PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE. 

By Horatio Alger, Jr. 

Alger Series For Boys. {About 50 Titles} Uniform With This Volume. 

 TO The Boys Whose Memory Goes Back With Me To The Boarding School At Potowome This Volume Is Affectionately Dedicated By The Author. 

PREFACE

"PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE" is presented to the public as the second volumeof the Campaign Series. Though wholly unlike the first volume, it iswritten in furtherance of the same main idea, that every boy's life isa campaign, more or less difficult, in which success depends uponintegrity and a steadfast adherence to duty. 

How Paul Prescott gained strength by battling with adversecircumstances, and, under all discouragements, kept steadily before himthe charge which he received from his dying father, is fully told; andthe author will be glad if the record shall prove an incentive and anencouragement to those boys who may have a similar campaign before them. 

PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE. 

I. 

SQUIRE NEWCOME. 

"HANNAH!"

The speaker was a tall, pompous-looking man, whose age appeared to vergeclose upon fifty. He was sitting bolt upright in a high-backed chair, and looked as if it would be quite impossible to deviate from hisposition of unbending rigidity. 

Squire Benjamin Newcome, as he was called, in the right of his positionas Justice of the Peace, Chairman of the Selectmen, and wealthiestresident of Wrenville, was a man of rule and measure. He was measuredin his walk, measured in his utterance, and measured in all histransactions. He might be called a dignified machine. He had a veryexalted conception of his own position, and the respect which he felt tobe his due, not only from his own household, but from all who approachedhim. If the President of the United States had called upon him, SquireNewcome would very probably have felt that he himself was the party whoconferred distinction, and not received it. 

Squire Newcome was a widower. His wife, who was as different fromhimself as could well be conceived, did not live long after marriage. She was chilled to death, as it was thought, by the dignified icebergof whose establishment she had become a part. She had left, however, achild, who had now grown to be a boy of twelve. This boy was a thornin the side of his father, who had endeavored in vain to mould himaccording to his idea of propriety. But Ben was gifted with a spirit offun, sometimes running into mischief, which was constantly bursting outin new directions, in spite of his father's numerous and rather prosylectures. 

"Han-nah!" again called Squire Newcome, separating the two syllables bya pause of deliberation, and strongly accenting the last syllable, --ahabit of his with all proper names. 

Hannah was the Irish servant of all work, who was just then engaged inmixing up bread in the room adjoining, which was the kitchen. 

Feeling a natural reluctance to appear before her employer with herhands covered with dough, she hastily washed them. All this, however, took time, and before she responded to the first summons, the second"Han-nah!" delivered with a little sharp emphasis, had been uttered. 

At length she appeared at the door of the sitting-room. 

"Han-nah!" said Squire Newcome, fixing his cold gray eye upon her, "whenyou hear my voice a calling you, it is your duty to answer the summonsIMMEJIATELY. "

I have endeavored to represent the Squire's pronunciation of the lastword. 

"So I would have come IMMEJOUSLY, " said Hannah, displaying a mostreprehensible ignorance, "but me hands were all covered with flour. "

"That makes no difference, " interrupted the Squire. "Flour is anaccidental circumstance. "

"What's that?" thought Hannah, opening her eyes in amazement. 

"And should not be allowed to interpose an obstacle to an IMMEJIATEanswer to my summons. "

"Sir, " said Hannah, who guessed at the meaning though she did notunderstand the words, "you wouldn't have me dirty the door-handle withme doughy hands?"

"That could easily be remedied by ablution. "

"There ain't any ablution in the house, " said the mystified Hannah. 

"I mean, " Squire Newcome condescended to explain, "the application ofwater--in short, washing. "

"Shure, " said Hannah, as light broke in upon her mind, "I never knewthat was what they called it before. "

"Is Ben-ja-min at home?"

"Yes, sir. He was out playin' in the yard a minute ago. I guess you cansee him from the winder. "

So saying she stepped forward, and looking out, all at once gave ashrill scream, and rushed from the room, leaving her employer in hisbolt-upright attitude gazing after her with as much astonishment as hewas capable of. 

The cause of her sudden exit was revealed on looking out of the window. 

Master Benjamin, or Ben, as he was called everywhere except in hisown family, had got possession of the black kitten, and appeared to besubmerging her in the hogshead of rainwater. 

"O, you wicked, cruel boy, to drown poor Kitty!" exclaimed the indignantHannah, rushing into the yard and endeavoring to snatch her felinefavorite--an attempt which Ben stoutly resisted. 

Doubtless the poor kitten would have fared badly between the two, hadnot the window opened, and the deliberate voice of his father, calledout in tones which Ben saw fit to heed. 

"What?"

"Come into my presence immejiately, and learn to answer me with morerespect. "

Ben came in looking half defiant. 

His father, whose perpendicularity made him look like a sittinggrenadier, commenced the examination thus:--

"I wish you to inform me what you was a doing of when I spoke to you. "

It will be observed that the Squire's dignified utterances weresometimes a little at variance with the rule of the best moderngrammarians. 

"I was trying to prevent Hannah from taking the kitten, " said Ben. 

"What was you a doing of before Hannah went out?"

"Playing with Kitty. "

"Why were you standing near the hogshead, Benjamin?"

"Why, " said Ben, ingenuously, "the hogshead happened to be near me--thatwas all. "

"Were you not trying to drown the kitten?"

"O, I wouldn't drown her for anything, " said Ben with an injuredexpression, mentally adding, "short of a three-cent piece. "

"Then, to repeat my interrogatory, what was you a doing of with thekitten in the hogshead?"

"I was teaching her to swim, " said Ben, looking out of the corner ofhis eye at his father, to see what impression this explanation made uponhim. 

"And what advantageous result do you think would be brought about byteaching of the kitten to swim, Benjamin?" persisted his father. 

"Advantageous result!" repeated Ben, demurely, pretending not tounderstand. 

"Certingly. "

"What does that mean?"

"Do you not study your dictionary at school, Benjamin?"

"Yes, but I don't like it much. "

"You are very much in error. You will never learn to employ your tonguewith elegance and precision, unless you engage in this beneficialstudy. "

"I can use my tongue well enough, without studying grammar, " said Ben. He proceeded to illustrate the truth of this assertion by twisting histongue about in a comical manner. 

"Tongue, " exclaimed his father, "is but another name for language I meanyour native language. "

"Oh!"

Ben was about to leave the room to avoid further questions of anembarrassing nature, when his father interrupted his exit by saying--

"Stay, Benjamin, do not withdraw till I have made all the inquirieswhich I intend. "

The boy unwillingly returned. 

"You have not answered my question. "

"I've forgotten what it was. "

"What good would it do?" asked the Squire, simplifying his speech toreach Ben's comprehension, "what good would it do to teach the kitten toswim?"

"O, I thought, " said Ben, hesitating, "that some time or other she mighthappen to fall into the water, and might not be able to get out unlessshe knew how. "

"I think, " said his father with an unusual display of sagacity, "thatshe will be in much greater hazard of drowning while learning to swimunder your direction than by any other chance likely to befall her. "

"Shouldn't wonder, " was Ben's mental comment, "Pretty cute for you, dad. "

Fortunately, Ben did not express his thoughts aloud. They would haveimplied such an utter lack of respect that the Squire would have beenquite overwhelmed by the reflection that his impressive manners hadproduced no greater effect on one who had so excellent a chance of beingimpressed by them. 

"Benjamin, " concluded his father, "I have an errand for you to execute. You may go to Mr. Prescott's and see if he is yet living. I hear that heis a lying on the brink of the grave. "

An expression of sadness stole over the usually merry face of Ben, as hestarted on his errand. 

"Poor Paul!" he thought, "what will he do when his father dies? He'ssuch a capital fellow, too. I just wish I had a wagon load of money, Ido, and I'd give him half. That's so!"

II. 

PAUL PRESCOTT'S HOME. 

We will precede Ben on his visit to the house of Mr. Prescott. 

It was an old weather-beaten house, of one story, about half a miledistant from 'Squire Newcome's residence. The Prescott family had livedhere for five years, or ever since they had removed to Wrenville. Untilwithin a year they had lived comfortably, when two blows came in quicksuccession. The first was the death of Mrs. Prescott, an excellentwoman, whose loss was deeply felt by her husband and son. Soonafterwards Mr. Prescott, a carpenter by trade, while at work upon theroof of a high building, fell off, and not only broke his leg badly, butsuffered some internal injury of a still more serious nature. He hadnot been able to do a stroke of work since. After some months it becameevident that he would never recover. A year had now passed. Duringthis time his expenses had swallowed up the small amount which he hadsucceeded in laying up previous to his sickness. It was clear that athis death there would be nothing left. At thirteen years of age Paulwould have to begin the world without a penny. 

Mr. Prescott lay upon a bed in a small bedroom adjoining the kitchen. Paul, a thoughtful-looking boy sat beside it, ready to answer his call. 

There had been silence for some time, when Mr. Prescott called feebly--

"Paul!"

"I am here, father, " said Paul. 

"I am almost gone, Paul, I don't think I shall last through the day. "

"O, father, " said Paul, sorrowfully, "Don't leave me. "

"That is the only grief I have in dying--I must leave you to strugglefor yourself, Paul. I shall be able to leave you absolutely nothing. "

"Don't think of that, father. I am young and strong--I can earn myliving in some way. "

"I hoped to live long enough to give you an education. I wanted you tohave a fairer start in the world than I had. "

"Never mind, father, " said Paul, soothingly, "Don't be uneasy about me. God will provide for me. "

Again there was a silence, broken only by the difficult breathing of thesick man. 

He spoke again. 

"There is one thing, Paul, that I want to tell you before I die. "

Paul drew closer to the bedside. 

"It is something which has troubled me as I lay here. I shall feeleasier for speaking of it. You remember that we lived at Cedarvillebefore we came here. "

"Yes, father. "

"About two years before we left there, a promising speculation wasbrought to my notice. An agent of a Lake Superior mine visited ourvillage and represented the mine in so favorable a light that many ofmy neighbors bought shares, fully expecting to double their money in ayear. Among the rest I was attacked with the fever of speculation. I hadalways been obliged to work hard for a moderate compensation, and hadnot been able to do much more than support my family. This it seemed tome, afforded an excellent opportunity of laying up a little somethingwhich might render me secure in the event of a sudden attack ofsickness. I had but about two hundred dollars, however, and from soscanty an investment I could not, of course, expect a large return;accordingly I went to Squire Conant; you remember him, Paul?"

"Yes, father. "

'I went to him and asked a loan of five hundred dollars. After somehesitation he agreed to lend it to me. He was fond of his money and notmuch given to lending, but it so happened that he had invested in thesame speculation, and had a high opinion of it, so he felt prettysafe in advancing me the money. Well, this loan gave me seven hundreddollars, with which I purchased seven shares in the Lake Superior GrandCombination Mining Company. For some months afterwards, I felt like arich man. I carefully put away my certificate of stock, looking uponit as the beginning of a competence. But at the end of six months thebubble burst--the stock proved to be utterly worthless, --Squire Conantlost five thousand dollars. I lost seven hundred, five hundred beingborrowed money. The Squire's loss was much larger, but mine was the moreserious, since I lost everything and was plunged into debt, while he hadat least forty thousand dollars left. 

"Two days after the explosion, Squire Conant came into my shop and askedabruptly when I could pay him the amount I had borrowed. I told him thatI could not fix a time. I said that I had been overwhelmed by a resultso contrary to my anticipations, but I told him I would not rest till Ihad done something to satisfy his claim. He was always an unreasonableman, and reproached me bitterly for sinking his money in a uselessspeculation, as if I could foresee how it would end any better than he. "

"Have you ever been able to pay back any part of the five hundreddollars, father?"

"I have paid the interest regularly, and a year ago, just before I metwith my accident, I had laid up a hundred and fifty dollars which I hadintended to pay the Squire, but when my sickness came I felt obliged toretain it to defray our expenses, being cut off from earning anything. "

"Then I suppose you have not been able to pay interest for the lastyear. "

"No. "

"Have you heard from the Squire lately?"

"Yes, I had a letter only last week. You remember bringing me onepostmarked Cedarville?"

"Yes, I wondered at the time who it could be from. "

"You will find it on the mantelpiece. I should like to have you get itand read it. "

Paul readily found the letter. It was enclosed in a brown envelope, directed in a bold hand to "Mr. John Prescott, Wrenville. "

The letter was as follows:--

CEDARVILLE, APRIL 15, 18--, MR. JOHN PRESCOTT:--

SIR: I have been waiting impatiently to hear something about the fivehundred dollars in which sum you are indebted to me, on account of aloan which I was fool enough to make you seven years since. I thoughtyou an honest man, but I have found, to my cost, that I was mistaken. For the last year you have even failed to pay interest as stipulatedbetween us. Your intention is evident. I quite understand that you havemade up your mind to defraud me of what is rightfully mine. I don't knowhow you may regard this, but I consider it as bad as highway robbery. Ido not hesitate to say that if you had your deserts you would be in thePenitentiary. Let me advise you, if you wish to avoid further trouble, to make no delay in paying a portion of this debt. Yours, etc. EZEKIELCONANT. 

Paul's face flushed with indignation as he read this bitter and cruelletter. 

"Does Squire Conant know that you are sick, father?" he inquired. 

"Yes, I wrote him about my accident, telling him at the same time thatI regretted it in part on account of the interruption which it mustoccasion in my payments. "

"And knowing this, he wrote such a letter as that, " said Paul, indignantly, "what a hard, unfeeling wretch he must be!"

"I suppose it is vexatious to him to be kept out of his money. "

"But he has plenty more. He would never miss it if he had given it toyou outright. "

"That is not the way to look at it, Paul. The money is justly his, andit is a great sorrow to me that I must die without paying it. "

"Father, " said Paul, after a pause, "will it be any relief to you, if Ipromise to pay it, --that is, if I am ever able?"

Mr. Prescott's face brightened. 

"That was what I wanted to ask you, Paul. It will be a comfort to me tofeel that there is some hope of the debt being paid at some future day. "

"Then don't let it trouble you any longer, father. The debt shall bemine, and I will pay it. "

Again a shadow passed over the sick man's face, "Poor boy, " he said, "why should I burden your young life with such a load? You will have tostruggle hard enough as it is. No, Paul, recall your promise. I don'twant to purchase comfort at such a price. "

"No, father, " said Paul sturdily, "it is too late now. I have made thepromise and I mean to stick to it. Besides, it will give me somethingto live for. I am young--I may have a great many years before me. Forthirteen years you have supported me. It is only right that I shouldmake what return I can. I'll keep my promise, father. "

"May God help and prosper you, my boy, " said Mr. Prescott, solemnly. "You've been a good son; I pray that you may grow up to be a good man. But, my dear, I feel tired. I think I will try to go to sleep. "

Paul smoothed the comforter, adjusting it carefully about his father'sneck, and going to the door went out in search of some wood to placeupon the fire. Their scanty stock of firewood was exhausted, and Paulwas obliged to go into the woods near by, to obtain such loose fagots ashe might find upon the ground. 

He was coming back with his load when his attention was drawn by awhistle. Looking up he discovered Ben Newcome approaching him. 

"How are you, Paul?"

"Pretty well, Ben. "

"How precious lonesome you must be, mewed up in the house all the time. "

"Yes, it is lonesome, but I wouldn't mind that if I thought father wouldever get any better. "

"How is he this morning?"

"Pretty low; I expect he is asleep. He said he was tired just before Iwent out. "

"I brought over something for you, " said Ben, tugging away at hispocket. 

Opening a paper he displayed a couple of apple turnovers fried brown. 

"I found 'em in the closet, " he said. 

"Won't Hannah make a precious row when she finds 'em gone?"

"Then I don't know as I ought to take them, " said Paul, though, to tellthe truth, they looked tempting to him. 

