The next morning Mr. Graham received a letter which evidently
disturbed him. Before referring to its contents, it is necessary to
explain that he had one son, nineteen years of age, who had gone to
Boston two years previous, to take a place in a dry-goods store on
Washington Street. Ebenezer Graham, Jr., or Eben, as he was
generally called, was, in some respects, like his father. He had the
same features, and was quite as mean, so far as others were
concerned, but willing to spend money for his own selfish pleasures.
He was fond of playing pool, and cards, and had contracted a
dangerous fondness for whisky, which consumed all the money he could
spare from necessary expenses, and even more, so that, as will
presently appear, he failed to meet his board bills regularly. Eben
had served an apprenticeship in his father's store, having been, in
fact, Tom Tripp's predecessor; he tired of his father's strict
discipline, and the small pay out of which he was required to
purchase his clothes, and went to Boston to seek a wider sphere.

To do Eben justice, it must be admitted that he had good business
capacity, and if he had been able, like his father, to exercise
self-denial, and make money-getting his chief enjoyment, he would no
doubt have become a rich man in time. As it was, whenever he could
make his companions pay for his pleasures, he did so.

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

It ran thus:

"DEAR SIR: I understand that you are the father of Mr. Eben Graham,
who has been a boarder at my house for the last six months. I regret
to trouble you, but he is now owing me six weeks board, and I cannot
get a cent out of him, though he knows I am a poor widow, dependent
on my board money for my rent and house expenses. As he is a minor,
the law makes you responsible for his bills, and, though I dislike
to trouble you, I am obliged, in justice to myself, to ask you to
settle his board bill, which I inclose.

"You will do me a great favor if you will send me the amount--thirty
dollars--within a week, as my rent is coming due.

"Yours respectfully, SUSAN JONES."

The feelings of a man like Ebenezer Graham can be imagined when he
read this unpleasant missive.

"Thirty dollars!" he groaned. "What can the graceless boy be
thinking of, to fool away his money, and leave his bills to be
settled by me. If this keeps on, I shall be ruined! It's too bad,
when I am slaving here, for Eben to waste my substance on riotous
living. I've a great mind to disown him. Let him go his own way, and
fetch up in the poorhouse, if he chooses."

But it is not easy for a man to cast off an only son, even though he
is as poorly supplied with natural affections as Ebenezer Graham.
Besides, Eben's mother interceded for him, and the father, in
bitterness of spirit, was about to mail a registered letter to Mrs.
Jones, when the cause of his anguish suddenly made his appearance in
the store.

"How are you, father?" he said, nonchalantly, taking a cigar from
his mouth. "Didn't expect to see me, did you?"

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

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

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

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

"How came it," said his father, his voice trembling with anger,
"that you haven't paid your board bill for six weeks?"

"I didn't have the money," said Eben, with a composure which was
positively aggravating to his father.

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

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

"Don't you get ten dollars a week, sir? At your age I got only
seven, and saved two dollars a week."

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

"I didn't smoke cigars," said his father, angrily, as he fixed his
eye on the one his son was smoking. "How much did you pay for that
miserable weed?"

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

"Eight dollars a hundred!" gasped Mr. Graham. "No wonder you can't
pay your board bill--I can't afford to spend my money on cigars."

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

"A rich man!" repeated Mr. Graham, nervously. "It would take a rich
man to pay your bills. But you haven't told me why you have come
home."

"I lost my situation, father--some meddlesome fellow told my
employer that I occasionally played a game of pool, and my tailor
came to the store and dunned me; so old Boggs gave me a long lecture
and my walking papers, and here I am."

Ebenezer Graham was sorely troubled, and, though he isn't a favorite
of mine, I confess, that in this matter he has my sincere sympathy.






CHAPTER IV.

HERBERT LOSES HIS PLACE.





Ebenezer Graham with some difficulty ascertained from Eben that he
had other bills, amounting in the aggregate to forty-seven dollars.
This added to the board bill, made a total of seventy-seven dollars.
Mr. Graham's face elongated perceptibly.

"That is bad enough," he said; "but you have lost your income also,
and that makes matters worse. Isn't there a chance of the firm
taking you back?"

"No, sir," replied the prodigal. "You see, we had a flare up, and I
expressed my opinion of them pretty plainly. They wouldn't take me
back if I'd come for nothing."

"And they won't give you a recommendation, either?" said Ebenezer,
with a half groan.

"No, sir; I should say not."

"So you have ruined your prospects so far as Boston is concerned,"
said his father, bitterly. "May I ask how you expect to get along?"

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

"What is it?"

"I would like to go to California. If I can't get any situation in
San Francisco, I can go to the mines."

"Very fine, upon my word!" said his father, sarcastically. "And how
do you propose to get to California?"

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

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

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

"You do? Well, it strikes me you have some assurance," ejaculated
Mr. Graham. "You expect me to advance hundreds of dollars, made by
working early and late, to support a spendthrift son!"

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

"No doubt! You'd pay me in the same way you pay your board bills,"
said Ebenezer, who may be excused for the sneer. "I can invest my
money to better advantage than upon you."

"Then, if you will not do that," said Eben, sullenly, "I will leave
you to suggest a plan."

"There is only one plan I can think of, Eben. Go back to your old
place in the store. I will dismiss the Carr boy, and you can attend
to the post office, and do the store work."

"What, go back to tending a country grocery, after being a salesman
in a city store!" exclaimed Eben, disdainfully.

"Yes, it seems the only thing you have left. It's your own fault
that you are not still a salesman in the city."

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

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

"What will I pay you?"

"Yes, will you pay me ten dollars a week--the same as I got at
Hanbury & Deane's?"

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

"I guess there's a little mistake in your calculations, father,"
said Eben, significantly. "If you don't make at least forty dollars
a week, including the post office, then I am mistaken."

"So you are--ridiculously mistaken!" said his father, sharply. "What
you presume is entirely out of the question. You forget that you
will be getting your board, and Tom Tripp only received a dollar and
a half a week without board."

"Is that all you pay to Herbert Carr?"

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

"What will you give me?"

"I'll give you your board and clothes," said Ebenezer, "and that
seems to be more than you made in Boston."

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

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

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

"You ought to get along without money for the next two years, after
the sums you've wasted in Boston. It will cripple me to pay your
bills," and the storekeeper groaned at the thought of the inroads
the payment would make on his bank account.

"You're poorer than I thought, if seventy-five dollars will cripple
you," said Eben, who knew his father's circumstances too well to be
moved by this representation.

"I shall be in the poorhouse before many years if I undertake to pay
all your bills, Eben."

After all, this was not, perhaps, an exaggeration, for a spendthrift
son can get through a great deal of money.

"I can't get along without money, father," said Eben, decidedly.
"How can I buy cigars, let alone other things?"

"I don't want you to smoke cigars. You'll be a great deal better off
without them," said his father, sharply.

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

"You won't smoke at my expense," said Ebenezer, decidedly. "I don't
smoke myself, and I never knew any good come of it."

"All the same, I must have some money. What will people say about a
young man of my age not having a cent in his pocket? They think my
father is very mean."

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

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

Finally, after considerable haggling, Mr. Graham agreed to pay his
son a dollar and a half a week, in cash, besides board and clothes.
He reflected that he should be obliged to board and clothe his son
at any rate, and should save a dollar and a half from Herbert's
wages.

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

"I must have a few days to loaf, father. I have been hard at work
for a long time, and need some rest."

"Then you can begin next Monday morning. I'll get Herbert to show
you how to prepare the mail, so that you won't have any trouble
about the post-office work."

"By the way, father, how do you happen to have the post office? I
thought Mrs. Carr was to carry it on."

"So she did, for a time, but a woman ain't fit for a public position
of that kind. So I applied for the position, and got it."

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

"That isn't my lookout. She can take in sewing, or washing,"
suggested Ebenezer, who did not trouble himself much about the care
of his neighbors. "Besides there's Herbert--he can earn something."

"But I'm to take his place."

"Oh well, I ain't under any obligations to provide them a livin'.
I've got enough to take care of myself and my family."

"You'd better have let her keep the post office," said Eben. He was
not less selfish than his father, but then his own interests were
not concerned. He would not have scrupled, in his father's case, to
do precisely the same.

"It's lucky I've got a little extra income," said Ebenezer,
bitterly; "now I've got your bills to pay."

"I suppose I shall have to accept your offer, father," said Eben,
"for the present; but I hope you'll think better of my California
plan after a while. Why, there's a fellow I know went out there last
year, went up to the mines, and now he's worth five thousand
dollars!"

"Then he must be a very different sort of a person from you,"
retorted his father, sagaciously. "You would never succeed there, if
you can't in Boston."

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

There was sound sense in what his father said. Failure at home is
very likely to be followed by failure away from home. There have
been cases that seemed to disprove my assertion, but in such cases
failure has only been changed into success by earnest work. I say to
my young readers, therefore, never give up a certainty at home to
tempt the chances of success in a distant State, unless you are
prepared for disappointment.

When the engagement had been made with Eben, Mr. Graham called
Herbert to his presence.

"Herbert," said he, "I won't need you after Saturday night. My son
is going into the store, and will do all I require. You can tell him
how to prepare the mails, et cetery."

"Very well, sir," answered Herbert. It was not wholly a surprise,
but it was a disappointment, for he did not know how he could make
three dollars a week in any other way, unless he left Wayneboro.






CHAPTER V.

EBEN'S SCHEME.





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

He pocketed the three dollars which his employer grudgingly gave
him, and set out on his way home.

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

Herbert didn't care much for Eben's company but he was too polite to
say so. He waited therefore, till Eben appeared with hat and cane.

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

"Thank you," answered Herbert.

"It isn't my fault, for I don't want to go into the store,"
proceeded Eben. "A fellow that's stood behind the counter in a city
store is fit for something better, but it's the old man's fault."

Herbert made no comment, and Eben proceeded:

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

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

"I suppose Wayneboro is rather dull for you after living in the
city," he remarked.

"I should say so. This village is a dull hole, and yet father
expects me to stay here cooped up in a little country store. I won't
stay here long, you may be sure of that."

"Where will you go?"

"I don't know yet. I want to go to California, but I can't unless
the old man comes down with the requisite amount of tin. You'll soon
have your situation back again. I won't stand in your way."

"I'm not very particular about going back," said Herbert, "but I
must find something to do."

"Just so!" said Eben. "The place will do well enough for a boy like
you, but I am a young man, and entitled to look higher. By the way,
I've got something in view that may bring me in five thousand
dollars within a month."

Herbert stared at his companion in surprise, not knowing any short
cut to wealth.

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

"Yes," said Eben.

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

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

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

"Yes," answered Eben. "You may think lotteries are a fraud and all
that, but I know a man in Boston who drew last month a prize of
fifteen thousand dollars. The ticket only cost him a dollar. What do
you say to that?"