"O, nonsense, " said Ben; "they don't belong to Hannah. She only likes toscold a little; it does her good. "

The two boys sat on the doorstep and talked while Paul ate theturnovers. Ben watched the process with much satisfaction. 

"Ain't they prime?" he said. 

"First rate, " said Paul; "won't you have one?"

"No, " said Ben; "you see I thought while I was about it I might as welltake four, so I ate two coming along. "

In about fifteen minutes Paul went into the house to look at his father. He was lying very quietly upon the bed. Paul drew near and looked at himmore closely. There was something in the expression of his father's facewhich terrified him. 

Ben heard his sudden cry of dismay, and hurriedly entered. 

Paul pointed to the bed, and said briefly, "Father's dead!"

Ben, who in spite of his mischievous propensities was gifted with a warmheart, sat down beside Paul, and passing his arm round his neck, gave him that silent sympathy which is always so grateful to thegrief-stricken heart. 

III. 

PAUL'S BRILLIANT PROSPECTS. 

Two days later, the funeral of Mr. Prescott took place. 

Poor Paul! It seemed to him a dream of inexpressible sorrow. His fatherand mother both gone, he felt that he was indeed left alone in theworld. No thought of the future had yet entered his mind. He was whollyoccupied with his present sorrow. Desolate at heart he slipped away fromthe graveyard after the funeral ceremony was over, and took his way backagain to the lonely dwelling which he had called home. 

As he was sitting in the corner, plunged in sorrowful thought, there wasa scraping heard at the door, and a loud hem!

Looking up, Paul saw entering the cottage the stiff form of SquireBenjamin Newcome, who, as has already been stated, was the owner. 

"Paul, " said the Squire, with measured deliberation. 

"Do you mean me, sir?" asked Paul, vaguely conscious that his name hadbeen called. 

"Did I not address you by your baptismal appellation?" demanded theSquire, who thought the boy's question superfluous. 

"Paul, " pursued Squire Newcome, "have you thought of your futuredestination?"

"No, sir, " said Paul, "I suppose I shall live here. "

"That arrangement would not be consistent with propriety. I suppose youare aware that your deceased parent left little or no worldly goods. "

"I know he was poor. "

"Therefore it has been thought best that you should be placed in chargeof a worthy man, who I see is now approaching the house. You willtherefore accompany him without resistance. If you obey him and read theBible regularly, you will--ahem!--you will some time or other see theadvantage of it. "

With this consolatory remark Squire Newcome wheeled about and strode outof the house. 

Immediately afterwards there entered a rough-looking man arrayed in afarmer's blue frock. 

"You're to come with me, youngster, " said Mr. Nicholas Mudge, for thatwas his name. 

"With you?" said Paul, recoiling instinctively. 

In fact there was nothing attractive in the appearance or manners ofMr. Mudge. He had a coarse hard face, while his head was surmounted bya shock of red hair, which to all appearance had suffered littleinterference from the comb for a time which the observer would scarcelyventure to compute. There was such an utter absence of refinement aboutthe man, that Paul, who had been accustomed to the gentle manners of hisfather, was repelled by the contrast which this man exhibited. 

"To be sure you're to go with me, " said Mr. Mudge. "You did notcalc'late you was a goin' to stay here by yourself, did you? We've got abetter place for you than that. But the wagon's waitin' outside, so justbe lively and bundle in, and I'll carry you to where you're a goin' tolive. "

"Where's that?"

"Wal, some folks call it the Poor House, but it ain't any the worse forthat, I expect. Anyhow, them as has no money may feel themselves luckyto get so good a home. So jest be a movin', for I can't be a waitin'here all day. "

Paul quietly submitted himself to the guidance of Mr. Mudge. He was sooccupied with the thought of his sad loss that he did not realize thechange that was about to take place in his circumstances. 

About half a mile from the village in the bleakest and most desolatepart of the town, stood the Poor House. It was a crazy old building ofextreme antiquity, which, being no longer considered fit for an ordinarydwelling-house, had been selected as a suitable residence for the town'spoor. It was bleak and comfortless to be sure, but on that very accounthad been purchased at a trifling expense, and that was, of course, aprimary consideration. Connected with the house were some dozen acres ofrough-looking land, plentifully overspread with stones, which might havefilled with despair the most enterprising agriculturist. However, it hadthis recommendation at least, that it was quite in character with thebuildings upon it, which in addition to the house already described, consisted of a barn of equal antiquity and a pig pen. 

This magnificent domain was under the superintendence of Mr. NicholasMudge, who in consideration of taking charge of the town paupers hadthe use of the farm and buildings, rent free, together with a stipulatedweekly sum for each of the inmates. 

"Well, Paul, " said Mr. Mudge, as they approached the house, in a tonewhich was meant to be encouraging, "this is goin' to be your home. Howdo you like it?"

Thus addressed, Paul ventured a glance around him. 

"I don't know, " said he, doubtfully; "it don't look very pleasant. "

"Don't look very pleasant!" repeated Mr. Mudge in a tone of mingledamazement and indignation. "Well, there's gratitude for you. After thetown has been at the expense of providin' a nice, comfortable home foryou, because you haven't got any of your own, you must turn up your noseat it. "

"I didn't mean to complain, " said Paul, feeling very little interest inthe matter. 

"Perhaps you expected to live in a marble palace, " pursued Mr. Mudge, inan injured tone. "We don't have any marble palaces in this neighborhood, we don't. "

Paul disclaimed any such anticipation. 

Mr. Mudge deigned to accept Paul's apology, and as they had now reachedthe door, unceremoniously threw it open, and led the way into a roomwith floor unpainted, which, to judge from its appearance, was used as akitchen. 

IV. 

LIFE IN A NEW PHASE. 

Everything was "at sixes and sevens, " as the saying is, in the room Mr. Mudge and Paul had just entered. In the midst of the scene was a largestout woman, in a faded calico dress, and sleeves rolled up, working asif her life or the world's destiny depended upon it. 

It was evident from the first words of Mr. Mudge that this lady was hishelpmeet. 

"Well, wife, " he said, "I've brought you another boarder. You must tryto make him as happy and contented as the rest of 'em are. "

From the tone of the speaker, the last words might be understood to bejocular. 

Mrs. Mudge, whose style of beauty was not improved by a decided squint, fixed a scrutinizing gaze upon Paul, and he quite naturally returned it. 

"Haven't you ever seen anybody before, boy? I guess you'll know me nexttime. "

"Shouldn't wonder if he did, " chuckled Mr. Mudge. 

"I don't know where on earth we shall put him, " remarked the lady. "We're full now. "

"Oh, put him anywhere. I suppose you won't be very particular about youraccommodations?" said Mr. Mudge turning to Paul. 

Paul very innocently answered in the negative, thereby affording Mr. Mudge not a little amusement. 

"Well, that's lucky, " he said, "because our best front chamber'soccupied just now. We'd have got it ready for you if you'd only wrote aweek ago to tell us you were coming. You can just stay round here, " hesaid in a different tone as he was about leaving the room, "Mrs. Mudgewill maybe want you to do something for her. You can sit down till shecalls on you. "

It was washing day with Mrs. Mudge, and of course she was extremelybusy. The water was to be brought from a well in the yard, and to thisoffice Paul was at once delegated. It was no easy task, the full pailstugging most unmercifully at his arms. However, this was soon over, andMrs. Mudge graciously gave him permission to go into the adjoining room, and make acquaintance with his fellow-boarders. 

There were nine of them in all, Paul, the newcomer making the tenth. They were all advanced in years, except one young woman, who wasprevented by mental aberration from supporting herself outside the wallsof the Institution. 

Of all present, Paul's attention was most strongly attracted towards onewho appeared more neatly and scrupulously attired than any of the rest. 

Aunt Lucy Lee, or plain Aunt Lucy, for in her present abode she hadsmall use for her last name, was a benevolent-looking old lady, who bothin dress and manners was distinguished from her companions. She rosefrom her knitting, and kindly took Paul by the hand. Children areinstinctive readers of character, and Paul, after one glance at herbenevolent face, seated himself contentedly beside her. 

"I suppose, " said the old lady, socially, "you've come to live withus. We must do all we can to make you comfortable. Your name is PaulPrescott, I think Mrs. Mudge said. "

"Yes, ma'am, " answered Paul, watching the rapid movement of the oldlady's fingers. 

"Mine is Aunt Lucy, " she continued, "that is what everybody calls me. So now we know each other, and shall soon be good friends, I hope. Isuppose you have hardly been here long enough to tell how you shall likeit. "

Paul confessed that thus far he did not find it very pleasant. 

"No, I dare say not, " said Aunt Lucy, "I can't say I think it looks veryattractive myself. However, it isn't wholly the fault of Mr. And Mrs. Mudge. They can't afford to do much better, for the town allows themvery little. "

Aunt Lucy's remarks were here interrupted by the apparition of theworthy landlady at the door. 

"Dinner's ready, folks, " said that lady, with little ceremony, "and youmust come out quick if you want any, for I'm drove with work, and can'tbe hindered long. "

The summons was obeyed with alacrity, and the company made all haste tothe dining-room, or rather the kitchen, for it was here that the mealswere eaten. 

In the center of the room was set a table without a cloth, a table-clothbeing considered a luxury quite superfluous. Upon this were placedseveral bowls of thin, watery liquid, intended for soup, but which, likecity milk, was diluted so as hardly to be distinguishable. Beside eachbowl was a slice of bread. 

Such was the bill of fare. 

"Now, folks, the sooner you fall to the better, " exclaimed the energeticMrs. Mudge, who was one of those driving characters, who consider anytime spent at the table beyond ten minutes as so much time wasted. 

The present company appeared to need no second invitation. Theirscanty diet had the positive advantage of giving them a good appetite;otherwise the quality of their food might have daunted them. 

Paul took his place beside Aunt Lucy. Mechanically he did as the rest, carrying to his mouth a spoonful of the liquid. But his appetite was notsufficiently accustomed to Poor House regime to enable him to relish itsstanding dish, and he laid down his spoon with a disappointed look. 

He next attacked the crust of bread, but found it too dry to bepalatable. 

"Please, ma'am, " said he to Mrs. Mudge, "I should like some butter. "

Paul's companions dropped their spoons in astonishment at his daring, and Mrs. Mudge let fall a kettle she was removing from the fire, insheer amazement. 

"What did you ask for?" she inquired, as if to make sure that her earsdid not deceive her. 

"A little butter, " repeated Paul, unconscious of the great presumptionof which he had been guilty. 

"You want butter, do you?" repeated Mr. Mudge. "Perhaps you'd like aslice of beefsteak and a piece of plum-pudding too, wouldn't you?"

"I should very much, " said Paul, resolved to tell the truth, although henow began to perceive the sarcasm in his landlady's tone. 

"There isn't anything more you would like, is there?" inquired the lady, with mock politeness. 

"No, ma'am, " returned Paul after a pause, "I believe not, to-day. "

"Very moderate, upon my word, " exclaimed Mrs. Mudge, giving vent atlength to her pentup indignation. "You'll be contented with butter androast beef and plum-pudding! A mighty fine gentleman, to be sure. Butyou won't get them here, I'll be bound. "

"So will I, " thought Aunt Lucy. 

"If you ain't satisfied with what I give you, " pursued Mrs. Mudge, "you'd better go somewhere else. You can put up at some of the greathotels. Butter, forsooth!"

Having thus given expression to her feelings, she left the room, andPaul was left to finish his dinner with the best appetite he couldcommand. He was conscious that he had offended Mrs. Mudge, but thethoughts of his recent great sorrow swallowed up all minor annoyances, so that the words of his estimable landlady were forgotten almost assoon as they were uttered. He felt that he must henceforth look for fardifferent treatment from that to which he had been accustomed during hisfather's lifetime. 

His thoughts were interrupted in a manner somewhat ludicrous, by thecrazy girl who sat next to him coolly appropriating to herself his bowlof soup, having already disposed of her own. 

"Look, " said Aunt Lucy, quickly, calling Paul's attention, "you arelosing your dinner. "

"Never mind, " said Paul, amused in spite of his sadness, "she is quitewelcome to it if she likes it; I can't eat it. "

So the dinner began and ended. It was very brief and simple, occupyingless than ten minutes, and comprising only one course--unless the soupwas considered the first course, and the bread the second. Paul leftthe table as hungry as he came to it. Aunt Lucy's appetite had becomeaccustomed to the Mudge diet, and she wisely ate what was set beforeher, knowing that there was no hope of anything better. 

About an hour after dinner Ben Newcome came to the door of the PoorHouse and inquired for Paul. 

Mrs. Mudge was in one of her crusty moods. 

"You can't see him, " said she. 

"And why not?" said Ben, resolutely. 

"Because he's busy. "

"You'd better let me see him, " said Ben, sturdily. 

"I should like to know what's going to happen if I don't, " said Mrs. Mudge, with wrathful eyes, and arms akimbo. 

"I shall go home and report to my father, " said Ben, coolly. 

"Who is your father?" asked Mrs. Mudge, for she did not recognize hervisitor. 

"My father's name is Newcome--Squire Newcome, some call him. "

Now it so happened that Squire Newcome was Chairman of the Overseers ofthe Poor, and in that capacity might remove Mr. Mudge from office if hepleased. Accordingly Mrs. Mudge softened down at once, on learning thatBen was his son. 

"Oh, " said she, "I didn't know who it was. I thought it might be someidle boy from the village who would only take Paul from his work, but ifyou have a message from your father----"

This she said to ascertain whether he really had any message or not, butBen, who had in fact come without his father's knowledge, only bowed, and said, in a patronizing manner, "I accept your apology, Mrs. Mudge. Will you have the goodness to send Paul out?"

"Won't you step in?" asked Mrs. Mudge with unusual politeness. 

"No, I believe not. "

Paul was accordingly sent out. 

He was very glad to meet his schoolmate and playfellow, Ben, who by hisgayety, spiced though it was with roguery, had made himself a generalfavorite in school. 

"I say, Paul, " said Ben, "I'm sorry to find you in such a place. "

"It isn't very pleasant, " said Paul, rather soberly. 

"And that woman--Mrs. Mudge--she looks as if she might be a regularspitfire, isn't she?"

"Rather so. "

"I only wish the old gentleman--meaning of course, the Squire--wouldtake you to live with me. I want a fellow to play with. But I say, Paul, go and get your hat, and we'll go out for a walk. "

"I don't know what Mrs. Mudge will say, " said Paul, who had just comefrom turning the handle of a churn. 

"Just call Mrs. Mudge, and I'll manage it. "

Mrs. Mudge being summoned, made her appearance at the door. 

"I presume, ma'am, " said Ben, confidently, "you will have no objectionto Paul's taking a walk with me while I deliver the message I amentrusted with. "

"Certainly, " said Mrs. Mudge, rather unwillingly, but not venturing torefuse. 

"It takes me to come it over the old lady, " said Ben, when they were outof hearing. 

"Now, we'll go a fishing. "

V. 

A CRISIS. 

Before sunrise the next morning Paul was awakened by a rude shake fromMr. Mudge, with an intimation that he had better get up, as there wasplenty of work before him. 

By the light of the lantern, for as yet it was too dark to dispense withit, Paul dressed himself. Awakened from a sound sleep, he hardly hadtime to collect his thoughts, and it was with a look of bewildermentthat he surveyed the scene about him. As Mrs. Mudge had said, they werepretty full already, and accordingly a rude pallet had been spread forhim in the attic, of which, with the exception of nocturnal marauders, he was the only occupant. Paul had not, to be sure, been used to verysuperior accommodations, and if the bed had not been quite so hard, hewould have got along very well. As it was he was separated from slatsonly by a thin straw bed which did not improve matters much. It wastherefore with a sense of weariness which slumber had not dissipated, that Paul arose at the summons of Mr. Mudge. 

When he reached the kitchen, he found that gentleman waiting for him. 