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

"Not so uncommon as you think," returned Eben, nodding. "I don't
mean to say that many draw prizes as large as that, but there are
other prizes of five thousand dollars, and one thousand, and so on.
It would be very comfortable to draw a prize of even five hundred,
wouldn't it now?"

Herbert admitted that it would.

"I'd send for a ticket by Monday morning's mail," continued Eben,
"if I wasn't so hard up. The old man's mad because I ran into debt,
and he won't give me a cent. Will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?" asked Herbert, cautiously.

"Lend me two dollars. You've got it, I know, because you were paid
off to-night. I would send for two tickets, and agree to give you
quarter of what I draw. Isn't that fair?"

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

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

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

"And give up the chance of winning a prize. I'll promise to give you
half of whatever I draw, besides paying back the money."

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

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

"Eben," said Herbert, seriously, "you don't seem to understand our
position. Mother has lost the post office, and has but eight dollars
a month income. I've earned three dollars this week, but next week I
may earn nothing. You see, I can't afford to spend money for lottery
tickets."

"Suppose by your caution you lose five hundred dollars. Nothing
risk, nothing gain!"

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

"Oh, well, do as you please!" said Eben, evidently disappointed. "I
thought I'd make you the offer, because I should like to see you win
a big prize."

"Thank you for your friendly intention," said Herbert, "but I am
afraid there are a good many more blanks than prizes. If there were
not, it wouldn't pay the lottery men to carry on the business."

This was common sense, and I cannot forbear at this point to press
it upon the attention of my young reader. Of all schemes of gaining
wealth, about the most foolish is spending money for lottery
tickets. It has been estimated by a sagacious writer that there is
about as much likelihood of drawing a large prize in a lottery as of
being struck by lightning and that, let us hope, is very small.

"I guess I won't go any farther," said Eben, abruptly, having become
convinced that Herbert could not be prevailed upon to lend him
money.

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

"Well, mother, I'm out of work," said Herbert, as he entered the
little sitting room, and threw down his week's wages. Our young hero
was of a cheerful temperament but he looked and felt sober when he
said this.

"But for the Grahams we should have a comfortable living," the boy
proceeded. "First, the father took away the post office from you,
and now the son has robbed me of my place."

"Don't be discouraged, Herbert," said his mother. "God will find us
a way out of our troubles."

Herbert had been trained to have a reverence for religion, and had
faith in the providential care of his heavenly Father, and his
mother's words recalled his cheerfulness.

"You are right, mother," he said, more hopefully. "I was feeling
low-spirited to-night, but I won't feel so any more. I don't see how
we are to live, but I won't let it trouble me tonight."

"Let us do our part, and leave the rest to God," said Mrs. Carr. "He
won't support us in idleness, but I am sure that in some way relief
will come if we are ready to help ourselves."

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

"Exactly so. To-morrow is Sunday, and we won't let any worldly
anxieties spoil that day for us. When Monday comes, we will think
over what is best to be done."

The next day Herbert and his mother attended church in neat apparel,
and those who saw their cheerful faces were not likely to guess the
serious condition of their affairs. They were not in debt, to be
sure, but, unless employment came soon, they were likely to be ere
long, for they had barely enough money ahead to last them two weeks.

Monday morning came, and brought its burden of care.

"I wish there was a factory in Wayneboro," said Herbert. "I am told
that boys of my age sometimes earn six or seven dollars a week."

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

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

"That is a consideration, but, if possible, I hope we shall not be
separated at meals."

"I will try other things first," said Herbert. "How would you like
some fish for dinner, mother? My time isn't of any particular value,
and I might as well go fishing."

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

Herbert felt that anything was better than idleness, so he took his
pole from the shed, and, after digging a supply of bait, set out for
the banks of the river half a mile away.

Through a grassy lane leading from the main street, he walked down
to the river with the pole on his shoulder.

He was not destined to solitude, for under a tree whose branches
hung over the river sat a young man, perhaps twenty-five years of
age, with a book in his hand.






CHAPTER VI.

HERBERT'S GOOD LUCK.





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

"Good-morning," answered Herbert, politely.

He recognized the young man, though he had never seen him before, as
a visitor from the city, who was boarding at the hotel, if the
village tavern could be so designated. He seemed to be a studious
young man, for he always had a book in his hand. He had a pleasant
face, but was pale and slender, and was evidently in poor health.

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

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

"I, too, have nothing else to do; but I judge from your appearance
that you have not the same reason for being idle."

"What is that, sir?"

"Poor health."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir; my mother had charge of the office till two weeks since,
when it was transferred to Mr. Graham. He employed me to attend to
the duties, and serve the customers in the store, till Saturday
night, when I was succeeded by his son, who had just returned from
the city."

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

"Yes, sir."

"I know where you live; I have had it pointed out to me. Your father
served in the war, did he not?"

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

The young man looked thoughtful. Then he said: "How much did Mr.
Graham pay you for your services?"

"Three dollars a week."

"That was not--excuse the question--all you and your mother had to
depend upon, was it?"

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

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

"It is only two dollars now, sir."

"True; but you have health and strength, and those will bring money.
In one respect you are more fortunate than I. You have a mother--I
have neither father nor mother."

"I'm sorry for you, sir."

"Thank you; anyone is to be pitied who has lost his parents. Now, as
I have asked about your affairs, it is only fair that I should tell
you about myself. To begin with, I am rich. Don't look envious, for
there is something to counterbalance. I am of feeble constitution,
and the doctors say that my lungs are affected. I have studied law,
but the state of my health has obliged me to give up, for the
present at least, the practice of my profession."

"But if you are rich you do not need to practice," said Herbert, who
may be excused for still thinking his companion's lot a happy one.

"No, I do not need to practice my profession, so far as the earning
of money is concerned; but I want something to occupy my mind. The
doctors say I ought to take considerable out-door exercise; but I
suppose my physical condition makes me indolent, for my chief
exercise has been, thus far, to wander to the banks of the river and
read under the trees."

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

"No; still it keeps me out in the open air, and that is something.
Now tell me, what are your plans?"

"My hope is to find something to do that will enable me to help
mother; but there doesn't seem much chance of finding anything in
Wayneboro. Do you think I could get a place in the city?"

"You might; but even if you did, you would find it difficult to earn
your own living, and there would be no chance of your helping your
mother."

Herbert, though naturally sanguine and hopeful, looked sober. Just
then he had a bite, and drew out a good-sized pickerel. This gave a
new direction to his thoughts, and he exclaimed, triumphantly:

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

"All of that," said the young man, rising and examining the fish
with interest. "Let me use your pole, and see what luck I have."

"Certainly."

The young man, some ten minutes later, succeeded in catching a
smaller pickerel, perhaps half the size of Herbert's.

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

For two hours Herbert and his friend alternately used the pole, and
the result was quite a handsome lot of fish.

"You have more fish than you want," said the young man. "You had
better bring what you don't want to the hotel. I heard the landlord
say he would like to buy some."

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

"Come along with me, then. Really, I don't know when I have passed a
forenoon so pleasantly. Usually I get tired of my own company, and
the day seems long to me. I believe I see my way clear to a better
way of spending my time. You say you want a place. How would you
like me for an employer?"

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

"No," said the young man, smiling; "or, rather, my business is the
pursuit of health and pleasure just now. In that I think you can
help me."

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

"My name is George Melville. Let me explain my idea to you. I want
your company to relieve my solitude. In your company I shall have
enterprise enough to go hunting and fishing, and follow out in good
faith my doctor's directions. What do you say?"

Herbert smiled.

"I would like that better than being in the post office," he said.
"It would seem like being paid for having a good time."

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

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

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

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

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

"It is more than I can earn. Mr. Graham thought he was over-paying
me with three dollars a week."

"You will find me a different man from Mr. Graham, Herbert. I am
aware that six dollars is larger pay than is generally given to boys
of your age. But I can afford to pay it, and I have no doubt you
will find the money useful."

"It will quite set us on our feet again, Mr. Melville," said
Herbert, earnestly. "You are very generous."

"Oh, you don't know what a hard taskmaster you may find me," said
the young man, playfully. "By the way, I consider that you have
already entered upon your duties. To-day is the first day. Now come
to the hotel with me, and see what you can get for the fish. I
happen to know that two of the guests, a lady and her daughter, are
anxious for a good fish dinner and, as there is no market here, I
think the landlord will be glad to buy from you."

Mr. Melville was right. Mr. Barton, the landlord, purchased the fish
that Herbert had to sell, for sixty cents, which he promptly paid,

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

"I don't know but the money ought to go to you, Mr. Melville," said
Herbert, "as I am now in your employ. Besides, you caught a part of
them."

"I waive all claim to compensation," said the young man, "though it
would be a novel sensation to receive money for services rendered.
What will you say, Herbert, when I tell you that I never earned a
dollar in my life?"

Herbert looked incredulous.

"It is really true," said George Melville, "my life has been passed
at school and college, and I have never had occasion to work for
money."

"You are in luck, then."

"I don't know that; I think those who work for the money they
receive are happy. Tell me, now, don't you feel more satisfaction in
the sixty cents you have just been paid because you have earned it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I thought so. The happiest men are those who are usefully employed.
Don't forget that, and never sigh for the opportunity to lead an
idle life. But I suppose your dinner is ready. You may go home, and
come back at three o'clock."

"Very well, sir."

Herbert made good time going home. He was eager to tell his mother
the good news of his engagement.






CHAPTER VII.

EBEN GROWS ENVIOUS.





"Well, mother," said Herbert, as he entered the house, "I have
brought you enough fish for dinner."

"I waited to see what luck you would have, Herbert, and therefore
have not got dinner ready. You will have to wait a little while."

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

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

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

Herbert laughed.

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

"There are ten cents more than I should have received for a whole
day's work at the store," he said.

"Where did you get it, Herbert?"

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

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

"I had help, mother. Mr. Melville, the young man from the city, who
boards at the hotel, helped me fish."

"Well, Herbert, you have made a good beginning. I couldn't help
feeling a little depressed when you left me this morning, reflecting
that we had but my pension to depend upon. It seemed so unlucky that
Eben Graham should have come home just at this time to deprive you
of your place in the store."

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

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

"Because I have a better situation already."

Then Herbert, who had been saving the best news for the last, told
his mother of his engagement as Mr. Melville's companion, and the
handsome compensation he was to receive.

"Six dollars a week!" repeated his mother. "That is indeed generous.
Herbert, we did well to trust in Providence."

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

After dinner Herbert did some chores for his mother, and then went
to the hotel to meet his new employer. He found him occupying a
large and pleasant room on the second floor. The table near the
window was covered with books, and there were some thirty or forty
volumes arranged on shelves.

"I always bring books with me, Herbert," said the young man. "I am
very fond of reading, and hitherto I have occupied too much time,
perhaps, in that way--too much, because it has interfered with
necessary exercise. Hereafter I shall devote my forenoon to some
kind of outdoor exercise in your company, and in the afternoon you
can read to me, or we can converse."

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

"Yes; here is a recent magazine. I will select an article for you to
read. It will rest my eyes, and besides it is pleasanter to have a
companion than to read one's self."

The article was one that interested Herbert as well as Mr. Melville,
and he was surprised when he had finished to find that it was nearly
five o'clock.

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

"No, sir; not at all."

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

At five o'clock Melville dismissed his young companion.

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

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

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

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

"When shall I come to-morrow?"

"At nine o'clock."

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

"No, I don't get up very early. My health won't allow me to
cultivate early rising. I shall not be through breakfast much before
nine."

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

"No, for it would involve overworking myself."

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

He reflected with satisfaction that he was being paid at the rate of
a dollar a day, which was quite beyond anything he had ever before
earned. Indeed, to-day he had earned sixty cents besides. The sum
received for the fish.

After supper Herbert went to the store to purchase some articles for
his mother. He was waited on by Mr. Graham in person. As the
articles called for would amount to nearly one dollar, the
storekeeper said, cautiously: "Of course, you are prepared to pay
cash?"

"Certainly, sir," returned Herbert.

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

"It is more than it was last week," said Herbert, rather enjoying
the prospect of surprising the storekeeper.

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

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

"I don't know what he wants of a companion," said the storekeeper,
with that disposition to criticise the affairs of his neighbors
often found in country places.

"He thinks he needs one," answered Herbert.

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

"Six dollars a week."

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

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

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

"Yes; he tells me he is rich."

"How much money has he got?"

"He didn't tell me that."

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

There was an interested listener to this conversation in the person
of Eben, who had been in the store all day, taking Herbert's place.
As we know, the position by no means suited the young man. He had
been employed in a store in Boston, and to come back to a small
country grocery might certainly be considered a descent. Besides,
the small compensation allowed him was far from satisfying Eben.

He was even more dissatisfied when he learned how fortunate Herbert
was. To be selected as a companion by a rich young man was just what
he would have liked himself, and he flattered himself that he should
make a more desirable companion than a mere boy like Herbert.

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

"What was that you were telling father about going round with a
young man from the city?" he asked.

Herbert repeated it.

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

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

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

"Yes, I think so."

"What a splendid chance it would be for me!" thought Eben. "If I
could get intimate with a man like that, he might set me up in
business some day; perhaps take me to Europe, or round the world!"
"How much of the time do you expect to be with this Mr. Melville?"
he asked.

Herbert answered the question.

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

"Very much so."

Eben inwardly decided that, if he could, he would oust Herbert from
his desirable place, and substitute himself. It was a very mean
thought, but Eben inherited meanness from his father.

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

"What is it?" asked our hero.

"Will you take my place in the store this evening? I am not feeling
well, and want to take a walk."

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

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

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

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

When Eben was released from the store, he went over to the hotel,
and inquired for Mr. Melville, leaving his unsuspecting young
substitute in the post office.






CHAPTER VIII.

EBEN'S ASSURANCE.





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

George Melville looked up in some surprise from his book, and said:
"You may show him up."

"It must be Herbert," he thought.

But when the door was opened, and the visitor shown in, Mr. Melville
found it was an older person than Herbert. Eben, for it was he,
distorted his mean features into what he regarded as a pleasant
smile, and, without waiting to receive a welcome, came forward with
extended hand.

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

"Yes, that is my name," said Melville, looking puzzled; "I don't
remember you. Have I met you before?"

"You saw me in father's store, very likely," said Eben. "I am Eben
Graham, son of Ebenezer Graham, the postmaster."

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

"I'm a chip off the old block with modern improvements," said Eben,
smirking. "Father's always lived in the country, and he ain't very
stylish. I've been employed in Boston for a couple of years past,
and got a little city polish."

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

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

"Well, no, not exactly," answered Eben, "I feel that a country store
isn't my sphere."

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

"Probably I shall do so eventually, but I may stay here in Wayneboro
a while if I can make satisfactory arrangements. I assure you that
it was not my wish to take Herbert Carr's place."

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

"It is only ad interim. I assure you, it is only ad interim. I am
quite ready to give back the place to Herbert, who is better suited
to it than I."

"I wonder what the fellow is driving at," thought Melville. Eben did
not long leave him in doubt.

"Herbert tells me that he has made an engagement with you,"
continued Eben, desiring to come to his business as soon as
possible.

"Yes, we have made a mutual arrangement."

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

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

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

"Of course," Eben added, clearing his throat, "Herbert isn't so much
of a companion to you as if he were a few years older."

"I don't know that; it seems to me that he is a very pleasant
companion, young as he is."

"To be sure, Herbert is a nice boy, and father was glad to help him
along by giving him a place, with a larger salary than he ever paid
before."

"What is he driving at?" thought Melville.

"To come to the point, Mr. Melville," said Eben, "I have made bold
to call upon you to suggest a little difference in your
arrangements."

"Indeed!" said Melville, coldly. Though he had no idea what his
singular visitor was about to propose, it struck him emphatically
that Eben was interfering in an unwarrantable manner with his
affairs.

"You see," continued Eben, "I'm a good deal nearer your age than
Herbert, and I've had the advantage of residing in the city, which
Herbert hasn't, and naturally should be more company to you. Then,
again, Herbert could do the work in the post office and store, which
I am doing, nearly as well as I can. I'll undertake to get father to
give him back his place, and then I shall be happy to make an
arrangement with you to go hunting and fishing, or anything else
that you choose. I am sure I should enjoy your company, Mr.
Melville," concluded Eben, rubbing his hands complacently and
surveying George Melville with an insinuating smile.

"You have certainly taken considerable trouble to arrange this
matter for me," said Melville, with a sarcasm which Eben did not
detect.

"Oh, no trouble at all!" said Eben, cheerfully. "You see, the idea
came into my head when Herbert told me of his arrangements with you,
and I thought I'd come and see you about it."

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

"Well, no, I didn't. I didn't know how Herbert would look at it. I
got Herbert to take my place in the store while I ran over to see
you about the matter. By the way, though I am some years older than
Herbert, I shan't ask more than you pay him. In fact, I am willing
to leave the pay to your liberality."

"You are very considerate!" said Melville, hardly knowing whether to
be amused or provoked by the cool assurance of his visitor.

"Oh, not at all!" returned Eben, complacently. "I guess I've fetched
him!" he reflected, looking at Mr. Melville through his small,
half-closed eyes.

"You have certainly surprised me very much, Mr. Graham," said
Melville, "by the nature of your suggestion. I won't take into
consideration the question whether you have thought more of your own
pleasure or mine. So far as the latter is concerned, you have made a
mistake in supposing that Herbert's youth is any drawback to his
qualification as a companion. Indeed, his youth and cheerful
temperament make him more attractive in my eyes. I hope, Mr. Graham,
you will excuse me for saying that he suits me better than you
possibly could."

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

"I didn't suppose a raw, country boy would be likely to suit a
gentleman of taste, who has resided in the city," he said, with
asperity.

"Then you will have a chance to correct your impression," said
Melville, with a slight smile.

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

"Thank you, no. If you will excuse me for suggesting it, Mr. Graham,
it would have been more considerate for you to have apprised Herbert
of your object in asking him to take your place this evening.
Probably he had no idea that you meant to supersede him with me."

Eben tossed his head.

"You mustn't think, Mr. Melville," he said, "that I was after the
extra pay. Six dollars doesn't seem much to me. I was earning ten
dollars a week in Boston, and if I had stayed, should probably have
been raised to twelve."

"So that you were really consenting to a sacrifice in offering to
enter my employment at six dollars a week?"

"Just so!"

"Then I am all the more convinced that I have decided for the best
in retaining Herbert. I do not wish to interfere with your prospects
in the city."

"Oh, as for that," said Eben, judging that he had gone too far, "I
don't care to go back to the city just yet. I've been confined
pretty steadily, and a few weeks in the country, hunting and
fishing, will do me good."

George Melville bowed, but said nothing.

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

"If you should think better of what I've proposed," he said, "you
can let me know."

"I will do so," said Melville.

"He's rather a queer young man," muttered Eben, as he descended the
stairs. "It's funny that he should prefer a country boy like Herbert
to a young man like me who's seen life, and got some city polish--at
the same price, too! He don't seem to see his own interest. I'm
sorry, for it would have been a good deal more interesting to me,
going round with him a few hours a day, than tending store for
father. There's one thing sure, I won't do it long. I'm fitted for a
higher position than that, I hope."

"For downright impudence and cool assurance, I think that young man
will bear off the palm," thought George Melville, as his unwelcome
visitor left the room. "Herbert is in no danger from him. It would
probably surprise him if he knew that I should consider his company
as an intolerable bore. I will tell Herbert to-morrow the good turn
his friend has tried to do him."






CHAPTER IX

THE SOLITARY FARMHOUSE.





If Eben had been sensitive, the cool reception which he met with at
the hands of Mr. Melville would have disturbed him. As it was, he
felt angry and disappointed, and desirous of "coming up with"
Herbert, as he expressed it, though it was hard to see in what way
the boy had injured him. It did not seem quite clear at present how
he was to punish Herbert, but he only waited for an occasion.

When Herbert learned, the next morning, from Mr. Melville, in what
manner Eben had tried to undermine him, and deprive him of his
situation, he was naturally indignant.

"I didn't think Eben Graham could be so mean," he exclaimed.

"It was certainly a mean thing to do, Herbert," said George
Melville; "but you can afford to treat young Graham with contempt,
as he has been unable to do you any injury."

"What shall we do this morning, Mr. Melville?" asked Herbert.

"I should like a row on the river," said Melville. "Do you know of
any boat we can have?"

"Walter Ingalls has a boat; I think we can hire that."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you may go and ascertain whether we can have it, or I will go
with you to avoid loss of time."

The boat was readily loaned, and the two were soon on the river. Mr.
Melville first took the oars, but he was quickly fatigued, and
resigned them to Herbert, who was strong and muscular for his age.
As his companion observed his strong and steady strokes, he said:

"Herbert, I am disposed to envy you your strength and endurance. I
get tired very easily."

"Were you not strong when a boy?" asked Herbert.

"I never had much endurance. My mother had a feeble constitution and
was consumptive, and I inherit something of her weakness."

"It is fortunate that you have money, Mr. Melville, so that you are
not obliged to work."

"True; but I would give half my fortune to be strong and well."

Herbert noticed the hectic flush upon Mr. Melville's cheeks, and his
white, transparent hands, and his sympathy was aroused.