"Do you know how to milk?" was his first salutation. 

"I never learned, " said Paul. 

"Then you'll have to, in double-quick time, " was the reply, "for I don'trelish getting up so early, and you can take it off my hands. "

The two proceeded to the barn, where Paul received his first lesson inthis important branch of education. 

Mr. Mudge kept five cows. One might have thought he could have affordeda moderate supply of milk to his boarders, but all, with the exceptionof a single quart, was sold to the milkman who passed the door everymorning. 

After breakfast, which was on the same economical plan with the dinnerof the day previous, Paul was set to work planting potatoes, at which hewas kept steadily employed till the dinner-hour. 

Poor Paul! his back ached dreadfully, for he had never before done anyharder work than trifling services for his father. But the inexorableMr. Mudge was in sight, and however much he wished, he did not dare tolay aside his hoe even for a moment. 

Twelve o'clock found him standing beside the dinner-table. He ate moreheartily than before, for his forenoon's labor made even poorhouse farepalatable. 

Mrs. Mudge observed the change, and remarked in a satisfied tone. "Well, my fine gentleman, I see you are coming to your appetite. I thought youwouldn't hold out long. "

Paul, who had worn off something of his diffidence, could not helpfeeling indignant at this speech; unaccustomed to be addressed in thisway, the taunt jarred upon his feelings, but he only bit his lip andpreserved silence. 

Aunt Lucy, too, who had come to feel a strong interest in Paul, despiteher natural mildness, could not resist the temptation of saying withsome warmth, "what's the use of persecuting the child? He has sorrowsenough of his own without your adding to them. "

Mrs. Mudge was not a little incensed at this remonstrance. 

"I should like to know, ma'am, who requested you to put in your oar!"she said with arms akimbo. "Anybody wouldn't think from your lofty airsthat you lived in the poorhouse; I'll thank you to mind your ownbusiness in the future, and not meddle with what don't concern you. "

Aunt Lucy was wise enough to abstain from provoking further the wrath ofher amiable landlady, and continued to eat her soup in silence. But Mrs. Mudge neer forgot this interference, nor the cause of it, and henceforthwith the malignity of a narrow-minded and spiteful woman, did what shecould to make Paul uncomfortable. Her fertile ingenuity always foundsome new taunt, or some new reproach, to assail him with. But Paul, though at first he felt indignant, learned at last to treat them as theydeserved, with silent disdain. Assured of the sympathy of those aroundhim, he did not allow his appetite to be spoiled by any remark whichMrs. Mudge might offer. 

This, of course, only provoked her the more, and she strove to have hisdaily tasks increased, in the amiable hope that his "proud spirit" mightbe tamed thereby. 

Mr. Mudge, who was somewhat under petticoat government, readily accededto his wife's wishes, and henceforth Paul's strength was taxed to itsutmost limit. He was required to be up with the first gray tint of dawnand attend to the cattle. From this time until night, except the brieftime devoted to his meals, he was incessantly occupied. Aunt Lucy'ssociety, his chief comfort, was thus taken from him; since, in order torise early, he was obliged to go to bed as soon as possible after day'swork was finished. 

The effects of such incessant labor without a sufficient supply ofnourishing food, may easily be imagined. The dry bread and meagre soupwhich constituted the chief articles of diet in Mrs. Mudge's economicalhousehold, had but one recommendation, --they were effectual preventivesof gluttony. It was reported that on one occasion a beggar, apparentlyfamishing with hunger, not knowing the character of the house, madeapplication at the door for food. In an unusual fit of generosity, Mrs. Mudge furnished him with a slice of bread and a bowl of soup, which, however, proved so far from tempting that the beggar, hungry as he was, left them almost untouched. 

One day, as Paul was working in the field at a little distance fromMr. Mudge, he became conscious of a peculiar feeling of giddiness whichcompelled him to cling to the hoe for support, --otherwise he must havefallen. 

"No laziness there, " exclaimed Mr. Mudge, observing Paul's cessationfrom labor, "We can't support you in idleness. "

But the boy paid no regard to this admonition, and Mr. Mudge, somewhatsurprised, advanced toward him to enforce the command. 

Even he was startled at the unusual paleness of Paul's face, andinquired in a less peremptory tone, "what's the matter?"

"I feel sick, " gasped Paul. 

Without another word, Mr. Mudge took Paul up in his arms and carried himinto the house. 

"What's the matter, now?" asked his wife, meeting him at the door. 

"The boy feels a little sick, but I guess he'll get over it by-andby. Haven't you got a little soup that you can give him? I reckon he'sfaint, and that'll brighten him up. "

Paul evidently did not think so, for he motioned away a bowl of thedelightful mixture, though it was proffered him by the fair hands ofMrs. Mudge. The lady was somewhat surprised, and said, roughly, "Ishouldn't wonder if he was only trying to shirk. "

This was too much even for Mr. Mudge; "The boy's sick, " said he, "that'splain enough; if he don't get better soon, I must send for the doctor, for work drives, and I can't spare him. "

"There's no more danger of his being sick than mine, " said Mrs. Mudge, emphatically; "however, if you're fool enough to go for a doctor, that'snone of my business. I've heard of feigning sickness before now, toget rid of work. As to his being pale, I've been as pale as that myselfsometimes without your troubling yourself very much about me. "

"'Twon't be any expense to us, " alleged Mr. Mudge, in a tone ofjustification, for he felt in some awe of his wife's temper, which wasnone of the mildest when a little roused, "'Twon't be any expense to us;the town has got to pay for it, and as long as it will get him ready forwork sooner, we might as well take advantage of it. "

This consideration somewhat reconciled Mrs. Mudge to the step proposed, and as Paul, instead of getting better, grew rapidly worse, Mr. Mudgethought it expedient to go immediately for the village physician. Luckily Dr. Townsend was at home, and an hour afterwards found himstanding beside the sick boy. 

"I don't know but you'll think it rather foolish, our sending for you, doctor, " said Mrs. Mudge, "but Mudge would have it that the boy was sickand so he went for you. "

"And he did quite right, " said Dr. Townsend, noticing the ghastly pallorof Paul's face. "He is a very sick boy, and if I had not been called Iwould not have answered for the consequences. How do you feel, my boy?"he inquired of Paul. 

"I feel very weak, and my head swims, " was the reply. 

"How and when did this attack come on?" asked the doctor, turning to Mr. Mudge. 

"He was taken while hoeing in the field, " was the reply. 

"Have you kept him at work much there lately?"

"Well, yes, I've been drove by work, and he has worked there all daylatterly. "

"At what time has he gone to work in the morning?"

"He has got up to milk the cows about five o'clock. I used to do it, butsince he has learned, I have indulged myself a little. "

"It would have been well for him if he had enjoyed the same privilege. It is my duty to speak plainly. The sickness of this boy lies at yourdoor. He has never been accustomed to hard labor, and yet you haveobliged him to rise earlier and work later than most men. No wonder hefeels weak. Has he a good appetite?"

"Well, rather middlin', " said Mrs. Mudge, "but it's mainly because he'stoo dainty to eat what's set before him. Why, only the first day he washere he turned up his nose at the bread and soup we had for dinner. "

"Is this a specimen of the soup?" asked Dr. Townsend, taking from thetable the bowl which had been proffered to Paul and declined by him. 

Without ceremony he raised to his lips a spoonful of the soup and tastedit with a wry face. 

"Do you often have this soup on the table?" he asked abruptly. 

"We always have it once a day, and sometimes twice, " returned Mrs. Mudge. 

"And you call the boy dainty because he don't relish such stuff asthis?" said the doctor, with an indignation he did not attempt toconceal. "Why, I wouldn't be hired to take the contents of that bowl. Itis as bad as any of my own medicines, and that's saying a good deal. How much nourishment do you suppose such a mixture would afford? And yetwith little else to sustain him you have worked this boy like a beast ofburden, --worse even, for they at least have abundance of GOOD food. "

Mr. And Mrs. Mudge both winced under this plain speaking, but they didnot dare to give expression to their anger, for they knew well that Dr. Townsend was an influential man in town, and, by representing the affairin the proper quarter, might render their hold upon their present posta very precarious one. Mr. Mudge therefore contented himself withmuttering that he guessed he worked as hard as anybody, and he didn'tcomplain of his fare. 

"May I ask you, Mr. Mudge, " said the doctor, fixing his penetrating eyefull upon him, "whether you confine yourself to the food upon which youhave kept this boy?"

"Well, " said Mr. Mudge, in some confusion, moving uneasily in hisseat, "I can't say but now and then I eat something a little different. "

"Do you eat at the same table with the inmates of your house?"

"Well, no, " said the embarrassed Mr. Mudge. 

"Tell me plainly, --how often do you partake of this soup?"

"I aint your patient, " said the man, sullenly, "Why should you want toknow what I eat?"

"I have an object in view. Are you afraid to answer?"

"I don't know as there's anything to be afraid of. The fact is, I aintpartial to soup; it don't agree with me, and so I don't take it. "

"Did you ever consider that this might be the case with others aswell as yourself?" inquired the doctor with a glance expressive of hiscontempt for Mr. Mudge's selfishness. Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Townsend ordered Paul to be put to bed immediately, after which he wouldleave some medicine for him to take. 

Here was another embarrassment for the worthy couple. They hardly knewwhere to put our hero. It would not do for them to carry him to hispallet in the attic, for they felt sure that this would lead to somemore plain speaking on the part of Dr. Townsend. He was accordingly, though with some reluctance, placed in a small bedroom upstairs, which, being more comfortable than those appropriated to the paupers, had beenreserved for a son at work in a neighboring town, on his occasionalvisits home. 

"Is there no one in the house who can sit in the chamber and attend tohis occasional wants?" asked Dr. Townsend. "He will need to take hismedicine at stated periods, and some one will be required to administerit. "

"There's Aunt Lucy Lee, " said Mrs. Mudge, "she's taken a fancy to theboy, and I reckon she'll do as well as anybody. "

"No one better, " returned the doctor, who well knew Aunt Lucy's kindnessof disposition, and was satisfied that she would take all possible careof his patient. 

So it was arranged that Aunt Lucy should take her place at Paul'sbedside as his nurse. 

Paul was sick for many days, --not dangerously so, but hard work andscanty fare had weakened him to such a degree that exhausted naturerequired time to recruit its wasted forces. But he was not unhappy orrestless. Hour after hour he would lie patiently, and listen to theclicking of her knitting needles. Though not provided with luxuriousfood, Dr. Townsend had spoken with so much plainness that Mrs. Mudgefelt compelled to modify her treatment, lest, through his influence, shewith her husband, might lose their situation. This forced forbearance, however, was far from warming her heart towards its object. Mrs. Mudge was a hard, practical woman, and her heart was so encrusted withworldliness and self-interest that she might as well have been withoutone. 

One day, as Paul lay quietly gazing at Aunt Lucy's benevolent face, and mentally contrasting it with that of Mrs. Mudge, whose shrill voicecould be heard form below, he was seized with a sudden desire to learnsomething of her past history. 

"How long have you been here, Aunt Lucy?" he inquired. 

She looked up from her knitting, and sighed as she answered, "A long andweary time to look back upon, Paul. I have been here ten years. "

"Ten years, " repeated Paul, thoughtfully, "and I am thirteen. So youhave been here nearly all my lifetime. Has Mr. Mudge been here all thattime?"

"Only the last two years. Before that we had Mrs. Perkins. "

"Did she treat you any better than Mrs. Mudge?"

"Any better than Mrs. Mudge!" vociferated that lady, who had ascendedthe stairs without being heard by Aunt Lucy of Paul, and had thuscaught the last sentence. "Any better than Mrs. Mudge!" she repeated, thoroughly provoked. "So you've been talking about me, you trollop, haveyou? I'll come up with you, you may depend upon that. That's to pay formy giving you tea Sunday night, is it? Perhaps you'll get some more. It's pretty well in paupers conspiring together because they ainttreated like princes and princesses. Perhaps you'd like to got boardedwith Queen Victoria. "

The old lady sat very quiet during this tirade. She had been the subjectof similar invective before, and knew that it would do no good to opposeMrs. Mudge in her present excited state. 

"I don't wonder you haven't anything to say, " said the infuriated dame. "I should think you'd want to hide your face in shame, you trollop. "

Paul was not quite so patient as his attendant. Her kindness hadproduced such an impression on him, that Mrs. Mudge, by her taunts, stirred up his indignation. 

"She's no more of a trollop than you are, " said he, with spirit. 

Mrs. Mudge whirled round at this unexpected attack, and shook her fistmenacingly at Paul--

"So, you've put in your oar, you little jackanapes, " said she, "Ifyou're well enough to be impudent you're well enough to go to work. You aint a goin' to lie here idle much longer, I can tell you. Ifyou deceive Dr. Townsend, and make him believe you're sick, you can'tdeceive me. No doubt you feel mighty comfortable, lyin' here withnothing to do, while I'm a slavin' myself to death down stairs, waitin'upon you; (this was a slight exaggeration, as Aunt Lucy took the entirecharge of Paul, including the preparation of his food;) but you'd bettermake the most of it, for you won't lie here much longer. You'll miss notbein' able to talk about me, won't you?"

Mrs. Mudge paused a moment as if expecting an answer to her highlysarcastic question, but Paul felt that no advantage would be gained bysaying more. . He was not naturally a quick-tempered buy, and had onlybeen led to this little ebullition by the wanton attack by Mrs. Mudge. 

This lady, after standing a moment as if defying the twain to a furthercontest, went out, slamming the door violently after her. 

"You did wrong to provoke her, Paul, " said Aunt Lucy, gravely. 

"How could I help it?" asked Paul, earnestly. "If she had only abusedME, I should not have cared so much, but when she spoke about you, whohave been so kind to me, I could not be silent. "

"I thank you, Paul, for your kind feeling, " said the old lady, gently, "but we must learn to bear and forbear. The best of us have our faultsand failings. "

"What are yours, Aunt Lucy?"

"O, a great many. "

"Such as what?"

"I am afraid I am sometimes discontented with the station which God hasassigned me. "

"I don't think you can be very much to blame for that. I should neverlearn to be contented here if I lived to the age of Methuselah. "

Paul lay quite still for an hour or more. During that time he formed adetermination which will be announced in the next chapter. 

VI. 

PAUL'S DETERMINATION

At the close of the last chapter it was stated that Paul had come to adetermination. 

This was, --TO RUN AWAY. 

That he had good reason for this we have already seen. 

He was now improving rapidly, and only waited till he was well enough toput his design into execution. 

"Aunt Lucy, " said he one day, "I've got something to tell you. "

The old lady looked up inquiringly. 

"It's something I've been thinking of a long time, --at least most of thetime since I've been sick. It isn't pleasant for me to stay here, andI've pretty much made up my mind that I sha'n't. "

"Where will you go?" asked the old lady, dropping her work in surprise. 

"I don't know of any particular place, but I should be better off mostanywhere than here. "

"But you are so young, Paul. "

"God will take care of me, Aunt Lucy, --mother used to tell me that. Besides, here I have no hope of learning anything or improving mycondition. Then again, if I stay here, I can never do what father wishedme to do. "

"What is that, Paul?"

Paul told the story of his father's indebtedness to Squire Conant, andthe cruel letter which the Squire had written. 

"I mean to pay that debt, " he concluded firmly. "I won't let anybody saythat my father kept them out of their money. There is no chance here;somewhere else I may find work and money. "

"It is a great undertaking for a boy like you, Paul, " said Aunt Lucy, thoughtfully. "To whom is the money due?"

"Squire Conant of Cedarville. "

Aunt Lucy seemed surprised and agitated by the mention of this name. 

"Paul, " said she, "Squire Conant is my brother. "

"Your brother!" repeated he in great surprise. "Then why does he allowyou to live here? He is rich enough to take care of you. "

"It is a long story, " said the old lady, sadly. "All that you will beinterested to know is that I married against the wishes of my family. Myhusband died and I was left destitute. My brother has never noticed mesince. "

"It is a great shame, " said Paul. 