"I see," he said, thoughtfully, "that I am more fortunate than I
thought in my health and strength."

"They are blessings not to be overestimated, Herbert. However, my
lot is, on the whole, a happy one, even though my life will probably
be brief, and I have still many sources of satisfaction and
enjoyment."

The river led away from the village, flowing between wooded banks,
with here and there a cottage set in the midst of the fields. Lying
back in the stern, Melville enjoyed their tranquil passage, when
their attention was suddenly attracted by a boy who stood on the
bank, frantically waving his hat. Melville was the first to see him.

"What can that boy want?" he asked.

Herbert immediately looked around, and exclaimed in surprise:

"It's Tom Tripp!"

"Row to shore, and see what he wants," said Melville, quickly.

They were already near, and in a brief space of time they touched
the bank.

"What's the matter, Tom?"

"There's a tramp in the house, stealing all he can lay hands on,"
answered Tom, in excitement.

"What house?"

"Farmer Cole's."

Mr. Cole was the farmer for whom Tom Tripp was working.

Tom explained that the farmer was gone to the village, leaving his
wife alone. A tramp had come to the door and asked for a meal. While
Mrs. Cole was getting something for him, the visitor looked about
him and, finding that there was no man about, boldly demanded money,
after unceremoniously possessing himself of the silver spoons.

"Is he armed?" asked Melville.

"I don't know; I don't think so."

"Does he know that you have gone for help?"

"No; he did not see me. I came from the fields, and saw him through
the window. Mrs. Cole thinks I am in the field and there is no help
near."

Physical courage and physical strength do not always go together,
and a weak man often excels a strong man in bravery. George Melville
was thoroughly roused. For injustice or brutality he had a hearty
contempt, and he was not one to stand by and see a ruffian triumph.

"Come, Herbert," he said; "let us go to the help of this poor
woman."

"With all my heart," answered Herbert, his eyes flashing.

Before describing the appearance of Herbert and George Melville upon
the scene, I will go back a few minutes and relate what happened at
the farmhouse.

Mrs. Cole was engaged in ironing when she heard a knock at the door.

Answering the summons, she found herself confronted by an
ill-looking fellow whose dusty and travel-soiled garments revealed
the character of the wearer.

"What is it you wish?" asked the farmer's wife.

"I'm hungry!" said the tramp. "Can you give me something to eat?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Cole, cheerfully, for the good woman could not
find it in her heart to turn away a fellow creature suffering from
hunger. "We have enough and to spare. Come in, and sit down at the
table."

The visitor followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the
table, while the farmer's wife went to the pantry and brought out
half a loaf of bread and a plate of cold meat.

The tramp was not long in attacking it, but after a few mouthfuls
laid down his knife and fork.

"Where's the coffee?" he asked.

"I have no warm coffee," she answered.

"Don't you drink coffee in the morning?"

"Yes, but breakfast was over two or three hours since. Shall I get
you a glass of water?"

"Haven't you any cider?"

"It seems to me you are particular," said Mrs. Cole, growing
indignant.

"All the same I want some cider," said the tramp, impudently.

"I have no cider," answered Mrs. Cole, shortly.

"A pretty farmhouse this is, without cider," growled the tramp. "You
can make me some coffee, then!"

"Who are you to order me round in my own house?" demanded Mrs. Cole,
angrily. "One would think you took this for a hotel."

"I take it for what I please," said the tramp.

"If my husband were here you wouldn't dare to talk to me like this!"

It was an unguarded admission, made on the impulse of the moment,
and Mrs. Cole felt its imprudence as soon as she had uttered the
words, but it was too late to recall them.

"Where is your husband?" asked the tramp, his face lighting up with
a gleam of exultation.

"Near by," answered Mrs. Cole, evasively; but her visitor saw that
this was not correct.

"How much money have you in the house?" he demanded, abruptly.

"Money?" gasped the farmer's wife, turning pale.

"Yes, money! Didn't I speak plain enough?" asked the tramp, angrily.

"Are you a thief, then?"

"Don't you dare to call me a thief!" said the tramp, menacingly.

"Then, if you are an honest man, why do you ask that question?"

"Because I am going to borrow what money you have."

"Borrow!"

"Yes," said the man, with a grin. "I'll hand it back when I come
around again."

Under ordinary circumstances there would not have been money enough
in the farmhouse to be anxious about, but it so happened that Farmer
Cole had sold a yoke of oxen, and the money received, a hundred
dollars, was upstairs in a bureau drawer. The thought of this,
though she didn't suppose the tramp to be aware of it, was enough to
terrify Mrs. Cole, and she sank back in the chair in a panic. Of
course the tramp inferred that there was a considerable sum in the
house.

"Come, hurry up!" he said, roughly, "I can't wait here all day.
Where do you keep the money?"

"It is my husband's," said Mrs. Cole, terrified out of all prudence.

"All right! I'll pay it back to him. While you're about it, you may
collect all the spoons, too. I'm going to open a boarding house," he
continued, with a chuckle, "and I shall need them."

"Oh, heavens! What shall I do?" ejaculated the frightened woman.






CHAPTER X.

AN EXCITING SCENE.





"You'd better go upstairs and get that money, or I will go up
myself," said the tramp, boldly.

"I will go," said Mrs. Cole, terrified.

It was at this time that Tom Tripp, looking in at the window, got an
idea of the situation, but he was unobserved. The river bank was
near, and he ran down to it, hoping, but not expecting, to see some
one who could interfere with the impudent robber. We have already
seen that he was luckier than he anticipated.

Meanwhile Mrs. Cole went upstairs, not knowing how to save the money
from being carried away. She wished heartily that her husband had
taken it with him. One hundred dollars, as she well knew, would be a
serious loss to her husband, who was only moderately well to do. She
thought it possible that the tramp might know how large a sum there
was in the house, but could not be sure. She resolved, however, to
make an effort to save the larger part of the money. From the wallet
she took two five-dollar bills, and then, removing it from the
drawer, put it between the beds. She lingered as long as she dared,
and then went downstairs with the two bills in her hand.

"Well, have you got the money?" growled the tramp.

"Don't take it," she said; "be satisfied with the breakfast I have
given you."

"You're a fool!" said the tramp, rudely. "How much have you got
there?"

"Ten dollars."

"Ten dollars!" said the tramp, disdainfully. "What do you take me
for?"

"It is a large sum of money to me and my husband, sir," said the
poor woman, nervously.

"It isn't enough for me! You have got more money in the house. Don't
lie to me! You know you have."

"I am not used to be talked to in that way," said Mrs. Cole,
forgetting her timidity for the moment.

"I can't help what you are used to; you'd better not trifle with me.
Go upstairs and bring down the rest of the money--do you hear?"

"Oh, sir!"

"'Oh, sir!'" repeated the tramp, impatiently. "I can't stay here all
day. Are you going to do as I tell you?"

"I suppose I must," said the poor woman.

"That's sensible. You'll find out after a while that nothing is to
be gained by trying to fool me. I'll give you just three minutes to
find that money and bring it down."

"You'll leave the spoons, then?"

"No; I want them, as I've already told you. Come, two minutes are
passed. I don't want to kill you, but--"

Mrs. Cole uttered a shriek of dismay, and turned to obey the command
of her unwelcome visitor, when a loud, clear voice was heard from
just outside the window.

"Stay where you are, Mrs. Cole! There is help at hand. This ruffian
shall not harm you."

It was the voice of George Melville. The tramp turned swiftly and
stared in ill-disguised dismay at Melville and Herbert.

"What business is it of yours?" he demanded, in a blustering tone.

"We make it our business to defend this lady from your thievish
designs," said Melville.

"You!" exclaimed the tramp, contemptuously. "Why, I could twist
either of you round my little finger."

"You'd better not try it!" said Melville, not showing the least
trepidation. "Mrs. Cole, has this man anything of yours in his
possession?"

"He has my spoons and I have just handed him ten dollars."

George Melville turned to the tramp.

"Be kind enough to lay the spoons on the table," he said, "and give
back the ten dollars Mrs. Cole handed you."

"You must think I'm a fool!" said the tramp.

"No; but I think you are a prudent man. If you do as I say we will
let you go; if not--"

"Well, if not?" blustered the tramp.

"If not, you may regret it."

All this time George Melville had spoken in his usual tone of voice,
and the tramp was puzzled to know whether he had any weapon with
him. For himself, he was unarmed, and this made him feel rather ill
at ease, notwithstanding his superiority in physical strength. He
was rather disposed to think that George Melville had a pistol, for
he could not understand how otherwise he should dare to confront a
man of twice his size and strength.

"I don't care for the spoons," he said, "but I will take the money."

"No, you will return the money," said Melville, calmly.

"Who will make me?" demanded the tramp, defiantly.

"I will."

"We'll see about that!" said the tramp, desperately, and he sprang
towards Melville, who had in the meantime entered the house and
stood only six feet distant.

"Stay where you are!" exclaimed Melville, resolutely, and he drew a
pistol, which he leveled at his formidable antagonist.

"That settles it, stranger!" said the tramp, "You've got the
advantage of me this time. Just wait till we meet again."

"I am willing to wait for some time," said Melville, shrugging his
shoulders. "I have no desire to cultivate your acquaintance, my
friend."

"There are the spoons!" said the tramp, throwing them down on the
table.

"Now for the money!"

The tramp looked at George Melville. Melville still held the pistol
in his hand leveled at his breast. The thief was a large man, but he
was not a brave one. He cowered before the resolute glance of his
small opponent.

"Won't you interfere with me if I give back the money?" he asked.

"No."

"Will you let me go without firing at me?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps you won't keep your agreement," suggested the tramp,
nervously.

"I am a man of my word," said Melville, calmly.

His calm, resolute tone, free from all excitement, impressed the
tramp with confidence. He drew the notes from his vest pocket, where
he had thrust them, and threw them on the table.

"Now, may I go?" he said.

In answer, George Melville, who stood between him and the door, drew
aside, still, however, holding the pistol in position, and the tramp
passed out, not sorry, it may be said, to get out of range of the
weapon.

They watched him striding through the yard, and when he was fairly
gone Mrs. Cole said:

"Oh, how can I thank you for saving me from this wretch?"

"I am glad to have been the instrument of deliverance," said
Melville, politely.

"It was fortunate you had the pistol with you, Mr. Melville," said
Herbert.

"Well, yes, perhaps it was," said Melville, smiling.

"Pray, put it up, Mr. Melville," said the farmer's wife, "it always
makes me nervous to see a loaded pistol."

Melville bowed, and put back the pistol in his pocket.

"As your unpleasant visitor has gone," he said, "I may as well
relieve your fears by saying that the pistol is not loaded."

"Not loaded!" exclaimed Herbert and Tom Tripp in concert.