"We won't judge him, Paul. Have you fixed upon any time to go?"

"I shall wait a few days till I get stronger. Can you tell me how far itis to New York?"

"O, a great distance; a hundred miles at least. You can't think of goingso far as that?"

"I think it would be the best plan, " said Paul. "In a great city likeNew York there must be a great many things to do which I can't do here. I don't feel strong enough to work on a farm. Besides, I don't like it. O, it must be a fine thing to live in a great city. Then too, " pursuedPaul, his face lighting up with the hopeful confidence of youth, "Imay become rich. If I do, Aunt Lucy, I will build a fine house, and youshall come and live with me. "

Aunt Lucy had seen more of life than Paul, and was less sanguine. Thethought came to her that her life was already declining while his wasbut just begun, and in the course of nature, even if his bright dreamsshould be realized, she could hardly hope to live long enough to see it. But of this she said nothing. She would not for the world have dimmedthe brightness of his anticipations by the expression of a single doubt. 

"I wish you all success, Paul, and I thank you for wishing me to sharein your good fortune. God helps those who help themselves, and he willhelp you if you only deserve it. I shall miss you very much when you aregone. It will seem more lonely than ever. "

"If it were not for you, Aunt Lucy, I should not mind going at all, butI shall be sorry to leave you behind. "

"God will care for both of us, my dear boy. I shall hope to hear fromyou now and then, and if I learn that you are prosperous and happy, Ishall be better contented with my own lot. But have you thought of allthe labor and weariness that you will have to encounter? It is best toconsider well all this, before entering upon such an undertaking. "

"I have thought of all that, and if there were any prospect of my beinghappy here, I might stay for the present. But you know how Mrs. Mudgehas treated me, and how she feels towards me now. "

"I acknowledge, Paul, that it has proved a hard apprenticeship, andperhaps it might be made yet harder if you should stay longer. You mustlet me know when you are going, I shall want to bid you good-by. "

"No fear that I shall forget that, Aunt Lucy. Next to my mother you havebeen most kind to me, and I love you for it. "

Lightly pressing her lips to Paul's forehead Aunt Lucy left the room toconceal the emotion called forth by his approaching departure. Of allthe inmates of the establishment she had felt most closely drawn to theorphan boy, whose loneliness and bereavement had appealed to her woman'sheart. This feeling had been strengthened by the care she had beencalled to bestow upon him in his illness, for it is natural to lovethose whom we have benefited. But Aunt Lucy was the most unselfish ofliving creatures, and the idea of dissuading Paul from a course which hefelt was right never occurred to her. She determined that she woulddo what she could to further his plans, now that he had decided to go. Accordingly she commenced knitting him a pair of stockings, knowing thatthis would prove a useful present. This came near being the means ofdiscovering Paul's plan to Mrs. Mudge The latter, who notwithstandingher numerous duties, managed to see everything that was going on, hadher attention directed to Aunt Lucy's work. 

"Have you finished the stockings that I set you to knitting for Mr. Mudge?" she asked. 

"No, " said Aunt Lucy, in some confusion. 

"Then whose are those, I should like to know? Somebody of moreimportance than my husband, I suppose. "

"They are for Paul, " returned the old lady, in some uneasiness. 

"Paul!" repeated Mrs. Mudge, in her haste putting a double quantityof salaeratus into the bread she was mixing; "Paul's are they? And whoasked you to knit him a pair, I should like to be informed?"

"No one. "

"Then what are you doing it for?"

"I thought he might want them. "

"Mighty considerate, I declare. And I shouldn't be at all surprisedif you were knitting them with the yarn I gave you for Mr. Mudge'sstockings. "

"You are mistaken, " said Aunt Lucy, shortly. 

"Oh, you're putting on your airs, are you? I'll tell you what, Madam, you'd better put those stockings away in double-quick time, and finishmy husband's, or I'll throw them into the fire, and Paul Prescott maywait till he goes barefoot before he gets them. "

There was no alternative. Aunt Lucy was obliged to obey, at least whileher persecutor was in the room. When alone for any length of time shetook out Paul's stockings from under her apron, and worked on them tillthe approaching steps of Mrs. Mudge warned her to desist. 

*****

Three days passed. The shadows of twilight were already upon the earth. The paupers were collected in the common room appropriated to their use. Aunt Lucy had suspended her work in consequence of the darkness, forin this economical household a lamp was considered a useless piece ofextravagance. Paul crept quietly to her side, and whispered in tonesaudible to her alone, "I AM GOING TO-MORROW. "

"To-morrow! so soon?"

"Yes, " said Paul, "I am as ready now as I shall ever be. I wanted totell you, because I thought maybe you might like to know that this isthe last evening we shall spend together at present. "

"Do you go in the morning?"

"Yes, Aunt Lucy, early in the morning. Mr. Mudge usually calls me atfive; I must be gone an hour before that time. I suppose I must bid yougood-by to-night. "

"Not to-night, Paul; I shall be up in the morning to see you go. "

"But if Mrs. Mudge finds it out she will abuse you. "

"I am used to that, Paul, " said Aunt Lucy, with a sorrowful smile. "Ihave borne it many times, and I can again. But I can't lie quiet and letyou go without one word of parting. You are quite determined to go?"

"Quite, Aunt Lucy. I never could stay here. There is no pleasure in thepresent, and no hope for the future. I want to see something of life, "and Paul's boyish figure dilated with enthusiasm. 

"God grant that you do not see too much!" said Aunt Lucy, half toherself. 

"Is the world then, so very sad a place?" asked Paul. 

"Both joy and sorrow are mingled in the cup of human life, " said AuntLucy, solemnly:

"Which shall preponderate it is partly in our power to determine. Hewho follows the path of duty steadfastly, cannot be wholly miserable, whatever misfortunes may come upon him. He will be sustained by theconviction that his own errors have not brought them upon him. "

"I will try to do right, " said Paul, placing his hand in that of hiscompanion, "and if ever I am tempted to do wrong, I will think of youand of my mother, and that thought shall restrain me. "

"It's time to go bed, folks, " proclaimed Mrs Mudge, appearing at thedoor. "I can't have you sitting up all night, as I've no doubt you'dlike to do. "

It was only eight o'clock, but no one thought of interposing anobjection. The word of Mrs. Mudge was law in her household, as even herhusband was sometimes made aware. 

All quietly rose from their seats and repaired to bed. It was anaffecting sight to watch the tottering gait of those on whose heads thesnows of many winters had drifted heavily, as they meekly obeyed thebehest of one whose coarse nature forbade her sympathizing with them intheir clouded age, and many infirmities. 

"Come, " said she, impatient of their slow movements, "move a littlequicker, if it's perfectly convenient. Anybody'd think you'd been hardat work all day, as I have. You're about the laziest set I ever hadanything to do with. I've got to be up early in the morning, and can'tstay here dawdling. "

"She's got a sweet temper, " said Paul, in a whisper, to Aunt Lucy. 

"Hush!" said the old lady. "She may hear you. "

"What's that you're whispering about?" said Mrs. Mudge, suspiciously. "Something you're ashamed to have heard, most likely. "

Paul thought it best to remain silent. 

"To-morrow morning at four!" he whispered to Aunt Lucy, as he pressedher hand in the darkness. 

VII. 

PAUL BEGINS HIS JOURNEY. 

Paul ascended the stairs to his hard pallet for the last time. For thelast time! There is sadness in the thought, even when the future whichlies before us glows with brighter colors than the past has ever worn. But to Paul, whose future was veiled in uncertainty, and who was aboutto part with the only friend who felt an interest in his welfare, thisthought brought increased sorrow. 

He stood before the dirt-begrimed window through which alone thestruggling sunbeams found an inlet into the gloomy little attic, and looked wistfully out upon the barren fields that surrounded thepoorhouse. Where would he be on the morrow at that time? He did notknow. He knew little or nothing of the great world without, yet hisresolution did not for an instant falter. If it had, the thought of Mrs. Mudge would have been enough to remove all his hesitation. 

He threw himself on his hard bed, and a few minutes brought him thatdreamless sleep which comes so easily to the young. 

Meanwhile Aunt Lucy, whose thoughts were also occupied with Paul'sapproaching departure, had taken from the pocket of her OTHER dress--forshe had but two--something wrapped in a piece of brown paper. One by oneshe removed the many folds in which it was enveloped, and came at lengthto the contents. 

It was a coin. 

"Paul will need some money, poor boy, " said she, softly to herself, "Iwill give him this. It will never do me any good, and it may be of someservice to him. "

So saying she looked carefully at the coin in the moonlight. 

But what made her start, and utter a half exclamation?

Instead of the gold eagle, the accumulation of many years, which she hadbeen saving for some extraordinary occasion like the presents she heldin her hand--a copper cent. 

"I have been robbed, " she exclaimed indignantly in the suddenness of hersurprise. 

"What's the matter now?" inquired Mrs Mudge, appearing at the door, "Whyare you not in bed, Aunt Lucy Lee? How dare you disobey my orders?"

"I have been robbed, " exclaimed the old lady in unwonted excitement. 

"Of what, pray?" asked Mrs. Mudge, with a sneer. 

"I had a gold eagle wrapped up in that paper, " returned Aunt Lucy, pointing to the fragments on the floor, "and now, to-night, when I cometo open it, I find but this cent. "

"A likely story, " retorted Mrs. Mudge, "very likely, indeed, that acommon pauper should have a gold eagle. If you found a cent in thepaper, most likely that's what you put there. You're growing old andforgetful, so don't get foolish and flighty. You'd better go to bed. "

"But I did have the gold, and it's been stolen, " persisted Aunt Lucy, whose disappointment was the greater because she intended the money forPaul. 

"Again!" exclaimed Mrs. Mudge. "Will you never have done with thisfolly? Even if you did have the gold, which I don't for an instantbelieve, you couldn't keep it. A pauper has no right to hold property. "

"Then why did the one who stole the little I had leave me this?" saidthe old lady, scornfully, holding up the cent which had been substitutedfor the gold. 

"How should I know?" exclaimed Mrs. Mudge, wrathfully. "You talk as ifyou thought I had taken your trumpery money. "

"So you did!" chimed in an unexpected voice, which made Mrs. Mudge startnervously. 

It was the young woman already mentioned, who was bereft of reason, but who at times, as often happens in such cases, seemed gifted withpreternatural acuteness. 

"So you did. I saw you, I did; I saw you creep up when you thoughtnobody was looking, and search her pocket. You opened that paper andtook out the bright yellow piece, and put in another. You didn't think Iwas looking at you, ha! ha! How I laughed as I stood behind the door andsaw you tremble for fear some one would catch you thieving. You didn'tthink of me, dear, did you?"

And the wild creature burst into an unmeaning laugh. 

Mrs. Mudge stood for a moment mute, overwhelmed by this suddenrevelation. But for the darkness, Aunt Lucy could have seen the suddenflush which overspread her face with the crimson hue of detected guilt. But this was only for a moment. It was quickly succeeded by a feelingof intense anger towards the unhappy creature who had been the means ofexposing her. 

"I'll teach you to slander your betters, you crazy fool, " she exclaimed, in a voice almost inarticulate with passion, as she seized her rudely bythe arm, and dragged her violently from the room. 

She returned immediately. 

"I suppose, " said she, abruptly, confronting Aunt Lucy, "that you arefool enough to believe her ravings?"

"I bring no accusation, " said the old lady, calmly, "If your conscienceacquits you, it is not for me to accuse you. "

"But what do you think?" persisted Mrs. Mudge, whose consciousness ofguilt did not leave her quite at ease. 

"I cannot read the heart, " said Aunt Lucy, composedly. "I can only say, that, pauper as I am, I would not exchange places with the one who hasdone this deed. "

"Do you mean me?" demanded Mrs. Mudge. 

"You can tell best. "

"I tell you what, Aunt Lucy Lee, " said Mrs. Mudge, her eyes blazingwith anger, "If you dare insinuate to any living soul that I stole yourpaltry money, which I don't believe you ever had, I will be bitterlyrevenged upon you. "

She flaunted out of the room, and Aunt Lucy, the first bitterness of herdisappointment over, retired to bed, and slept more tranquilly than theunscrupulous woman who had robbed her. 

At a quarter before four Paul started from his humble couch, and hastilydressed himself, took up a little bundle containing all his scanty stockof clothing, and noiselessly descended the two flights of stairs whichseparated him from the lower story. Here he paused a moment for AuntLucy to appear. Her sharp ears had distinguished his stealthy steps ashe passed her door, and she came down to bid him good-by. She had in herhands a pair of stockings which she slipped into his bundle. 

"I wish I had something else to give you, Paul, " she said, "but you knowthat I am not very rich. "

"Dear Aunt Lucy, " said Paul, kissing her, "you are my only friend onearth. You have been very kind to me, and I never will forget you, NEVER! By-and-by, when I am rich, I will build a fine house, and youwill come and live with me, won't you?"

Paul's bright anticipations, improbable as they were, had the effect ofturning his companion's thoughts into a more cheerful channel. 

She bent down and kissed him, whispering softly, "Yes, I will, Paul. "

"Then it's a bargain, " said he, joyously, "Mind you don't forget it. Ishall come for you one of these days when you least expect it. "

"Have you any money?" inquired Aunt Lucy. 

Paul shook his head. 

"Then, " said she, drawing from her finger a gold ring which had heldits place for many long years, "here is something which will bring you alittle money if you are ever in distress. "

Paul hung back. 

"I would rather not take it, indeed I would, " he said, earnestly, "I would rather go hungry for two or three days than sell your ring. Besides, I shall not need it; God will provide for me. "

"But you need not sell it, " urged Aunt Lucy, "unless it is absolutelynecessary. You can take it and keep it in remembrance of me. Keep ittill you see me again, Paul. It will be a pledge to me that you willcome back again some day. "

"On that condition I will take it, " said Paul, "and some day I willbring it back. "

A slight noise above, as of some one stirring in sleep, excited theapprehensions of the two, and warned them that it was imprudent for themto remain longer in conversation. 

After a hurried good-by, Aunt Lucy quietly went upstairs again, andPaul, shouldering his bundle, walked rapidly away. 

The birds, awakening from their night's repose, were beginning to carolforth their rich songs of thanksgiving for the blessing of a new day. From the flowers beneath his feet and the blossom-laden branches abovehis head, a delicious perfume floated out upon the morning air, andfilled the heart of the young wanderer with a sense of the joyousness ofexistence, and inspired him with a hopeful confidence in the future. 

For the first time he felt that he belonged to himself. At the age ofthirteen he had taken his fortune in his own hand, and was about to moldit as best he might. 

There were care, and toil, and privations before him, no doubt, butin that bright morning hour he could harbor only cheerful and trustingthoughts. Hopefully he looked forward to the time when he could fulfilhis father's dying injunction, and lift from his name the burden of adebt unpaid. Then his mind reverting to another thought, he could nothelp smiling at the surprise and anger of Mr. Mudge, when he should findthat his assistant had taken French leave. He thought he should like tobe concealed somewhere where he could witness the commotion excitedby his own departure. But as he could not be in two places at the sametime, he must lose that satisfaction. He had cut loose from the Mudgehousehold, as he trusted, forever. He felt that a new and brighter lifewas opening before him. 

VIII. 

A FRIEND IN NEED. 

Our hero did not stop till he had put a good five miles between himselfand the poorhouse. He knew that it would not be long before Mr. Mudgewould discover his absence, and the thought of being carried back wasdoubly distasteful to him now that he had, even for a short time, feltthe joy of being his own master. His hurried walk, taken in the freshmorning air, gave him quite a sharp appetite. Luckily he had the meansof gratifying it. The night before he had secreted half his supper, knowing that he should need it more the next morning. He thought hemight now venture to sit down and eat it. 

At a little distance from the road was a spring, doubtless used forcattle, since it was situated at the lower end of a pasture. Closebeside and bending over it was a broad, branching oak, which promised acool and comfortable shelter. 

"That's just the place for me, " thought Paul, who felt thirsty as wellas hungry, "I think I will take breakfast here and rest awhile before Igo any farther. "

So saying he leaped lightly over the rail fence, and making his way tothe place indicated, sat down in the shadow of the tree. Scooping upsome water in the hollow of his hand, he drank a deep and refreshingdraught. He next proceeded to pull out of his pocket a small package, which proved to contain two small pieces of bread. His long morning walkhad given him such an appetite that he was not long in despatching allhe had. It is said by some learned physicians, who no doubt understandthe matter, that we should always rise from the table with an appetite. Probably Paul had never heard of this rule. Nevertheless, he seemed ina fair way of putting it into practice, for the best of reasons, becausehe could not help it. 

His breakfast, though not the most inviting, being simply unbutteredbread and rather dry at that, seemed more delicious than ever before, but unfortunately there was not enough of it. However, as there seemedlikely to be no more forthcoming, he concluded in default of breakfastto lie down under the tree for a few minutes before resuming his walk. Though he could not help wondering vaguely where his dinner was to comefrom, as that time was several hours distant, he wisely decided not toanticipate trouble till it came. 

Lying down under the tree, Paul began to consider what Mr. Mudge wouldsay when he discovered that he had run away. 

"He'll have to milk the cows himself, " thought Paul. "He won't fancythat much. Won't Mrs. Mudge scold, thought? I'm glad I shan't be withinhearing. "

"Holloa!"

It was a boy's voice that Paul heard. 

Looking up he saw a sedate company of cows entering the pasture singlefile through an aperture made by letting down the bars. Behind themwalked a boy of about his own size, flourishing a stout hickory stick. The cows went directly to the spring from which Paul had already drunk. The young driver looked at our hero with some curiosity, wondering, doubtless, what brought him there so early in the morning. After alittle hesitation he said, remarking Paul's bundle, "Where are youtraveling?"

"I don't know exactly, " said Paul, who was not quite sure whether itwould be politic to avow his destination. 

"Don't know?" returned the other, evidently surprised. 

"Not exactly; I may go to New York. "

"New York! That's a great ways off. Do you know the way there?"

"No, but I can find it. "

"Are you going all alone?" asked his new acquaintance, who evidentlythought Paul had undertaken a very formidable journey. 

"Yes. "

"Are you going to walk all the way?"

"Yes, unless somebody offers me a ride now and then. "

"But why don't you ride in the stage, or in the cars? You would getthere a good deal quicker. "

"One reason, " said Paul, hesitating a little, "is because I have nomoney to pay for riding. "

"Then how do you expect to live? Have you had any breakfast, thismorning?"

"I brought some with me, and just got through eating it when you camealong. "

"And where do you expect to get any dinner?" pursued his questioner, whowas evidently not a little puzzled by the answers he received. 

"I don't know, " returned Paul. 

His companion looked not a little confounded at this view of the matter, but presently a bright thought struck him. 

"I shouldn't wonder, " he said, shrewdly, "if you were running away. "

Paul hesitated a moment. He knew that his case must look a littlesuspicious, thus unexplained, and after a brief pause for reflectiondetermined to take the questioner into his confidence. He did this themore readily because his new acquaintance looked very pleasant. 

"You've guessed right, " he said; "if you'll promise not to tell anybody, I'll tell you all about it. "

This was readily promised, and the boy who gave his name as JohnBurgess, sat down beside Paul, while he, with the frankness ofboyhood, gave a circumstantial account of his father's death, and theill-treatment he had met with subsequently. 

"Do you come from Wrenville?" asked John, interested. "Why, I've gotrelations there. Perhaps you know my cousin, Ben Newcome. "

"Is Ben Newcome your cousin? O yes, I know him very well; he's afirst-rate fellow. "

"He isn't much like his father. "

"Not at all. If he was"--

"You wouldn't like him so well. Uncle talks a little too much out ofthe dictionary, and walks so straight that he bends backward. But I say, Paul, old Mudge deserves to be choked, and Mrs. Mudge should be obligedto swallow a gallon of her own soup. I don't know but that would beworse than choking. I wouldn't have stayed so long if I had been in yourplace. "

"I shouldn't, " said Paul, "if it hadn't been for Aunt Lucy. "

"Was she an aunt of yours?"

"No, but we used to call her so, She's the best friend I've got, and Idon't know but the only one, " said Paul, a little sadly. 

"No, she isn't, " said John, quickly; "I'll be your friend, Paul. Sometime, perhaps, I shall go to New York, myself, and then I will comeand see you. Where do you expect to be?"

"I don't know anything about the city, " said Paul, "but if you come, Ishall be sure to see you somewhere. I wish you were going now. "

Neither Paul nor his companion had much idea of the extent of the greatmetropolis, or they would not have taken it so much as a matter ofcourse that, being in the same place, they should meet each other. 

Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell from afarmhouse within sight. 

"That's our breakfast-bell, " said John rising from the grass. "It ismeant for me. I suppose they wonder what keeps me so long. Won't youcome and take breakfast with me, Paul?"

"I guess not, " said Paul, who would have been glad to do so had hefollowed the promptings of his appetite. "I'm afraid your folks wouldask me questions, and then it would be found out that I am runningaway. "

"I didn't think of that, " returned John, after a pause. "You haven't gotany dinner with you?" he said a moment after. 

"No. "

"Well, I'll tell you what I'll do. Come with me as far as the fence, andlie down there till I've finished breakfast. Then I'll bring somethingout for you, and maybe I'll walk along a little way with you. "

"You are very kind, " said Paul, gratefully. 

"Oh, nonsense, " said John, "that's nothing. Besides, you know we aregoing to be friends. "

"John! breakfast's ready. "

"There's Nelson calling me, " said John, hurriedly. "I must leave you;there's the fence; lie down there, and I'll be back in a jiffy. "

"John, I say, why don't you come?"

"I'm coming. You mustn't think everybody's got such a thundering greatappetite as you, Nelson. "

"I guess you've got enough to keep you from pining away, " said Nelson, good-naturedly, "you're twice as fat as I am. "

"That's because I work harder, " said John, rather illogically. 

The brothers went in to breakfast. 

But a few minutes elapsed before John reappeared, bearing under his arma parcel wrapped up in an old newspaper. He came up panting with thehaste he had made. 

"It didn't take you long to eat breakfast, " said Paul. 

"No, I hurried through it; I thought you would get tired of waiting. Andnow I'll walk along with you a little ways. But wait here's somethingfor you. "

So saying he unrolled the newspaper and displayed a loaf of bread, fresh and warm, which looked particularly inviting to Paul, whose scantybreakfast had by no means satisfied his appetite. Besides this, therewas a loaf of molasses ginger-bread, with which all who were born in thecountry, or know anything of New England housekeeping, are familiar. 

"There, " said John, "I guess that'll be enough for your dinner. "

"But how did you get it without having any questions asked?" inquiredour hero. 

"Oh, " said John, "I asked mother for them, and when she asked what Iwanted of them, I told her that I'd answer that question to-morrow. You see I wanted to give you a chance to get off out of the way, thoughmother wouldn't tell, even if she knew. "

"All right, " said Paul, with satisfaction. 

He could not help looking wistfully at the bread, which looked veryinviting to one accustomed to poorhouse fare. 

"If you wouldn't mind, " he said hesitating, "I would like to eat alittle of the bread now. "

"Mind, of course not, " said John, breaking off a liberal slice. "Whydidn't I think of that before? Walking must have given you a famousappetite. "

John looked on with evident approbation, while Paul ate with greatapparent appetite. 

"There, " said he with a sigh of gratification, as he swallowed the lastmorsel, "I haven't tasted anything so good for a long time. "

"Is it as good as Mrs. Mudge's soup?" asked John, mischievously. 

"Almost, " returned Paul, smiling. 

We must now leave the boys to pursue their way, and return to thedwelling from which our hero had so unceremoniously taken his departure, and from which danger now threatened him. 

IX. 

A CLOUD IN THE MUDGE HORIZON. 

Mr. Mudge was accustomed to call Paul at five o'clock, to milk the cowsand perform other chores. He himself did not rise till an hour later. During Paul's sickness, he was obliged to take his place, --a thing hedid not relish overmuch. Now that our hero had recovered, he gladlyprepared to indulge himself in an extra nap. 

"Paul!" called Mr. Mudge from the bottom of the staircase leading upinto the attic, "it's five o'clock; time you were downstairs. "

Mr. Mudge waited for an answer, but none came. 

"Paul!" repeated Mr. Mudge in a louder tone, "it's time to get up;tumble out there. "

Again there was no answer. 

At first, Mr. Mudge thought it might be in consequence of Paul'ssleeping so soundly, but on listening attentively, he could notdistinguish the deep and regular breathing which usually accompaniessuch slumber. 

"He must be sullen, " he concluded, with a feeling of irritation. "If heis, I'll teach him----"

Without taking time to finish the sentence, he bounded up the ricketystaircase, and turned towards the bed with the intention of giving ourhero a smart shaking. 

He looked with astonishment at the empty bed. "Is it possible, " hethought, "that Paul has already got up? He isn't apt to do so before heis called. "

At this juncture, Mrs. Mudge, surprised at her husband's prolongedabsence, called from below, "Mr. Mudge!"

"Well, wife?"

"What in the name of wonder keeps you up there so long?"

"Just come up and see. "

Mrs. Mudge did come up. Her husband pointed to the empty bed. 

"What do you think of that?" he asked. 

"What about it?" she inquired, not quite comprehending. 

"About that boy, Paul. When I called him I got no answer, so I came up, and behold he is among the missing. "

"You don't think he's run away, do you?" asked Mrs. Mudge startled. 

"That is more than I know. "

"I'll see if his clothes are here, " said his wife, now fully aroused. 

Her search was unavailing. Paul's clothes had disappeared asmysteriously as their owner. 

"It's a clear case, " said Mr. Mudge, shaking his head; "he's gone. I wouldn't have lost him for considerable. He was only a boy, but Imanaged to get as much work out of him as a man. The question is now, what shall we do about it?"

"He must be pursued, " said Mrs. Mudge, with vehemence, "I'll have himback if it costs me twenty dollars. I'll tell you what, husband, " sheexclaimed, with a sudden light breaking in upon her, "if there's anybodyin this house knows where he's gone, it is Aunt Lucy Lee. Only last weekI caught her knitting him a pair of stockings. I might have known whatit meant if I hadn't been a fool. "

"Ha, ha! So you might, if you hadn't been a fool!" echoed a mockingvoice. 

Turning with sudden anger, Mrs. Mudge beheld the face of the crazy girlpeering up at her from below. 

This turned her thoughts into a different channel. 

"I'll teach you what I am, " she exclaimed, wrathfully descending thestairs more rapidly than she had mounted them, "and if you know anythingabout the little scamp, I'll have it out of you. "

The girl narrowly succeeded in eluding the grasp of her pursuer. But, alas! for Mrs. Mudge. In her impetuosity she lost her footing, and fellbackward into a pail of water which had been brought up the night beforeand set in the entry for purposes of ablution. More wrathful than ever, Mrs. Mudge bounced into her room and sat down in her dripping garmentsin a very uncomfortable frame of mind. As for Paul, she felt a personaldislike for him, and was not sorry on some accounts to have him out ofthe house. The knowledge, however, that he had in a manner defied herauthority by running away, filled her with an earnest desire to get himback, if only to prove that it was not to be defied with impunity. 

Hoping to elicit some information from Aunt Lucy, who, she felt sure, was in Paul's confidence, she paid her a visit. 

"Well, here's a pretty goings on, " she commenced, abruptly. Finding thatAunt Lucy manifested no curiosity on the subject, she continued, in asignificant tone, "Of course, YOU don't know anything about it. "

"I can tell better when I know what you refer to, " said the old ladycalmly. 

"Oh, you are very ignorant all at once. I suppose you didn't know PaulPrescott had run away?"

"I am not surprised, " said the old lady, in the same quiet manner. 

Mrs. Mudge had expected a show of astonishment, and this calmnessdisconcerted her. 

"You are not surprised!" she retorted. "I presume not, since youknew all about it beforehand. That's why you were knitting him somestockings. Deny it, if you dare. "

"I have no disposition to deny it. "

"You haven't!" exclaimed the questioner, almost struck dumb with thisaudacity. 

"No, " said Aunt Lucy. "Why should I? There was no particular inducementfor him to stay here. Wherever he goes, I hope he will meet with goodfriends and good treatment. "

"As much as to say he didn't find them here. Is that what you mean?"

"I have no charges to bring. "

"But I have, " said Mrs. Mudge, her eyes lighting with malicioussatisfaction. "Last night you missed a ten-dollar gold piece, which yousaw was stolen from you. This morning it appears that Paul Prescott hasrun away. I charge him with the theft. "

"You do not, can not believe this, " said the old lady, uneasily. 

"Of course I do, " returned Mrs. Mudge, triumphantly, perceiving heradvantage. "I have no doubt of it, and when we get the boy back, heshall be made to confess it. "

Aunt Lucy looked troubled, much to the gratification of Mrs. Mudge. It was but for a short time, however. Rising from her seat, she stoodconfronting Mrs. Mudge, and said quietly, but firmly, "I have no doubt, Mrs. Mudge, you are capable of doing what you say. I would advise you, however, to pause. You know, as well as I do, that Paul is incapableof this theft. Even if he were wicked enough to form the idea, he wouldhave no need, since it was my intention to GIVE him this money. Who didactually steal the gold, you PERHAPS know better than I. Should it benecessary, I shall not hesitate to say so. I advise you not to render itnecessary. "

The threat which lay in these words was understood. It came with theforce of a sudden blow to Mrs. Mudge, who had supposed it would be nodifficult task to frighten and silence Aunt Lucy. The latter had alwaysbeen so yielding in all matters relating to herself, that this intrepidchampionship of Paul's interests was unlooked for. The tables werecompletely turned. Pale with rage, and a mortified sense of having beenfoiled with her own weapons, Mrs. Mudge left the room. 

Meanwhile her husband milked the cows, and was now occupied inperforming certain other duties that could not be postponed, beingresolved, immediately after breakfast was over, to harness up and pursuethe runaway. 

"Well, did you get anything out of the old lady?" he inquired, as hecame from the barn with the full milk-pails. 

"She said she knew beforehand that he was going. "

"Eh!" said Mr. Mudge, pricking up his ears, "did she say where?"

"No, and she won't. She knit him a pair of stockings to help him off, and doesn't pretend to deny it. She's taken a wonderful fancy to theyoung scamp, and has been as obstinate as could be ever since he hasbeen here. "

"If I get him back, " said Mr. Mudge, "he shall have a good flogging, ifI am able to give him one, and she shall be present to see it. "

"That's right, " said Mrs. Mudge, approvingly, "when are you going to setout after him?"

"Right after breakfast. So be spry, and get it ready as soon as youcan. "

Under the stimulus of this inspiring motive, Mrs. Mudge bustled aboutwith new energy, and before many minutes the meal was in readiness. It did not take long to dispatch it. Immediately afterwards, Mr. Mudgeharnessed up, as he had determined, and started off in pursuit of ourhero. 

In the meantime the two boys had walked leisurely along, conversing onvarious subjects. 

"When you get to the city, Paul, " said John, "I shall want to hear fromyou. Will you write to me?"

Paul promised readily. 

"You can direct to John Burges, Burrville. The postmaster knows me, andI shall be sure to get it. "

"I wish you were going with me, " said Paul. 