"No; it has not been loaded to my knowledge for a year."

"Then how could you stand up against that man?" asked the farmer's
wife, in wonder.

"He thought it was loaded!" replied Melville, "and that answered the
purpose. I should be very reluctant to use a loaded pistol, for I
have a high idea of the sacredness of human life, but I have no
objection to playing upon the fears of a man like that."

Melville and Herbert remained at the farmhouse for half an hour,
till the return of the farmer, when they resumed their river trip.
They returned about noon. When they were walking through the main
street, Herbert saw the town constable approaching with the air of a
man who had business with him.

"Did you wish to speak to me, Mr. Bruce?" he asked.

"Yes, Herbert. I have a warrant for your arrest."

"For my arrest!" exclaimed Herbert, in amazement. "What for?"

"On complaint of Eben Graham, for abstracting postage stamps and
money from the post office last evening."






CHAPTER XI.

TRIED FOR THEFT.





Herbert stared at the constable in blank amazement.

"I am charged with stealing stamps and money from the post office?"
he said.

"Yes."

"Who makes the charge?" demanded Herbert, in great excitement.

"Eben Graham."

"I don't know what it means," said our hero, turning to George
Melville.

"It means," said Melville, "that the fellow is envious of you, and
angry because he cannot supersede you with me. He evidently wants to
do you an injury."

"It must be so; but I did not imagine that Eben could be so mean.
Mr. Bruce, do you believe that I am a thief?"

"No, I don't, Herbert," said the constable, "and it was very much
against my will that I started out to arrest you, you may be sure."

"When do you want me to go with you?" asked Herbert.

"You will go before Justice Slocum at two o'clock."

"Is it necessary for me to go to the lockup?" asked Herbert,
shrinking, with natural repugnance, from entering the temporary
house of tramps and law breakers.

"No, Herbert," answered the constable, in a friendly tone. "I'll
take it upon myself to let you go home to dinner. I will call for
you at quarter of two. Of course I shall find you ready to accompany
me?"

"Yes, Mr. Bruce, I am impatient to meet Eben Graham, and tell him to
his face that he has been guilty of a mean and contemptible
falsehood, in charging me with theft. Not a person in the village
who knows me will believe it."

"I will also call at your house, Herbert," said George Melville,
"and accompany you to the office of the justice. I shall ask leave
to give the details of Eben Graham's visit to me last evening."

"Thank you, Mr. Melville," said Herbert, "I am glad you do not
believe a word of this story."

"I am not so easily deceived, Herbert. It is quite possible that
stamps and money have been stolen, but, if so, it is your false
friend and accuser who is guilty."

Of course Herbert had to tell his mother what had happened. She was
agitated and alarmed, but became calmer when Herbert told her what
was Eben's probable motive in making the charge.

"How can he behave so shamefully!" exclaimed the indignant parent.

"I didn't think him capable of it, myself, mother, although I had a
poor opinion of him."

"Suppose that you can't prove that you are innocent, Herbert?" said
Mrs. Carr, anxiously.

"It is for him to prove that I am guilty, mother," answered Herbert,
who knew this much of law.

At a quarter of two Constable Bruce and Mr. Melville walked to the
house together.

The door was opened for them by Herbert himself.

"So you haven't taken leg bail, Herbert," said the constable,
jocosely.

"No, Mr. Bruce, I am on hand; I am in a hurry to meet Mr. Eben
Graham and see whether he can look me in the face after his shameful
behavior."

"Oh, Mr. Bruce, I never thought you would call at my home on such an
errand," said Mrs, Carr, on the point of breaking down.

"Don't worry, Mrs. Carr," said the constable; "anybody may be
charged with theft, however innocent. Your son has good friends who
won't see him treated with injustice."

Herbert's mother was desirous of accompanying them to the office of
the justice, but was persuaded to remain behind. Herbert knew that
in her indignation she would not be able to be silent when she saw
Eben Graham.

Justice Slocum was an elderly man, with a mild face and gray hair.
When Herbert entered he greeted him in a friendly way.

"I am sorry to see you here, my boy," he said, "but I am sure there
is some mistake. I have known you ever since you were a baby, and I
don't believe you are guilty of theft now."

"I submit, Judge Slocum," said Eben Graham, who sat in a corner, his
mean features looking meaner and more insignificant than usual, "I
submit that you are prejudging the case."

"Silence, sir!" said Judge Slocum, warmly. "How dare you impugn my
conduct? Though Herbert were my own son, I would give you a chance
to prove him guilty."

"I hope you'll excuse me, judge," said Eben, cringing. "I am as
sorry as you are to believe the boy guilty of stealing."

"Do your worst and say your worst, Eben Graham!" said Herbert,
contemptuously, "but be very careful that you do not swear falsely."

"I don't need any instructions from you, Herbert Carr, considering
that you are a criminal on trial," said Eben, maliciously.

"You are mistaken, sir," said George Melville. "To be under arrest
does not make a man or boy a criminal."

"I am sure I am much obliged for the information, Mr. Melville,"
said Eben, spitefully. "You've chosen a nice companion."

"There you are right," said Melville, gravely. "I have done much
better than if I had hired you."

Eben winced, but did not reply.

George Melville whispered to Herbert:

"Are you willing to accept me as your lawyer? I am not much of one,
to be sure, but this case is very simple."

"I am very grateful for your offer, and accept it," said Herbert.

I do not propose to record the whole scene in detail, but only to
give a general idea of the proceedings.

Eben Graham was sworn as a witness, and deposed that he had left
Herbert in charge of the post office the previous evening. On his
return he examined the stamps and contents of the money drawer, and
found, to his surprise, that five dollars in money and six dollars'
worth of stamps were missing.

"How did you know they were missing?" asked Melville.

"Because I knew precisely how much money was in the drawer and how
many stamps were there."

"Then you counted them just before you went out?"

"Yes, sir."

"That was rather a singular time to make the count, was it not?"

"I don't know that it was, sir."

"I should suppose the end of the day would be a more appropriate
time."

"I don't think so," answered Eben, shortly.

"Were you led to make the count because you suspected Herbert's
honesty?" asked Mr. Melville.

"That was the very reason I did it," said Eben, with a malicious
glance at Herbert.

"Isn't it a little curious that you should have selected a boy whose
honesty you doubted, to fill your place?" asked George Melville,
carelessly.

"There wasn't anybody else; he knew all about post-office work."
answered Eben.

"Very good! Now, Mr. Graham, if you have no objection, will you tell
why you wanted to get away from the post office last evening?"

Eben fidgeted, for he saw what was coming, and it made him nervous.

"I wanted a little rest," he answered, after a pause.

"Where did you go?"

"Why do you ask me that question?" asked Eben, moving about
uneasily.

"Because I desire an answer."

"You know where I went," returned Eben, sullenly.

"Yes, but I wish you to tell me."

"Answer the question, witness!" said the judge, briefly.

"I went to the hotel," replied Eben, evasively.

"On whom did you call?"

"On you!" answered Eben, reluctantly.

"We have come to it at last. Now, what was your business with me?"

"To tell you that Herbert would not suit you as a companion," said
the witness, who thought this answer rather a clever one.

"Whom did you recommend in his place?" pursued the questioner,
relentlessly.

Eben hesitated, but his cleverness came again to his aid.

"I told you that I would be willing to come just to oblige you," he
said.

"Did Herbert know that you were going to make this proposal?"

"No."

"You asked him, then, to remain in the post office while you
absented yourself with a view of depriving him of the position he
had just secured in my employ?"

"I would have got father to take him again in the store and post
office," said Eben, defending himself from the implied charge of
treachery.

"Yes, you told me so."

Eben nodded triumphantly. Even Melville had to admit that he was not
treating Herbert meanly.

"By the way," said Melville, "isn't it rather strange that you
should have been ready to recommend in your place a boy whose
honesty you doubted?"

"I didn't know he was a thief," said Eben, somewhat abashed.

"No, but you suspected his honesty. That was your reason for
counting the money and stamps before you left the office. At least,
that is the reason you have given."

"He had been in the office before I was there," said Eben, uneasily.

"While he was there, were any stamps missing? Was he suspected of
taking any stamps or money?"

"Not that I know of."

"Now, Mr. Graham, what answer did I make to your application?"

"What application?"

"To take you into my employ instead of Herbert."

"You wanted to keep him," said the witness, sullenly.

"Precisely. Having failed, then, in your application, you went home
and discovered that some money and stamps had been stolen."

"Yes, sir. I was very much surprised--"

"That will do, sir. Your discovery was remarkably well-timed.
Herbert having obtained the position you sought, you straightway
discovered proof of his dishonesty."

Eben colored, for the insinuation was plain enough for even him to
understand.

"The two things had nothing to do with each other!" he said.

"That may be, but I call the attention of the judge to a very
remarkable coincidence. Have the missing stamps or money been found
on the person of the defendant?"

"He hasn't been searched."

"I will take it upon me to say that he is ready to submit to an
examination," said Melville.

Herbert said, emphatically, "I am."

"Oh, it isn't likely you'd find anything now." said Eben, with a
sneer.

"Why not?"

"He has had plenty of time to put 'em away."

"I am willing to have my mother's house searched," said Herbert,
promptly.

"Oh, they ain't there!" said Eben, significantly.

"Where are they, then?"

Eben's answer took Herbert and his lawyer, and the judge himself, by
surprise.






CHAPTER XII.

EBEN'S TRUMP CARD.





"I guess they're--a part of them--inside this letter," he said.

As he spoke he produced a letter, stamped and sealed, but not
postmarked. The letter was addressed:

"Messrs. Jones & Fitch,

"---Chestnut Street,

"Philadelphia."

"What makes you think this letter contains money or postage stamps,
Mr. Graham?" asked George Melville.

"Because I've seen an advertisement of Jones & Fitch in one of the
weekly papers. They advertise to send several articles to any
address on receipt of seventy-five cents in postage stamps."

"Very well. What inference do you draw from this?"

"Don't you see?" answered Eben, in malicious triumph. "That's where
part of the stamps went. This letter was put into the post office by
Herbert Carr this morning."

"That is not true," said Herbert, quietly.

"Maybe it isn't, but I guess you'll find Herbert Carr's name signed
to the letter," said Eben.

"Have you seen the inside of the letter, Mr. Graham?"

"No, sir."

"Then how do you know Herbert Carr's name is signed to it?"

"I don't know, but I am pretty sure it is."

"You think Herbert Carr wrote the letter?"

"Yes, sir."

"If there is no objection," said Melville, "I will settle the matter
by opening it."

"That's what I want you to do." said Eben Graham.

"And I also," said Herbert.

Mr. Melville deliberately cut open one end of the envelope with a
small penknife, and drew out the folded sheet which it contained. As
he did so, a small sheet of postage stamps fell upon the floor.

"There, do you see that?" said Eben in triumph.

The sheet of stamps contained twenty-five three-cent stamps,
representing in value seventy-five cents.

"Shall I read the letter, sir?" asked Melville, of the judge.

"If there is no objection."

Melville read it aloud, as follows:

"WAYNEBORO, August 2lst. MESSRS. JONES & FITCH: I inclose
seventy-five cents in stamps, and will be glad to have you send me
the articles you advertise in the Weekly Gazette. Yours truly,

"HERBERT CARR."

Herbert listened to the reading of this letter in amazement.

"I never wrote that letter," he said, "and I never heard of Jones &
Fitch before."

"That's a likely story!" sneered Eben Graham. "I submit to Judge
Slocum that I have proved my case. I haven't found out when all the
stamps left, but I have shown where some are. One who will steal
seventy-five cents' worth of stamps will steal six dollars' worth."

"I agree with you there, Mr. Graham," said George Melville. "Will
you be kind enough to sit down at that table, and write to my
dictation?"

"What should I do that for?" asked Eben, suspiciously.

"Never mind. Surely you can have no objection."

"Well, no; I don't know as I have, though I think it's all
foolishness."

He sat down, and a pen was handed him.

"What shall I write?" he asked.

"Write 'Messrs. Jones & Fitch.'"

"What for?" demanded Eben, looking discomposed.

"That's my affair. Write."

Eben wrote the words, but he seemed to find some difficulty in doing
so. It was clear that he was trying to disguise his handwriting.

"What next?" he asked.

"'I inclose seventy-five cents in stamps,'" proceeded George
Melville.

"Do you want to throw suspicion on me?" asked Eben, throwing down
the pen.

"Keep on writing!" said the judge.

Eben did so, but was very deliberate about it, and seemed very
particular as to how he penned his letter.

"Very well!" said Melville. "Now, I wish Herbert Carr to take the
pen, and I will dictate the same letter."

Herbert readily took the seat just vacated by Eben, and rapidly
wrote the words dictated to him.

When he had finished his task, Mr. Melville took the two copies,
and, first examining them himself, handed them, together with the
original letter, to Justice Slocum.

"I have only to ask your honor," he said, "to compare these three
notes and decide for yourself whether the original was written by
Herbert Carr or Mr. Eben Graham, the witness against him."

Eben Graham looked very ill at ease, flushing and paling by turns
while the examination was going on.

"I submit," he said, "that this is a very extraordinary way of
treating a witness."

Justice Slocum, after a pause, said: "I find that Mr. Eben Graham's
copy is unmistakably in the same handwriting as the original letter,
purporting to be written by Herbert Carr."

"It's not so!" faltered Eben.

"Then," said George Melville, triumphantly, "as it seems clear that
my young client is the victim of a base conspiracy, engineered by
the man who has brought this charge of dishonesty against him, I
have only to ask that he be honorably discharged."

"The request is granted," said Justice Slocum. "Herbert, you can go.
It is clear that you are innocent of the charge made against you."

"I protest," began Eben Graham.

"As for you, Mr. Graham," said the justice, severely, "I have no
words to express my scorn and detestation of your conduct in
deliberately contriving a plot to ruin the reputation of an innocent
boy, who has never done you any harm. Should Herbert Carr desire it,
he is at liberty to sue you for having him arrested on a false
charge trumped up by yourself."

Eben began to look frightened.

"I do not wish to punish Mr. Graham," said Herbert. "It is enough
for me that my honesty has been vindicated."

"Go, then," said the justice to Eben. "It is fortunate for you that
this boy is so forbearing."

Eben Graham slunk out of the justice's office, looking meaner and
more contemptible than ever, while Herbert was surrounded by his
friends, who congratulated him upon the happy issue of the trial.






CHAPTER XIII.

EBEN'S LAST HOPE FAILS.





Ebenezer Graham had taken no stock in his son's charge against
Herbert. He was not prejudiced in favor of Herbert, nor did he feel
particularly friendly to him, but he was a man of shrewdness and
common sense, and he knew that Herbert was not a fool. When Eben
made known to him the fact that the stamps and money were missing,
he said keenly: "What has become of 'em?"

"I don't know," answered Eben, "but I can guess well enough."

"Guess, then," said his father, shortly.

"You know Herbert Carr took my place last evening?"

"Well?"

"There's no doubt that he took the stamps and money."

"That isn't very likely."

"I feel sure of it--so sure that I mean to charge him with it."

"Well, you can see what he says."

Ebenezer did not understand that Eben intended to have the boy
arrested, and would not have consented to it had he known. But Eben
slipped out of the store, and arranged for the arrest without his
father's knowledge. Indeed, he did not learn till the trial had
already commenced, Eben having made some excuse for his absence.

When Eben returned his father greeted him in a tone very far from
cordial.

"Well, Eben, I hear you've gone and made a fool of yourself?"

"I have only been defending your property, father," said Eben,
sullenly. "I thought you'd appreciate it better than this."

"You've charged an innocent boy with theft, and now all his friends
will lay it up agin' us."

"Were you going to be robbed without saying a word?" asked Eben.

"No, I'm not, Eben Graham; I'm goin' to say a word, and now's the
time to say it. You can't pull wool over my eyes. The money's gone,
and the stamps are gone, and somebody's got 'em."

"Herbert Carr!"

"No, it isn't Herbert Carr. It's somebody nearer to me, I'm ashamed
to say, than Herbert Carr."

"Do you mean to say I took them?" asked Eben.

"I won't bring a charge unless I can prove it, but I shall watch you
pretty closely after this."

"In that case, I don't wish to work for you any longer; I throw up
the situation," said Eben, loftily.

"Verv well. When are you going to leave town?"

"I ain't going to leave town at present."

"Where are you going to board, then?"

Eben regarded his father in dismay.

"You're not going to send me adrift, are you?" he asked, in
consternation.

"I'm not going to support you in idleness; if you give up your
situation in the store, you'll have to go to work for somebody
else."

"I wish I could," thought Eben, thinking of the rich young man at
the hotel, from whom he had sought a position as companion.

"Then I shall have to leave Wayneboro," he said; "there's nothing to
do here."

"Yes, there is; Farmer Collins wants a hired man."

"A hired man!" repeated Eben, scornfully. "Do you think I am
going--to hire out on a farm?"

"You might do a great deal worse," answered Ebenezer, sensibly.

"After being a dry-goods salesman in Boston, I haven't got down to
that, I beg to assure you," said Eben, with an air of consequence.

"Then you will have to work in the store if you expect to stay at
home," said his father. "And hark you, Eben Graham," he added,
"don't report any more losses of money or stamps. I make you
responsible for both."

Eben went back to his work in an uneasy frame of mind. He saw that
he had not succeeded in imposing upon his father, and that the
clear-sighted old gentleman strongly suspected where the missing
articles had gone. Eben might have told, had he felt inclined, that
the five-dollar bill had been mailed to a lottery agent in New York
in payment for a ticket in a Southern lottery, and that the stamps
were even now in his possession, and would be sold at the first
opportunity. His plan to throw suspicion upon Herbert had utterly
failed, and the cold looks with which he had been greeted showed
what the villagers thought of his attempt.

"I won't stay in Wayneboro much longer," Eben inwardly resolved.
"It's the dullest hole in creation. I can get along somehow in a
large place, but here there's positively nothing. Hire out on a
farm, indeed! My father ought to be ashamed to recommend such a
thing to his only son, when he's so well off. If he would only give
me two hundred dollars, I would go to California and trouble him no
more. Plenty of people make money in California, and why shouldn't
I? If that ticket draws a prize--"

And then Eben went into calculations of what he would do if only he
drew a prize of a thousand dollars. That wasn't too much to expect,
for there were several of that amount, and several considerably
larger. He pictured how independent he would be with his prize, and
how he would tell his father that he could get along without him,
displaying at the same time a large roll of bills. When he reached
California he could buy an interest in a mine, and perhaps within
three or four years he could return home twenty times as rich as his
father. It was pleasant to think over all this, and almost to
persuade himself that the good luck had actually come. However, he
must wait a few days, for the ticket had not yet come, and the
lottery would not be drawn for a week.

The ticket arrived two days later; Eben took care to slip the
envelope into his pocket without letting his father or anyone else
see it, for unpleasant questions might have been asked as to where
he got the money that paid for it, Mr. Graham knowing very well that
his son had not five dollars by him.

For a few days Eben must remain in Wayneboro, until the lottery was
drawn. If he was unlucky, he would have to consider some other plan
for raising money to get away from Wayneboro.

It was not till the day after the trial and his triumphant
acquittal, that Herbert saw Eben. He came to the store to buy some
groceries for his mother.

"Good-evening, Herbert," said Eben.

"Eben," said Herbert, coldly, "except in the way of business, I
don't want to speak to you."

"You don't bear malice on account of that little affair, do you,
Herbert?" said Eben, smoothly.

"That little affair, as you call it, might have been a very serious
affair to me."

"I only did my duty," said Eben.

"Was it your duty to charge an innocent person with theft?"

"I didn't see who else could have taken the things," said Eben.

"Probably you know as well as anybody," said Herbert,
contemptuously.

"What do you mean?" demanded Eben, coloring.

"You know better than I do. How much do I owe you?"

"Thirty-three cents."

"There is your money," said Herbert, and walked out of the store.

"I hate that boy!" said Eben, scowling at Herbert's retreating
figure. "He puts on too many airs, just because a city man's taken
him in charity and is paying his expenses. Some time I'll be able to
come up with him, I hope."

Herbert was not of an unforgiving nature, but he felt that Eben had
wronged him deeply, and saw no reason why he would not repeat the
injury if he ever got the chance. He had at least a partial
understanding of Eben's mean nature and utter selfishness, and felt
that he wished to have nothing to do with him. Ebenezer Graham was
very "close," but he was a hard-working man and honest as the world
goes. He was tolerably respected in Wayneboro, though not popular,
but Eben seemed on the high road to become a rascal.

A week slipped by, and a circular containing the list of prizes
drawn was sent to Eben.

He ran his eyes over it in a flutter of excitement. Alas! for his
hopes. In the list of lucky numbers the number on his ticket was not
included.

"I have drawn a blank! Curse the luck!" he muttered, savagely. "The
old man needn't think I am going to stay here in Wayneboro. If he
won't give me money to go out West, why, then--"

But he did not say what then.






CHAPTER XIV.

A TRIP TO BOSTON.





"To-morrow, Herbert," said George Melville, as they parted for the
day, "I shall propose a new excursion to you."

Herbert regarded him inquiringly.

"I want to go to Boston to make a few purchases, but principally to
consult my physician."

"I hope you are not feeling any worse, Mr. Melville," said Herbert,
with genuine concern, for he had come to feel a regard for his
employer, who was always kind and considerate to him.