"Sometimes when I think that I am all alone it discourages me. It wouldbe so much pleasanter to have some one with me. "

"I shall come sometime, " said John, "when I am a little older. I heardfather say something the other day about my going into a store in thecity. So we may meet again. "

"I hope we shall. "

They were just turning a bend of the road, when Paul chanced to lookbackward. About a quarter of a mile back he descried a horse and wagonwearing a familiar look. Fixing his eyes anxiously upon them, he wassoon made aware that his suspicions were only too well founded. It wasMr. Mudge, doubtless in quest of him. 

"What shall I do?" he asked, hurriedly of his companion. 

"What's the matter?"

This was quickly explained. 

John was quickwitted, and he instantly decided upon the course properto be pursued. On either side of the road was a growth of underbrush sothick as to be almost impenetrable. 

"Creep in behind there, and be quick about it, " directed John, "there isno time to lose. "

"There, " said he, after Paul had followed his advice, "if he can see younow he must have sharp eyes. "

"Won't you come in too?"

"Not I, " said John, "I am anxious to see this Mr. Mudge, since you havetold me so much about him. I hope he will ask me some questions. "

"What will you tell him?"

"Trust me for that. Don't say any more. He's close by. "

X. 

MR. MUDGE MEETS HIS MATCH. 

John lounged along, appearing to be very busily engaged in making awhistle from a slip of willow which he had a short time before cut fromthe tree. He purposely kept in the middle of the road, apparently quiteunaware of the approach of the vehicle, until he was aroused by thesound of a voice behind him. 

"Be a little more careful, if you don't want to get run over. "

John assumed a look of surprise, and with comic terror ran to the sideof the road. 

Mr. Mudge checked his horse, and came to a sudden halt. 

"I say, youngster, haven't you seen a boy of about your own size walkingalong, with a bundle in his hand?"

"Tied up in a red cotton handkerchief?" inquired John. 

"Yes, I believe so, " said Mr. Mudge, eagerly, "where did you----"

"With a blue cloth cap?"

"Yes, where----"

"Gray jacket and pants?"

"Yes, yes. Where?"

"With a patch on one knee?"

"Yes, the very one. When did you see him?" said Mr. Mudge, getting readyto start his horse. 

"Perhaps it isn't the one you mean, " continued John, who took amischievous delight in playing with the evident impatience of Mr. Mudge;"the boy that I saw looked thin, as if he hadn't had enough to eat. "

Mr. Mudge winced slightly, and looked at John with some suspicion. But John put on so innocent and artless a look that Mr. Mudge at oncedismissed the idea that there was any covert meaning in what he said. Meanwhile Paul, from his hiding-place in the bushes, had listened withanxiety to the foregoing colloquy. When John described his appearance sominutely, he was seized with a sudden apprehension that the boy meantto betray him. But he dismissed it instantly. In his own singleness ofheart he could not believe such duplicity possible. Still, it was notwithout anxiety that he waited to hear what would be said next. 

"Well, " said Mr. Mudge, slowly, "I don't know but he is a little PEAKED. He's been sick lately, and that's took off his flesh. "

"Was he your son?" asked John, in a sympathizing tone; "you must feelquite troubled about him. "

He looked askance at Mr. Mudge, enjoying that gentleman's growingirritation. 

"My son? No. Where----"

"Nephews perhaps?" suggested the imperturbable John, leisurelycontinuing the manufacture of a whistle. 

"No, I tell you, nothing of the kind. But I can't sit waiting here. "

"Oh, I hope you'll excuse me, " said John, apologetically. "I hope youwon't stop on my account. I didn't know you were in a hurry. "

"Well, you know it now, " said Mr. Mudge, crossly. "When and where didyou see the boy you have described? I am in pursuit of him. "

"Has he run away?" inquired John in assumed surprise. 

"Are you going to answer my question or not?" demanded Mr. Mudge, angrily. 

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have asked so many questions, only Ithought he was a nice-looking boy, and I felt interested in him. "

"He's a young scamp, " said Mr. Mudge, impetuously, "and it's my beliefthat you're another. Now answer my question. When and where did you seethis boy?"

This time Mr. Mudge's menacing look warned John that he had gone farenough. Accordingly he answered promptly, "He passed by our farm thismorning. "

"How far back is that?"

"About three miles. "

"Did he stop there?"

"Yes, he stopped a while to rest. "

"Have you seen him since?"

"Yes, I saw him about half a mile back. "

"On this road?"

"Yes, but he turned up the road that branches off there. "

"Just what I wanted to find out, " said Mr. Mudge, in a tone ofsatisfaction, "I'm sure to catch him. "

So saying, he turned about and put his horse to its utmost speed, determined to make up for lost time. When he was fairly out of sight, Paul came forth from his hiding-place. 

"How could you do so!" he asked in a reproachful tone. 

"Could I do what?" asked John, turning a laughing face towards Paul. "Didn't I tell old Mudge the exact truth? You know you did turn up thatroad. To be sure you didn't go two rods before turning back. But hedidn't stop to ask about that. If he hadn't been in such a hurry, perhaps I should have told him. Success to him!"

"You can't think how I trembled when you described me so particularly. "

"You didn't think I would betray you?" said John, quickly. 

"No, but I was afraid you would venture too far, and get us both intotrouble. "

"Trust me for that, Paul; I've got my eyes wide open, and ain't easilycaught. But wasn't it fun to see old Mudge fuming while I kept himwaiting. What would he have said if he had known the bird was so near athand? He looked foolish enough when I asked him if you were his son. "

John sat down and gave vent to his pent-up laughter which he had feltobliged to restrain in the presence of Mr. Mudge. He laughed so heartilythat Paul, notwithstanding his recent fright and anxiety, could notresist the infection. Together they laughed, till the very air seemedvocal with merriment. 

John was the first to recover his gravity. 

"I am sorry, Paul, " he said, "but I must bid you good-by. They will missme from the house. I am glad I have got acquainted with you, and I hopeI shall see you again some time before very long. Good-by, Paul. "

"Good-by, John. "

The two boys shook hands and parted. One went in one direction, theother in the opposite. Each looked back repeatedly till the other wasout of sight. Then came over Paul once more a feeling of sadness anddesolation, which the high spirits of his companion had for the timekept off. Occasionally he cast a glance backwards, to make sure thatMr. Mudge was not following him. But Paul had no cause to fear on thatscore. The object of his dread was already some miles distant in adifferent direction. 

For an hour longer, Paul trudged on. He met few persons, the road notbeing very much frequented. He was now at least twelve miles from hisstarting-place, and began to feel very sensibly the effects of heatand fatigue combined. He threw himself down upon the grass under theoverhanging branches of an appletree to rest. After his long walk reposeseemed delicious, and with a feeling of exquisite enjoyment he stretchedhimself out at full length upon the soft turf, and closed his eyes. 

Insensibly he fell asleep. How long he slept he could not tell. He wasfinally roused from his slumber by something cold touching his cheek. Starting up he rubbed his eyes in bewilderment, and gradually becameaware that this something was the nose of a Newfoundland dog, whose keenscent had enabled him to discover the whereabouts of the small stockof provisions with which Paul had been supplied by his late companion. Fortunately he awoke in time to save its becoming the prey of its caninevisitor. 

"I reckon you came nigh losing your dinner, " fell upon his ears in arough but hearty tone. 

At the same time he heard the noise of wheels, and looking up, beheld aspecimen of a class well known throughout New England--a tin pedler. Hewas seated on a cart liberally stocked with articles of tin ware. Fromthe rear depended two immense bags, one of which served as a receptaclefor white rags, the other for bits of calico and whatever else may fallunder the designation of "colored. " His shop, for such it was, wasdrawn at a brisk pace by a stout horse, who in this respect presented acontrast to his master, who was long and lank. The pedler himself wasa man of perhaps forty, with a face in which shrewdness and good humorseemed alike indicated. Take him for all in all, you might travel somedistance without falling in with a more complete specimen of the Yankee. 

"So you came nigh losing your dinner, " he repeated, in a pleasant tone. 

"Yes, " said Paul, "I got tired and fell asleep, and I don't know when Ishould have waked up but for your dog. "

"Yes, Boney's got a keen scent for provisions, " laughed the pedler. "He's a little graspin', like his namesake. You see his real name isBonaparte; we only call him Boney, for short. "

Meanwhile he had stopped his horse. He was about to start afresh, when athought struck him. 

"Maybe you're goin' my way, " said he, turning to Paul; "if you are, you're welcome to a ride. "

Paul was very glad to accept the invitation. He clambered into the cart, and took a seat behind the pedler, while Boney, who took his recentdisappointment very good-naturedly, jogged on contentedly behind. 

"How far are you goin'?" asked Paul's new acquaintance, as he whipped uphis horse. 

Paul felt a little embarrassed. If he had been acquainted with the namesof any of the villages on the route he might easily have answered. As itwas, only one name occurred to him. 

"I think, " said he, with some hesitation, "that I shall go to New York. "

"New York!" repeated the pedler, with a whistle expressive of hisastonishment. 

"Well, you've a journey before you. Got any relations there?"

"No. "

"No uncles, aunts, cousins, nor nothing?"

Paul shook his head. 

"Then what makes you go? Haven't run away from your father and mother, hey?" asked the pedler, with a knowing look. 

"I have no father nor mother, " said Paul, sadly enough. 

"Well, you had somebody to take care of you, I calculate. Where did youlive?"

"If I tell you, you won't carry me back?" said Paul, anxiously. 

"Not a bit of it. I've got too much business on hand for that. "

Relieved by this assurance, Paul told his story, encouraged theretoby frequent questions from his companion, who seemed to take a livelyinterest in the adventures of his young companion. 

"That's a capital trick you played on old Mudge, " he said with a heartylaugh which almost made the tins rattle. "I don't blame you a bit forrunning away. I've got a story to tell you about Mrs. Mudge. She's aregular skinflint. "

XI. 

WAYSIDE GOSSIP. 

This was the pedler's promised story about Mrs. Mudge. 

"The last time I was round that way, I stopped, thinking maybe theymight have some rags to dispose of for tin-ware. The old lady seemedglad to see me, and pretty soon she brought down a lot of white rags. I thought they seemed quite heavy for their bulk, --howsomever, I wasn'tlooking for any tricks, and I let it go. By-and-by, when I happened tobe ransacking one of the bags, I came across half a dozen pounds or moreof old iron tied up in a white cloth. That let the cat out of the bag. Iknew why they were so heavy, then, I reckon I shan't call on Mrs. Mudgenext time I go by. "

"So you've run off, " he continued, after a pause, "I like yourspunk, --just what I should have done myself. But tell me how you managedto get off without the old chap's finding it out. "

Paul related such of his adventures as he had not before told, hiscompanion listening with marked approval. 

"I wish I'd been there, " he said. "I'd have given fifty cents, rightout, to see how old Mudge looked, I calc'late he's pretty well tiredwith his wild-goose chase by this time. "

It was now twelve o'clock, and both the travelers began to feel thepangs of hunger. 

"It's about time to bait, I calc'late, " remarked the pedler. 

The unsophisticated reader is informed that the word "bait, " in NewEngland phraseology, is applied to taking lunch or dining. 

At this point a green lane opened out of the public road, skirted oneither side by a row of trees. Carpeted with green, it made a verypleasant dining-room. A red-and-white heifer browsing at a littledistance looked up from her meal and surveyed the intruders with mildattention, but apparently satisfied that they contemplated no invasionof her rights, resumed her agreeable employment. Over an irregular stonewall our travelers looked into a thrifty apple-orchard laden with fruit. They halted beneath a spreading chestnut-tree which towered above itsneighbors, and offered them a grateful shelter from the noonday sun. 

From the box underneath the seat, the pedler took out a loaf of bread, a slice of butter, and a tin pail full of doughnuts. Paul, on his side, brought out his bread and gingerbread. 

"I most generally carry round my own provisions, " remarked the pedler, between two mouthfuls. "It's a good deal cheaper and more convenient, too. Help yourself to the doughnuts. I always calc'late to have somewith me. I'd give more for 'em any day than for rich cake that ain'tfit for anybody. My mother used to beat everybody in the neighborhood onmaking doughnuts. She made 'em so good that we never knew when to stopeating. You wouldn't hardly believe it, but, when I was a little shaver, I remember eating twenty-three doughnuts at one time. Pretty nigh killedme. "

"I should think it might, " said Paul, laughing. 

"Mother got so scared that she vowed she wouldn't fry another for threemonths, but I guess she kinder lost the run of the almanac, for in lessthan a week she turned out about a bushel more. "

All this time the pedler was engaged in practically refuting the saying, that a man cannot do two things at once. With a little assistance fromPaul, the stock of doughnuts on which he had been lavishing encomiums, diminished rapidly. It was evident that his attachment to this homelyarticle of diet was quite as strong as ever. 

"Don't be afraid of them, " said he, seeing that Paul desisted from hisefforts, "I've got plenty more in the box. "

Paul signified that his appetite was already appeased. 

"Then we might as well be jogging on. Hey, Goliah, " said he, addressingthe horse, who with an air of great content, had been browsing while hismaster was engaged in a similar manner. "Queer name for a horse, isn'tit? I wanted something out of the common way, so I asked mother for aname, and she gave me that. She's great on scripture names, motheris. She gave one to every one of her children. It didn't make muchdifference to her what they were as long as they were in the Bible. Ibelieve she used to open the Bible at random, and take the first nameshe happened to come across. There are eight of us, and nary a decentname in the lot. My oldest brother's name is Abimelech. Then there'sPharaoh, and Ishmael, and Jonadab, for the boys, and Leah and Naomi, forthe girls; but my name beats all. You couldn't guess it?"

Paul shook his head. 

"I don't believe you could, " said the pedler, shaking his head in comicindignation. "It's Jehoshaphat. Ain't that a respectable name for theson of Christian parents?"

Paul laughed. 

"It wouldn't be so bad, " continued the pedler, "if my other name waslonger; but Jehoshaphat seems rather a long handle to put before Stubbs. I can't say I feel particularly proud of the name, though for use it'lldo as well as any other. At any rate, it ain't quite so bad as the namemother pitched on for my youngest sister, who was lucky enough to diebefore she needed a name. "

"What was it?" inquired Paul, really curious to know what name could beconsidered less desirable than Jehoshaphat. 

"It was Jezebel, " responded the pedler. 

"Everybody told mother 'twould never do; but she was kind ofsuperstitious about it, because that was the first name she came toin the Bible, and so she thought it was the Lord's will that that nameshould be given to the child. "

As Mr. Stubbs finished his disquisition upon names, there came in sighta small house, dark and discolored with age and neglect. He pointed thisout to Paul with his whip-handle. 

"That, " said he, "is where old Keziah Onthank lives. Ever heard of him?"

Paul had not. 

"He's the oldest man in these parts, " pursued his loquacious companion. "There's some folks that seem a dyin' all the time, and for all thatmanage to outlive half the young folks in the neighborhood. Old KeziahOnthank is a complete case in p'int. As long ago as when I was cuttingmy teeth he was so old that nobody know'd how old he was. He was sobowed over that he couldn't see himself in the looking-glass unless youput it on the floor, and I guess even then what he saw wouldn't payhim for his trouble. He was always ailin' some way or other. Now it wasrheumatism, now the palsy, and then again the asthma. He had THAT awful. 

"He lived in the same tumble-down old shanty we have just passed, --sopoor that nobody'd take the gift of it. People said that he'd orter goto the poorhouse, so that when he was sick--which was pretty much allthe time--he'd have somebody to take care of him. But he'd got kinderattached to the old place, seein' he was born there, and never livedanywhere else, and go he wouldn't. 

"Everybody expected he was near his end, and nobody'd have beensurprised to hear of his death at any minute. But it's strange how somefolks are determined to live on, as I said before. So Keziah, though helooked so old when I was a boy that it didn't seem as if he could lookany older, kept on livin, ' and livin', and arter I got married to BetsySprague, he was livin' still. 