"No, I am feeling as well as usual; but I wish to consult Dr. Davies
about the coming winter--whether he would advise me to spend it in
Massachusetts."

"If Mr. Melville goes away, I shall have to look for another place,"
thought Herbert, soberly. It was hardly likely, he knew, that he
would obtain a position so desirable as the one he now filled.

"I hope he will be able to do so, Mr. Melville," he said, earnestly.

"I hope so; but I shall not be surprised if the doctor ordered me
away."

"Then you won't want me to come to-morrow?"

"Certainly, unless you object to going to Boston with me."

"Object?" repeated Herbert, eagerly. "I should like nothing better."

In fact, our hero, though a well-grown boy of sixteen, had never
been to Boston but three times, and the trip, commonplace as it may
seem to my traveled young readers, promised him a large amount of
novelty and pleasurable excitement.

"I shall be glad of your company, Herbert. I hardly feel the
strength or enterprise to travel alone, even for so trifling a trip
as going to Boston."

"At what hour will you go, Mr. Melville?"

"I will take the second train, at nine o'clock. It will afford me
time enough, and save my getting up before my usual time."

Herbert would have preferred going by the first train, starting at
half-past seven, as it would have given him a longer day in the
city, but of course he felt that his employer had decided wisely.

"It will be quite a treat to me, going to Boston," he said. "I have
only been there three times in my life."

"You certainly have not been much of a traveler, Herbert," said
George Melville, smiling. "However, you are young, and you may see a
good deal of the world yet before you die."

"I hope I will. It must be delightful to travel."

"Yes, when you are young and strong," said Melville, thoughtfully.
"That makes a great deal of difference in the enjoyment."

Herbert did not fail to put in an appearance at the hotel
considerably before it was time to leave for the train. George
Melville smiled at his punctuality.

"I wish, Herbert," he said, "that I could look forward with as much
pleasure as you feel to our trip to-day."

"I wish so, too, Mr. Melville."

"At any rate, I shall enjoy it better for having a companion."

The tickets were bought, and they took their places in one of the
passenger cars.

Just as the train was ready to start, Herbert saw a young man with a
ticket in his hand hurrying along the platform.

"Why, there's Eben Graham!" he said, in surprise.

"Is he entering the cars?"

"Yes, he has just got into the car behind us."

"I wonder if he is going to leave Wayneboro for good?"

"Probably he is only going to Boston for the day, perhaps to buy
goods."

Herbert thought it doubtful whether Ebenezer Graham would trust his
son so far, but did not say so. Eben, on his part, had not seen
Herbert on board the train, and was not aware that he was a fellow
passenger.

The journey was a tolerably long one--forty miles--and consumed an
hour and a half. At last they rolled into the depot, and before the
train had fairly stopped the passengers began to crowd toward the
doors of the car.

"Let us remain till the crowd has passed out," said George Melville.
"It is disagreeable to me to get into the throng, and it saves very
little time."

"Very well, sir."

Looking out of the car window, Herbert saw Eben Graham walking
swiftly along the platform, and could not forbear wondering what had
brought him to the city.

"My doctor's office is on Tremont Street," said Mr. Melville. "I
shall go there immediately, and may have to wait some time. It will
be tiresome to you, and I shall let you go where you please. You can
meet me at the Parker House, in School Street, at two o'clock."

"Very well, sir."

"Do you know where the hotel is?"

"No, but I can find it," answered Herbert, confidently.

"I believe I will also get you to attend to a part of my business
for me."

"I shall be very glad to do so," said Herbert, sincerely. It made
him feel more important to be transacting business in Boston.

"Here is a check for a hundred and fifty dollars on the Merchants'
Bank," continued George Melville. "It is payable to the bearer, and
you will have no trouble in getting the money on it. You may present
it at the bank, and ask for fives and tens and a few small bills."

"Very well, sir."

Herbert felt rather proud to have so much confidence reposed in him,
for to him a hundred and fifty dollars seemed a large sum of money,
and he felt that George Melville was a rich man to draw so much at
one time.

"Had I better go to the bank at once?" he asked.

"Yes, I think so; of course, I need not caution you to take good
care of the money."

"I'll be sure to do that, sir."

They walked together to Tremont Street, and Mr. Melville paused at a
doorway opposite the Common.

"My doctor's office is upstairs," he said. "We will part here and
meet at the hotel. If you are late, I may go into the dining room;
so if you don't see me in the reading room, go to the door of the
dining room and look in."

"Very well, sir; but I think I shall be on time."

"The bank is open now, and you can cash the check if you go down
there."

Left to himself, Herbert walked slowly along, looking into shop
windows and observing with interested attention the people whom he
met.

"It must be very pleasant to live in the city," he thought; "there
is so much going on all the time."

It is no wonder that country boys are drawn toward the city, and
feel that their cup of happiness would be full if they could get a
position in some city store. They do not always find the reality
equal to their anticipations. The long hours and strict discipline
of a city office or mercantile establishment are not much like the
freedom they pictured to themselves, and after they have paid their
board bill in some shabby boarding house they seldom find much left
over, either for amusement or needful expenses. The majority of boys
would do better to remain in their country homes, where at least
they can live comfortably and at small expense, and take such
employment as may fall in their way. They will stand a much better
chance of reaching a competence in middle life than if they helped
to crowd the ranks of city clerks and salesmen. There is many a
hard-working clerk of middle age, living poorly, and with nothing
laid by, in the city, who, had he remained in his native village,
might have reached a modest independence. It was hardly to be
expected, however, that Herbert would feel thus. Upon him the show
and glitter of the city shops and streets produced their natural
effect, and he walked on buoyantly, seeing three times as much as a
city boy would have done.

He turned down School Street, passing the Parker House, where he was
to meet Mr. Melville. Just before he reached it he saw Eben Graham
emerge from the hotel and walk towards Washington Street. Eben did
not look behind him, and therefore did not see Herbert.

"I wonder where he is going?" thought our hero, as he followed a few
steps behind Eben.






CHAPTER XV.

AN OBLIGING GUIDE.





On Washington Street, not far from Old South Church, is an office
for the sale of railroad tickets to western points. It was this
office which Eben entered.

"He is going to inquire the price of a ticket to some western city,"
thought Herbert. "I heard him say one day that he wanted to go
West."

Our hero's curiosity was naturally aroused, and he stood at the
entrance, where he could not only see but hear what passed within.

"What do you charge for a ticket to Chicago?" he heard Eben ask.

"Twenty-two dollars," was the answer of the young man behind the
counter.

"You may give me one," said Eben.

As he spoke he drew from his vest pocket a roll of bills, and began
to count off the requisite sum.

Herbert was surprised. He had supposed that Eben was merely making
inquiries about the price of tickets. He had not imagined that he
was really going.

"Can Mr. Graham have given him money to go?" he asked himself.

"When can I start?" asked Eben, as he received a string of tickets
from the clerk.

"At three this afternoon."

Eben seemed well pleased with this reply. He carefully deposited the
tickets in an inside vest pocket, and turned to go out of the
office. As he emerged from it he caught sight of Herbert, who had
not yet started to go. He looked surprised and annoyed.

"Herbert Carr!" he exclaimed. "How came you here?"

Mingled with his surprise there was a certain nervousness of manner,
as Herbert thought.

"I came to Boston with Mr. Melville," said Herbert, coldly.

"Oh!" ejaculated Eben, with an air of perceptible relief. "Where is
Mr. Melville?"

"He has gone to the office of his physician, on Tremont Street."

"Leaving you to your own devices, eh?"

"Yes."

"Look out you don't get lost!" said Eben, with affected gayety. "I
am here on a little business for the old man."

Herbert did not believe this, in view of what he had seen, but he
did not think it necessary to say so.

"Good-morning!" said Herbert, in a tone polite but not cordial.

"Good-morning! Oh, by the way, I have just been inquiring the cost
of a ticket to St. Louis," said Eben, carelessly.

"Indeed! Do you think of going out there?"

"Yes, if the old man will let me," said Eben.

"Do you prefer St. Louis to Chicago?" asked Herbert, watching the
face of Eben attentively.

Eben's face changed, and he looked searchingly at our hero, but
could read nothing in his face.

"Oh, decidedly!" he answered, after a slight pause. "I don't think I
would care for Chicago."

"And all the while you have a ticket for Chicago in your pocket!"
thought Herbert, suspiciously, "Well, that's your own affair
entirely, not mine."

"What train do you take back to Wayneboro?" asked Eben, not without
anxiety.

"We shall not go before four o'clock."

"I may be on the train with you," said Eben, "though possibly I
shall get through in time to take an earlier one."

"He is trying to deceive me," thought Herbert.

"Good-morning," he said, formally, and walked away.

"I wish I hadn't met him," muttered Eben to himself. "He may give
the old man a clew. However, I shall be safe out of the way before
anything can be done."

Herbert kept on his way, and found the bank without difficulty.

He entered and looked about him. Though unaccustomed to banks, he
watched to see where others went to get checks cashed, and presented
himself in turn.

"How will you have it?" asked the paying teller.

"Fives and tens, and a few small bills," answered Herbert, promptly.

The teller selected the requisite number of bank bills quickly, and
passed them out to Herbert. Our hero counted them, to make sure that
they were correct, and then put them away in his inside pocket. It
gave him a feeling of responsibility to be carrying about so much
money, and he felt that it was incumbent on him to be very careful.

"Where shall I go now?" he asked himself.

He would have liked to go to Charlestown, and ascend Bunker Hill
Monument, but did not know how to go. Besides, he feared he would
not get back to the Parker House at the time fixed by Mr. Melville.
Still, he might be able to do it. He addressed himself to a rather
sprucely dressed man of thirty-five whom he met at the door of the
bank.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but can you tell me how far it is to Bunker
Hill Monument?"

"About a mile and a half," answered the stranger.

"Could I go there and get back to the Parker House before one
o'clock."

"Could you?" repeated the man, briskly. "Why, to be sure you could!"

"But I don't know the way."

"You have only to take one of the Charlestown horse cars, and it
will land you only a couple of minutes' walk from the monument."

"Can you tell me what time it is, sir?"

"Only a little past eleven. So you have never been to Bunker Hill
Monument, my lad?"

"No sir; I live in the country, forty miles away and seldom come to
Boston."

"I see, I see," said the stranger, his eyes snapping in a very
peculiar way. "Every patriotic young American ought to see the place
where Warren fell."

"I should like to if you could tell me where to take the cars."

"Why, certainly I will," said the other, quickly. "In fact--let me
see," and he pulled out a silver watch from his vest pocket, "I've a
great mind to go over with you myself."

"I shouldn't like to trouble you, sir," said Herbert.

"Oh, it will be no trouble. Business isn't pressing this morning,
and I haven't been over for a long time myself. If you don't object
to my company, I will accompany you."

"You are very kind," said Herbert. "If you are quite sure that you
are not inconveniencing yourself, I shall be very glad to go with
you--that is, if you think I can get back to the Parker House by one
o'clock."

"I will guarantee that you do," said the stranger, confidently. "My
young friend, I am glad to see that you are particular to keep your
business engagements. In a varied business experience, I have
observed that it is precisely that class who are destined to win the
favor of their employer and attain solid success."

"He seems a very sensible man," thought Herbert; "and his advice is
certainly good."

"Come this way," said the stranger, crossing Washington Street.
"Scollay's Square is close at hand, and there we shall find a
Charlestown horse car."

Of course Herbert yielded himself to the guidance of his new friend,
and they walked up Court Street together.

"That," said the stranger, pointing out a large, somber building to
the left, "is the courthouse. The last time I entered it was to be
present at the trial of a young man of my acquaintance who had
fallen into evil courses, and, yielding to temptation, had stolen
from his employer. It was a sad sight," said the stranger, shaking
his head.

"I should think it must have been," said Herbert.

"Oh, why, why will young men yield to the seductions of pleasure?"
exclaimed the stranger, feelingly.

"Was he convicted?" asked Herbert.

"Yes, and sentenced to a three years term in the State prison,"
answered his companion. "It always makes me feel sad when I think of
the fate of that young man."

"I should think it would, sir."

"I have mentioned it as a warning to one who is just beginning
life," continued the stranger. "But here is our car."

A Charlestown car, with an outside sign, Bunker Hill, in large
letters, came by, and the two got on board.

They rode down Cornhill, and presently the stranger pointed out
Faneuil Hall.

"Behold the Cradle of Liberty," he said. "Of course, you have heard
of Faneuil Hall?"

"Yes, sir," and Herbert gazed with interest at the building of which
he had heard so much.

It was but a short ride to Charlestown. They got out at the foot of
a steep street, at the head of which the tall, granite column which
crowns the summit of Bunker Hill stood like a giant sentinel ever on
guard.






CHAPTER XVI.

A NEW BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.





Just opposite the monument is a small, one-story structure, where
views of the shaft may be purchased and tickets obtained.

"There is a small admission fee," said Herbert's companion.

"How much is it?" asked our hero.

"Twenty cents."

As Herbert thrust his hand into his pocket for the necessary money,
his companion said:

"You had better let me pay for both tickets."

Though he said this, he didn't make any motion to do so.

"No, I will pay for both," said Herbert.

"But I really cannot permit you to pay for mine."

And still the speaker made no movement to purchase his ticket.

Herbert settled the matter by laying half a dollar on the desk, and
asking for two tickets. He began to see that, in spite of his
disclaimer, his guide intended him to do so. On the whole, this
didn't please him. He would rather have had his offer frankly
accepted.

"I didn't mean to have you pay," said the young man, as they passed
through the door admitting them to an inner apartment, from which
there was an exit into a small, inclosed yard, through which they
were to reach the entrance to a spiral staircase by which the ascent
was made.

Herbert did not answer, for he understood that his guide was not
telling the truth, and he did not like falsehood or deceit.

They entered the monument and commenced the ascent.

"We have a tiresome ascent before us," said the other.

"How many steps are there?" asked Herbert.

"About three hundred," was the reply.

At different points in the ascent they came to landings where they
could catch glimpses of the outward world through long, narrow,
perpendicular slits in the sides of the monument.

At last they reached the top.

Herbert's guide looked about him sharply, and seemed disappointed to
find a lady and gentleman and child also enjoying the view.

Herbert had never been so high before. Indeed, he had never been in
any high building, and he looked about him with a novel sense of
enjoyment.

"What a fine view there is here!" he said.

"True," assented his companion. "Let me point out to you the
different towns visible to the naked eye."

"I wish you would," said the boy.

So his guide pointed out Cambridge, Chelsea, Malden, the Charles and
Mystic Rivers, gleaming in the sunshine, the glittering dome of the
Boston State House and other conspicuous objects. Herbert felt that
it was worth something to have a companion who could do him this
service, and he felt the extra twenty cents he had paid for his
companion's ticket was a judicious investment.

He noticed with some surprise that his companion seemed annoyed by
the presence of the other party already referred to. He scowled and
shrugged his shoulders when he looked at them, and in a low voice,
inaudible to those of whom he spoke, he said to Herbert: "Are they
going to stay here all day?"

"What does it matter to me if they do?" returned Herbert, in
surprise.

Indeed, to him they seemed very pleasant people, and he was
especially attracted by the sweet face of the little girl. He wished
he had been fortunate enough to possess such a sister.

At last, however, they finished their sightseeing, and prepared to
descend. Herbert's companion waited till the sound of their
descending steps died away, and then, turning to Herbert, said in a
quick, stern tone: "Now give me the money you have in your pocket."

"What do you mean?" he said.

Herbert recoiled, and stared at the speaker in undisguised
astonishment.

"I mean just what I say," returned the other. "You have one hundred
and fifty dollars in your pocket. You need not deny it, for I saw
you draw it from the bank and put it away."

"Are you a thief, then?" demanded Herbert.

"No matter what I am, I must have that money," said the stranger. "I
came over with you exclusively to get it, and I mean business."

He made a step towards Herbert, but the boy faced him unflinchingly,
and answered resolutely: "I mean business, too. The money is not
mine, and I shall not give it up."

"Take care!" said the other, menacingly, "we are alone here. You are
a boy and I am a man."

"I know that; but you will have to fight to get the money," said
Herbert, without quailing.

He looked to the staircase, but his treacherous guide stood between
him and it, and he was practically a prisoner at the top of the
monument.

"Don't be a fool!" said the stranger. "You may as well give up the
money to me first as last."

"I don't propose to give it up to you at all," said Herbert. "My
employer trusted me with it, and I mean to be true to my trust."

"You can tell him that it was taken from you--that you could not
help yourself. Now hand it over!"

"Never!" exclaimed Herbert, resolutely.

"We'll see about that," said his companion, seizing the boy and
grappling with him.

Herbert was a strong boy for his age, and he accepted the challenge.
Though his antagonist was a man, he found that the boy was powerful,
and not to be mastered as easily as he anticipated.

"Confound you!" he muttered, "I wish I had a knife!"

Though Herbert made a vigorous resistance, his opponent was his
superior in strength, and would ultimately have got the better of
him. He had thrown Herbert down, and was trying to thrust his hand
into his coat pocket, when a step was heard, and a tall man of
Western appearance stepped on the scene.

"Hello!" he said, surveying the two combatants in surprise. "What's
all this? Let that boy alone, you skunk, you!"

As he spoke, he seized the man by the collar and jerked him to his
feet.

"What does all this mean?" he asked, turning from one to the other.

"This boy has robbed me of one hundred and fifty dollars," said the
man, glibly. "I fell in with him in the Boston cars, and he relieved
me of a roll of bills which I had drawn from a bank in Boston."

"What have you got to say to this?" asked the Western man, turning
to Herbert, who was now on his feet.

"Only this," answered Herbert, "that it is a lie. It was I who drew
the money from the Merchants' Bank in Boston. This man saw me cash
the check, followed me, and offered to come here with me, when I
asked him for directions."

"That's a likely story!" sneered the young man. "My friend here is
too sharp to believe it."

"Don't call me your friend!" said the Western man, bluntly. "I'm
more than half convinced you're a scamp."

"I don't propose to stay here and be insulted. Let the boy give me
my money, and I won't have him arrested."

"Don't be in too much of a hurry, young man! I want to see about
this thing. What bank did you draw the money from?"

"From the Merchants' Bank--the boy has got things reversed. He saw
me draw it, inveigled himself into my confidence, and picked my
pocket."

"Look here--stop right there! Your story doesn't hang together!"
said the tall Westerner, holding up his finger. "You said you met
this boy in a horse car."

"We came over together in a Charlestown horse car," said the rogue,
abashed.

"You've given yourself away. Now make yourself scarce! Scoot!"

The rascal looked in the face of the tall, resolute man from the
West, and thought it prudent to obey. He started to descend, but a
well-planted kick accelerated his progress, and he fell down several
steps, bruising his knees.

"Thank you, sir!" said Herbert, gratefully. "It was lucky you came
up just as you did. The rascal had got his hand on the money."

"He is a miserable scamp!" answered Herbert's new friend. "If
there'd been a police-man handy, I'd have given him in charge. I've
come clear from Wisconsin to see where Warren fell, but I didn't
expect to come across such a critter as that on Bunker Hill."

Herbert pointed out to his new friend the objects in view, repeating
the information he had so recently acquired. Then, feeling that he
could spare no more time, he descended the stairs and jumped on
board a horse car bound for Boston.






CHAPTER XVII.

AN ACCEPTABLE PRESENT.





As the clock at the Old South Church struck one, Herbert ascended
the steps of Parker's Hotel, and walked into the reading room.
George Melville was already there.

"You are on time, Herbert," he said, with a smile, as our hero made
his appearance.

"Yes, sir; but I began to think I should miss my appointment."

"Where have you been?"

"To Bunker Hill."

"Did you ascend the monument?"

"Yes, sir, and had a fight at the summit."

Mr. Melville looked at Herbert in amazement.

"Had a fight at the top of Bunker Hill Monument?" he ejaculated.

"Yes, sir; let me tell you about it."

When the story was told, Mr. Melville said: "That was certainly a
remarkable adventure, Herbert. Still, I am not sorry that it
occurred."

It was Herbert's turn to look surprised.

"I will tell you why. It proves to me that you are worthy of my
confidence, and can be trusted with the care of money. It has also
taught you a lesson, to beware of knaves, no matter how plausible
they may be."

"I haven't got over my surprise yet, sir, at discovering the real
character of the man who went with me. I am sorry I met him. I don't
like to distrust people."

"Nor I. But it is not necessary to distrust everybody. In your
journey through the world you will make many agreeable and
trustworthy acquaintances in whom it will be safe to confide. It is
only necessary to be cautious and not give your confidence too
soon."

"Oh, I didn't mention that I met somebody from Wayneboro," said
Herbert.

"Was it Eben Graham?"

"Yes."

"I met him myself on Washington Street. Did you speak to him?"

"Yes, sir."

"I suppose he goes back to-night?"

"I don't think he will go back at all, Mr. Melville."

His employer looked at him inquiringly.

"I saw him buy a ticket to Chicago, though he does not know it,"
continued Herbert. "When he spoke with me he didn't admit it, but
spoke of going back by an afternoon train."

"I am afraid he has appropriated some of his father's funds," said
Melville. "I doubt if Ebenezer Graham would voluntarily furnish him
the means of going West."