"One day, I remember I was passin' by the old man's shanty, when I hearda dreadful groanin', and thinks I to myself, 'I shouldn't wonder if theold man was on his last legs. ' So in I bolted. There he was, to be sure, a lyin', on the bed, all curled up into a heap, breathin' dreadful hard, and lookin' as white and pale as any ghost. I didn't know exactlywhat to do, so I went and got some water, but he motioned it away, andwouldn't drink it, but kept on groanin'. 

"'He mustn't be left here to die without any assistance, ' thinks I, so Iran off as fast I could to find the doctor. 

"I found him eatin' dinner----

"Come quick, " says I, "to old Keziah Onthank's. He's dyin', as sure asmy name is Jehoshaphat. "

"Well, " said the doctor, "die or no die, I can't come till I've eaten mydinner. "

"But he's dyin', doctor. "

"Oh, nonsense. Talk of old Keziah Onthank's dyin'. He'll live longerthan I shall. "

"I recollect I thought the doctor very unfeelin' to talk so of a fellowcreetur, just stepping into eternity, as a body may say. However, it'sno use drivin' a horse that's made up his mind he won't go, so althoughI did think the doctor dreadful deliberate about eatin' his dinner (healways would take half an hour for it), I didn't dare to say a wordfor fear he wouldn't come at all. You see the doctor was dreadfulindependent, and was bent on havin' his own way, pretty much, though forthat matter I think it's the case with most folks. However, to come backto my story, I didn't feel particularly comfortable while I was waitin'his motions. 

"After a long while the doctor got ready. I was in such a hurry that Iactilly pulled him along, he walked so slow; but he only laughed, andI couldn't help thinkin' that doctorin' had a hardinin' effect on theheart. I was determined if ever I fell sick I wouldn't send for him. 

"At last we got there. I went in all of a tremble, and crept to the bed, thinkin' I should see his dead body. But he wasn't there at all. I felta little bothered you'd better believe. "

"Well, " said the doctor, turning to me with a smile, "what do you thinknow?"

"I don't know what to think, " said I. 

"Then I'll help you, " said he. 

"So sayin', he took me to the winder, and what do you think I see? Assure as I'm alive, there was the old man in the back yard, a squattin'down and pickin' up chips. "

"And is he still living?"

"Yes, or he was when I come along last. The doctor's been dead theseten years. He told me old Keziah would outlive him, but I didn't believehim. I shouldn't be surprised if he lived forever. "

Paul listened with amused interest to this and other stories with whichhis companion beguiled the way. They served to divert his mind fromthe realities of his condition, and the uncertainty which hung over hisworldly prospects. 

XII. 

ON THE BRINK OF DISCOVERY. 

"If you're in no great hurry to go to New York, " said the pedler, "Ishould like to have you stay with me for a day or two. I live abouttwenty-five miles from here, straight ahead, so it will be on your way. I always manage to get home by Saturday night if it is any way possible. It doesn't seem comfortable to be away Sunday. As to-day is Friday, Ishall get there to-morrow. So you can lie over a day and rest yourself. "

Paul felt grateful for this unexpected invitation. It lifted quite aload from his mind, since, as the day declined, certain anxious thoughtsas to where he should find shelter, had obtruded themselves. Even now, the same trouble would be experienced on Monday night, but it is thecharacteristic of youth to pay little regard to anticipated difficultiesas long as the present is provided for. 

It must not be supposed that the pedler neglected his business onaccount of his companion. On the road he had been traveling the houseswere few and far between. He had, therefore, but few calls to make. Paul remarked, however, that when he did call he seldom failed to sellsomething. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Stubbs, on being interrogated, "I make it a p'int tosell something, if it's no more than a tin dipper. I find some hardcases sometimes, and sometimes I have to give it up altogether. I can'tquite come up to a friend of mine, Daniel Watson, who used to be inthe same line of business. I never knew him to stop at a place withoutselling something. He had a good deal of judgment, Daniel had, and knewjust when to use 'soft sodder, ' and when not to. On the road that hetraveled there lived a widow woman, who had the reputation of being asugly, cross-grained a critter as ever lived. People used to say thatit was enough to turn milk sour for her even to look at it. Well, it sohappened that Daniel had never called there. One night he was boastingthat he never called at a house without driving a bargain, when oneof the company asked him, with a laugh, if he had ever sold the widowanything. 

"Why, no, " said Daniel, "I never called there; but I've no doubt Icould. "

"What'll you bet of it?"

"I'm not a betting man, " said Daniel, "but I feel so sure of it that Idon't mind risking five dollars. "

"Agreed. "

"The next morning Daniel drove leisurely up to the widow's door andknocked. She had a great aversion to pedlers, and declared they werecheats, every one of them. She was busy sweeping when Daniel knocked. She came to the door in a dreadful hurry, hoping it might be an oldwidower in the neighborhood that she was trying to catch. When she sawhow much she was mistaken she looked as black as a thundercloud. 

"Want any tin ware to-day, ma'am?" inquired Daniel, noways discomposed. 

"No, sir, " snapped she. 

"Got all kinds, --warranted the best in the market. Couldn't I sell yousomething?"

"Not a single thing, " said she, preparing to shut the door; but Daniel, knowing all would then be lost, stepped in before she could shut itquite to, and began to name over some of the articles he had in hiswagon. 

"You may talk till doomsday, " said the widow, as mad as could be, "andit won't do a particle of good. Now, you've got your answer, and you'dbetter leave the house before you are driven out. "

"Brooms, brushes, lamps----"

"Here the widow, who had been trying to keep in her anger, couldn't holdout any longer. She seized the broom she had been sweeping with, andbrought it down with a tremendous whack upon Daniel's back. You canimagine how hard it was, when I tell you that the force of the blowsnapped the broom in the middle. You might have thought Daniel wouldresent it, but he didn't appear to notice it, though it must have hurthim awful. He picked up the pieces, and handing them, with a polite bow, to the widow, said, 'Now, ma'am, I'm sure you need a new broom. I've gotsome capital ones out in the cart. '"

"The widow seemed kind of overpowered by his coolness. She hardly knewwhat to say or what to think. However, she had broken her old broom, that was certain, and must have a new one; so when Daniel ran out andbrought in a bundle of them, she picked out one and paid for it withoutsaying a word; only, when Daniel asked if he might have the pleasureof calling again, she looked a little queer, and told him that if heconsidered it a pleasure, she had no objection. "

"And did he call again?"

"Yes, whenever he went that way. The widow was always very polite to himafter that, and, though she had a mortal dislike to pedlers in general, she was always ready to trade with him. Daniel used to say that hegained his bet and the widow's custom at ONE BLOW. "

They were now descending a little hill at the foot of which stood acountry tavern. Here Mr. Stubbs declared his intention of spending thenight. He drove into the barn, the large door of which stood invitinglyopen, and unharnessed his horse, taking especial care to rub him downand set before him an ample supply of provender. 

"I always take care of Goliah myself, " said he. "He's a good friend tome, and it's no more than right that I should take good care of him. Now, we'll go into the house, and see what we can get for supper. "

He was surprised to see that Paul hung back, and seemed disinclined tofollow. 

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Stubbs, in surprise. "Why don't youcome?"

"Because, " said Paul, looking embarrassed, "I've got no money. "

"Well, I have, " said Mr. Stubbs, "and that will answer just as well, socome along, and don't be bashful. I'm about as hungry as a bear, and Iguess you are too. "

Before many minutes, Paul sat down to a more bountiful repast thanhe had partaken of for many a day. There were warm biscuits and freshbutter, such as might please the palate of an epicure, while at theother end of the table was a plate of cake, flanked on one side by anapple-pie, on the other by one of pumpkin, with its rich golden hue, such as is to be found in its perfection, only in New England. It willscarcely be doubted that our hungry travellers did full justice to thefare set before them. 

When they had finished, they went into the public room, where wereengaged some of the village worthies, intent on discussing the newsand the political questions of the day. It was a time of considerablepolitical excitement, and this naturally supplied the topic ofconversation. In this the pedler joined, for his frequent travel on thisroute had made him familiarly acquainted with many of those present. 

Paul sat in a corner, trying to feel interested in the conversation; butthe day had been a long one, and he had undergone an unusual amount offatigue. Gradually, his drowsiness increased. The many voices fell uponhis ears like a lullaby, and in a few minutes he was fast asleep. 

Early next morning they were up and on their way. It was the secondmorning since Paul's departure. Already a sense of freedom gave hisspirits unwonted elasticity, and encouraged him to hope for the best. Had his knowledge of the future been greater, his confidence might havebeen less. But would he have been any happier?

So many miles separated him from his late home, that he supposed himselfquite safe from detection. A slight circumstance warned him that he muststill be watchful and cautious. 

As they were jogging easily along, they heard the noise of wheels at alittle distance. Paul looked up. To his great alarms he recognizedin the driver of the approaching vehicle, one of the selectmen ofWrenville. 

"What's the matter?" asked his companion, noticing his sudden look ofapprehension. 

Paul quickly communicated the ground of his alarm. 

"And you are afraid he will want to carry you back, are you?"

"Yes. "

"Not a bit of it. We'll circumvent the old fellow, unless he's sharperthan I think he is. You've only got to do as I tell you. "

To this Paul quickly agreed. 

The selectman was already within a hundred rods. He had not yetapparently noticed the pedler's cart, so that this was in our hero'sfavor. Mr. Stubbs had already arranged his plan of operations. 

"This is what you are to do, Paul, " said he, quickly. "Cock your hat onthe side of your head, considerably forward, so that he can't see muchof your face. Then here's a cigar to stick in your mouth. You can makebelieve that you are smoking. If you are the sort of boy I reckon youare, he'll never think it's you. "

Paul instantly adopted this suggestion. 

Slipping his hat to one side in the jaunty manner characteristic ofyoung America, he began to puff very gravely at a cigar the pedlerhanded him, frequently taking it from his mouth, as he had seen olderpersons do, to knock away the ashes. Nothwithstanding his alarm, hislove of fun made him enjoy this little stratagem, in which he bore hispart successfully. 

The selectman eyed him intently. Paul began to tremble from fear ofdiscovery, but his apprehensions were speedily dissipated by a remark ofthe new-comer, "My boy, you are forming a very bad habit. "

Paul did not dare to answer lest his voice should betray him. To hisrelief, the pedler spoke----

"Just what I tell him, sir, but I suppose he thinks he must do as hisfather does. "

By this time the vehicles had passed each other, and the immediate perilwas over. 

"Now, Paul, " said his companion, laughing, "I'll trouble you for thatcigar, if you have done with it. The old gentleman's advice was good. IfI'd never learned to smoke, I wouldn't begin now. "

Our hero was glad to take the cigar from his mouth. The brief time hehad held it was sufficient to make him slightly dizzy. 

XIII. 

PAUL REACHES THE CITY. 

Towards evening they drew up before a small house with a neat yard infront. 

"I guess we'll get out here, " said Mr. Stubbs. "There's a gentlemanlives here that I feel pretty well acquainted with. Shouldn't wonder ifhe'd let us stop over Sunday. Whoa, Goliah, glad to get home, hey?" asthe horse pricked up his ears and showed manifest signs of satisfaction. 

"Now, youngster, follow me, and I guess I can promise you some supper, if Mrs. Stubbs hasn't forgotten her old tricks. "

They passed through the entry into the kitchen, where Mrs. Stubbs wasdiscovered before the fire toasting slices of bread. 

"Lor, Jehoshaphat, " said she, "I didn't expect you so soon, " and shelooked inquiringly at his companion. 

"A young friend who is going to stay with us till Monday, " explained thepedler. "His name is Paul Prescott. "

"I'm glad to see you, Paul, " said Mrs. Stubbs with a friendly smile. "You must be tired if you've been traveling far. Take a seat. Here's arocking-chair for you. "

This friendly greeting made Paul feel quite at home. Having no children, the pedler and his wife exerted themselves to make the time passpleasantly to their young acquaintance. Paul could not help contrastingthem with Mr. And Mrs. Mudge, not very much to the advantage ofthe latter. On Sunday he went to church with them, and the peculiarcircumstances in which he was placed, made him listen to the sermon withunusual attention. It was an exposition of the text, "My help comethfrom the Lord, " and Paul could not help feeling that it was particularlyapplicable to his own case. It encouraged him to hope, that, howeveruncertain his prospects appeared, God would help him if he put his trustin Him. 

On Monday morning Paul resumed his journey, with an ample stock ofprovisions supplied by Mrs. Stubbs, in the list of which doughnutsoccupied a prominent place; this being at the particular suggestion ofMr. Stubbs. 

Forty or fifty miles remained to be traversed before his destinationwould be reached. The road was not a difficult one to find, and he madeit out without much questioning. The first night, he sought permissionto sleep in a barn. 

He met with a decided refusal. 

He was about to turn away in disappointment, when he was called back. 

"You are a little too fast, youngster. I said I wouldn't let you sleepin my barn, and I won't; but I've got a spare bed in the house, and ifyou choose you shall occupy it. "

Under the guise of roughness, this man had a kind heart. He inquiredinto the particulars of Paul's story, and at the conclusion terrifiedhim by saying that he had been very foolish and ought to be sent back. Nevertheless, when Paul took leave of him the next morning, he did notgo away empty-handed. 

"If you must be so foolish as to set up for yourself, take this, " saidthe farmer, placing half a dollar in his hand. "You may reach the cityafter the banks are closed for the day, you know, " he added, jocularly. 

But it was in the morning that Paul came in sight of the city. Heclimbed up into a high tree, which, having the benefit of an elevatedsituation, afforded him an extensive prospect. Before him lay the greatcity of which he had so often heard, teeming with life and activity. 

Half in eager anticipation, half in awe and wonder at its vastness, ouryoung pilgrim stood upon the threshold of this great Babel. 

Everything looked new and strange. It had never entered Paul's mind, that there could be so many houses in the whole State as now rose upbefore him. He got into Broadway, and walked on and on thinking thatthe street must end somewhere. But the farther he walked the thicker thehouses seemed crowded together. Every few rods, too, he came to a crossstreet, which seemed quite as densely peopled as the one on which he waswalking. One part of the city was the same as another to Paul, sincehe was equally a stranger to all. He wandered listlessly along, whitherfancy led. His mind was constantly excited by the new and strangeobjects which met him at every step. 

As he was looking in at a shop window, a boy of about his own age, stopped and inquired confidentially, "when did you come from thecountry?"

"This morning, " said Paul, wondering how a stranger should know that hewas a country boy. 

"Could you tell me what is the price of potatoes up your way?" asked theother boy, with perfect gravity. 

"I don't know, " said Paul, innocently. 

"I'm sorry for that, " said the other, "as I have got to buy some for mywife and family. "

Paul stared in surprise for a moment, and then realizing that he wasbeing made game of, began to grow angry. 

"You'd better go home to your wife and family, " he said with spirit, "oryou may get hurt. "

"Bully for you, country!" answered the other with a laugh. "You're notas green as you look. "

"Thank you, " said Paul, "I wish I could say as much for you. "

Tired with walking, Paul at length sat down in a doorway, and watchedwith interest the hurrying crowds that passed before him. Everybodyseemed to be in a hurry, pressing forward as if life and death dependedon his haste. There were lawyers with their sharp, keen glances;merchants with calculating faces; speculators pondering on the chancesof a rise or fall in stocks; errand boys with bundles under their arms;business men hurrying to the slip to take the boat for Brooklyn orJersey City, --all seemed intent on business of some kind, even to theragged newsboys who had just obtained their supply of evening papers, and were now crying them at the top of their voices, --and verydiscordant ones at that, so Paul thought. Of the hundreds passing andrepassing before him, every one had something to do. Every one had ahome to go to. Perhaps it was not altogether strange that a feeling ofdesolation should come over Paul as he recollected that he stood alone, homeless, friendless, and, it might be, shelterless for the comingnight. 

"Yet, " thought he with something of hopefulness, "there must besomething for me to do as well as the rest. "

Just then a boy some two years older than Paul paced slowly by, andin passing, chanced to fix his eyes upon our hero. He probably sawsomething in Paul which attracted him, for he stepped up and extendinghis hand, said, "why, Tom, how came you here?"

"My name isn't Tom, " said Paul, feeling a little puzzled by thisaddress. 

"Why, so it isn't. But you look just like my friend, Tom Crocker. "

To this succeeded a few inquiries, which Paul unsuspiciously answered. 

"Do you like oysters?" inquired the new-comer, after a while. 

"Very much. "

"Because I know of a tip top place to get some, just round the corner. Wouldn't you like some?"

Paul thanked his new acquaintance, and said he would. 

Without more ado, his companion ushered him into a basement room nearby. He led the way into a curtained recess, and both boys took seats oneon each side of a small table. 

"Just pull the bell, will you, and tell the waiter we'll have twostews. "

Paul did so. 

"I suppose, " continued the other, "the governor wouldn't like it much ifhe knew where I was. "

"The governor!" repeated Paul. "Why, it isn't against the laws, is it?"

"No, " laughed the other. "I mean my father. How jolly queer you are!" Hemeant to say green, but had a purpose in not offending Paul. 

"Are you the Governor's son?" asked Paul in amazement. 

"To be sure, " carelessly replied the other. 

Paul's wonder had been excited many times in the course of the day, butthis was more surprising than anything which had yet befallen him. Thathe should have the luck to fall in with the son of the Governor, on hisfirst arrival in the city, and that the latter should prove so affableand condescending, was indeed surprising. Paul inwardly determinedto mention it in his first letter to Aunt Lucy. He could imagine herastonishment. 

While he was busy with these thoughts, his companion had finished hisoysters. 

"Most through?" he inquired nonchalantly. 

"I've got to step out a minute; wait till I come back. "

Paul unsuspectingly assented. 

He heard his companion say a word to the barkeeper, and then go out. 

He waited patiently for fifteen minutes and he did not return; anotherquarter of an hour, and he was still absent. Thinking he might havebeen unexpectedly detained, he rose to go, but was called back by thebarkeeper. 

"Hallo, youngster! are you going off without paying?"

"For what?" inquired Paul, in surprise. 

"For the oysters, of course. You don't suppose I give 'em away, do you?"

"I thought, " hesitated Paul, "that the one who was with me paid, --theGovernor's son, " he added, conscious of a certain pride in his intimacywith one so nearly related to the chief magistrate of the Commonwealth. 

"The Governor's son, " laughed the barkeeper. "Why the Governor lives ahundred miles off and more. That wasn't the Governor's son any more thanI am. "

"He called his father governor, " said Paul, beginning to be afraid thathe had made some ridiculous blunder. 

"Well, I wouldn't advise you to trust him again, even if he's thePresident's son. He only got you in here to pay for his oysters. He toldme when he went out that you would pay for them. "

"And didn't he say he was coming back?" asked Paul, quite dumbfounded. 

"He said you hadn't quite finished, but would pay for both when you cameout. It's two shillings. "

Paul rather ruefully took out the half dollar which constituted hisentire stock of money, and tendered it to the barkeeper who returned himthe change. 

So Paul went out into the streets, with his confidence in human naturesomewhat lessened. 

Here, then, is our hero with twenty-five cents in his pocket, and hisfortune to make. 

XIV. 

A STRANGE BED-CHAMBER. 

Although Paul could not help being vexed at having been so cleverlytaken in by his late companion, he felt the better for having eaten theoysters. Carefully depositing his only remaining coin in his pocket, heresumed his wanderings. It is said that a hearty meal is a good promoterof cheerfulness. It was so in Paul's case, and although he had as yethad no idea where he should find shelter for the night he did not allowthat consideration to trouble him. 

So the day passed, and the evening came on. Paul's appetite returned tohim once more. He invested one-half of his money at an old woman's stallfor cakes and apples, and then he ate leisurely while leaning againstthe iron railing which encircles the park. 

He began to watch with interest the movements of those about him. Already the lamplighter had started on his accustomed round, and withladder in hand was making his way from one lamp-post to another. Paulquite marvelled at the celerity with which the lamps were lighted, neverbefore having witnessed the use of gas. He was so much interested in theprocess that he sauntered along behind the lamplighter for some time. Atlength his eye fell upon a group common enough in our cities, but new tohim. 

An Italian, short and dark-featured, with a velvet cap, was grinding outmusic from a hand-organ, while a woman with a complexion equallydark, and black sorrowful-looking eyes, accompanied her husband on thetambourine. They were playing a lively tune as Paul came up, but quicklyglided into "Home, Sweet Home. "

Paul listened with pleased, yet sad interest, for him "home" was only asad remembrance. 

He wandered on, pausing now and then to look into one of the brilliantlyilluminated shop windows, or catching a glimpse through the open doorsof the gay scene within, and as one after another of these lively scenespassed before him, he began to think that all the strange and wonderfulthings in the world must be collected in these rich stores. 

Next, he came to a place of public amusement. Crowds were enteringconstantly, and Paul, from curiosity, entered too. He passed on to alittle wicket, when a man stopped him. 

"Where's your ticket?" he asked. 

"I haven't got any, " said Paul. 

"Then what business have you here?" said the man, roughly. 

"Isn't this a meeting-house?" asked Paul. 

This remark seemed to amuse two boys who were standing by. Looking upwith some indignation, Paul recognized in one of them the boy who hadcheated him out of the oysters. 

"Look here, " said Paul, "what made you go off and leave me to pay forthe oysters this morning?"

"Which of us do you mean?" inquired the 'governor's son, ' carelessly. 

"I mean you. "

"Really, I don't understand your meaning. Perhaps you mistake me forsomebody else. "

"What?" said Paul, in great astonishment. "Don't you remember me, andhow you told me you were the Governor's son?"

Both boys laughed. 

"You must be mistaken. I haven't the honor of being related to thedistinguished gentleman you name. "

The speaker made a mocking bow to Paul. 

"I know that, " said Paul, with spirit, "but you said you were, for allthat. "

"It must have been some other good-looking boy, that you are mistakingme for. What are you going to do about it? I hope, by the way, that theoysters agreed with you. "

"Yes, they did, " said Paul, "for I came honestly by them. "

"He's got you there, Gerald, " said the other boy. 

Paul made his way out of the theater. As his funds were reduced totwelve cents, he could not have purchased a ticket if he had desired it. 

Still he moved on. 

Soon he came to another building, which was in like manner lighted up, but not so brilliantly as the theater. This time, from the appearanceof the building, and from the tall steeple, --so tall that his eye couldscarcely reach the tapering spire, --he knew that it must be a church. There was not such a crowd gathered about the door as at the place hehad just left, but he saw a few persons entering, and he joined them. The interior of the church was far more gorgeous than the plain villagemeeting-house which he had been accustomed to attend with his mother. Hegazed about him with a feeling of awe, and sank quietly into a backpew. As it was a week-day evening, and nothing of unusual interest wasanticipated, there were but few present, here and there one, scatteredthrough the capacious edifice. 

By-and-by the organist commenced playing, and a flood of music, granderand more solemn than he had ever heard, filled the whole edifice. Helistened with rapt attention and suspended breath till the last notedied away, and then sank back upon the richly cushioned seat with afeeling of enjoyment. 

In the services which followed he was not so much interested. Theofficiating clergyman delivered a long homily in a dull unimpassionedmanner, which failed to awaken his interest. Already disposed to bedrowsy, it acted upon him like a gentle soporific. He tried to payattention as he had always been used to do, but owing to his occupying aback seat, and the low voice of the preacher, but few words reached him, and those for the most part were above his comprehension. 

Gradually the feeling of fatigue--for he had been walking the streetsall day--became so powerful that his struggles to keep awake becameharder and harder. In vain he sat erect, resolved not to yield. Themoment afterwards his head inclined to one side; the lights began toswim before his eyes; the voice of the preacher subsided into a low andundistinguishable hum. Paul's head sank upon the cushion, his bundle, which had been his constant companion during the day, fell softly to thefloor, and he fell into a deep sleep. 

Meanwhile the sermon came to a close, and another hymn was sung, buteven the music was insufficient to wake our hero now. So the benedictionwas pronounced, and the people opened the doors of their pews and leftthe church. 

Last of all the sexton walked up and down the aisles, closing such ofthe pew doors as were open. Then he shut off the gas, and afterlooking around to see that nothing was forgotten, went out, apparentlysatisfied, and locked the outer door behind him. 

Paul, meanwhile, wholly unconscious of his situation, slept on astranquilly as if there were nothing unusual in the circumstances inwhich he was placed. Through the stained windows the softened light fellupon his tranquil countenance, on which a smile played, as if his dreamswere pleasant. What would Aunt Lucy have thought if she could have seenher young friend at this moment?

XV. 

A TURN OF FORTUNE. 

Notwithstanding his singular bedchamber, Paul had a refreshing night'ssleep from which he did not awake till the sun had fairly risen, and itsrays colored by the medium through which they were reflected, streamedin at the windows and rested in many fantastic lines on the richlycarved pulpit and luxurious pews. 

Paul sprang to his feet and looked around him in bewilderment. 

"Where am I?" he exclaimed in astonishment. 

In the momentary confusion of ideas which is apt to follow a suddenawakening, he could not remember where he was, or how he chanced tobe there. But in a moment memory came to his aid, and he recalled theevents of the preceding day, and saw that he must have been locked up inthe church. 

"How am I going to get out?" Paul asked himself in dismay. 

This was the important question just now. He remembered that the villagemeeting-house which he had been accustomed to attend was rarely openedexcept on Sundays. What if this should be the case here? It was Thursdaymorning, and three days must elapse before his release. This would neverdo. He must seek some earlier mode of deliverance. 

He went first to the windows, but found them so secured that it wasimpossible for him to get them open. He tried the doors, but found, ashe had anticipated, that they were fast. His last resource failing, hewas at liberty to follow the dictates of his curiosity. 

Finding a small door partly open, he peeped within, and found a flightof steep stairs rising before him. They wound round and round, andseemed almost interminable. At length, after he had become almost wearyof ascending, he came to a small window, out of which he looked. At hisfeet lay the numberless roofs of the city, while not far away his eyerested on thousands of masts. The river sparkled in the sun, and Paul, in spite of his concern, could not help enjoying the scene. The soundof horses and carriages moving along the great thoroughfare below cameconfusedly to his ears. He leaned forward to look down, but the distancewas so much greater than he had thought, that he drew back in alarm. 

"What shall I do?" Paul asked himself, rather frightened. "I wonder if Ican stand going without food for three days? I suppose nobody would hearme if I should scream as loud as I could. "

Paul shouted, but there was so much noise in the streets that nobodyprobably heard him. 

He descended the staircase, and once more found himself in the bodyof the church. He went up into the pulpit, but there seemed no hope ofescape in that direction. There was a door leading out on one side, butthis only led to a little room into which the minister retired beforeservice. 

It seemed rather odd to Paul to find himself the sole occupant of solarge a building. He began to wonder whether it would not have beenbetter for him to stay in the poorhouse, than come to New York to die ofstarvation. 

Just at this moment Paul heard a key rattle in the outer door. Filledwith new hope, he ran down the pulpit stairs and out into the porch, just in time to see the entrance of the sexton. 

The sexton started in surprise as his eye fell upon Paul standing beforehim, with his bundle under his arm. 

"Where did you come from, and how came you here?" he asked with somesuspicion. 

"I came in last night, and fell asleep. "

"So you passed the night here?"

"Yes, sir. "

"What made you come in at all?" inquired the sexton, who knew enough ofboys to be curious upon this point. 

"I didn't know where else to go, " said Paul. 

"Where do you live?"

Paul answered with perfect truth, "I don't live anywhere. "

"What! Have you no home?" asked the sexton in surprise. 

Paul shook his head. 

"Where should you have slept if you hadn't come in here?"

"I don't know, I'm sure. "

"And I suppose you don't know where you shall sleep to-night?"

Paul signified that he did not. 

"I knew there were plenty of such cases, " said the sexton, meditatively;"but I never seemed to realize it before. "

"How long have you been in New York?" was his next inquiry. 

"Not very long, " said Paul. "I only got here yesterday. "

"Then you don't know anybody in the city?"

"No. "

"Why did you come here, then?"

"Because I wanted to go somewhere where I could earn a living, and Ithought I might find something to do here. "

"But suppose you shouldn't find anything to do?"

"I don't know, " said Paul, slowly. "I haven't thought much about that. "

"Well, my lad, " said the sexton, not unkindly, "I can't say yourprospects look very bright. You should have good reasons for entering onsuch an undertaking. I--I don't think you are a bad boy. You don't looklike a bad one, " he added, half to himself. 

"I hope not, sir, " said Paul. 

"I hope not, too. I was going to say that I wish I could help you tosome kind of work. If you will come home with me, you shall be welcometo a dinner, and perhaps I may be able to think of something for you. "

Paul gladly prepared to follow his new acquaintance. 

"What is your name?" inquired the sexton. 

"Paul Prescott. "

"That sounds like a good name. I suppose you haven't got much money?"

"Only twelve cents. "

"Bless me! only twelve cents. Poor boy! you are indeed poor. "

"But I can work, " said Paul, spiritedly. "I ought to be able to earn myliving. "

"Yes, yes, that's the way to feel. Heaven helps those who helpthemselves. "

When they were fairly out of the church, Paul had an opportunity ofobserving his companion's external appearance. He was an elderly man, with harsh features, which would have been forbidding, but for a certainair of benevolence which softened their expression. 

As Paul walked along, he related, with less of detail, the story whichis already known to the reader. The sexton said little except in theway of questions designed to elicit further particulars, till, at theconclusion he said, "Must tell Hester. "

At length they came to a small house, in a respectable but notfashionable quarter of the city. One-half of this was occupied by thesexton. He opened the door and led the way into the sitting-room. Itwas plainly but neatly furnished, the only ornament being one or twoengravings cheaply framed and hung over the mantel-piece. They wereby no means gems of art, but then, the sexton did not claim to be aconnoisseur, and would probably not have understood the meaning of theword. 

"Sit here a moment, " said the sexton, pointing to a chair, "I'll go andspeak to Hester. "

Paul whiled away the time in looking at the pictures in a copy of "ThePilgrim's Progress, " which lay on the table. 

In the next room sat a woman of perhaps fifty engaged in knitting. Itwas very easy to see that she could never have possessed the perishablegift of beauty. Hers was one of the faces on which nature has writtenPLAIN, in unmistakable characters. Yet if the outward features had beena reflex of the soul within, few faces would have been more attractivethan that of Hester Cameron. At the feet of the sexton's wife, for suchshe was, reposed a maltese cat, purring softly by way of showing hercontentment. Indeed, she had good reason to be satisfied. In default ofchildren, puss had become a privileged pet, being well fed and carefullyshielded from all the perils that beset cat-hood. 

"Home so soon?" said Hester inquiringly, as her husband opened the door. 

"Yes, Hester, and I have brought company with me, " said the sexton. 

"Company!" repeated his wife. "Who is it?"

"It is a poor boy, who was accidentally locked up in the church lastnight. "

"And he had to stay there all night?"

"Yes; but perhaps it was lucky for him, for he had no other place tosleep, and not money enough to pay for one. "

"Poor child!" said Hester, compassionately. "Is it not terrible to thinkthat any human creature should be without the comforts of a home whicheven our tabby possesses. It ought to make you thankful that you are sowell cared for, Tab. "

The cat opened her eyes and winked drowsily at her mistress. 

"So you brought the poor boy home, Hugh?"

"Yes, Hester, --I thought we ought not to begrudge a meal to one lessfavored by fortune than ourselves. You know we should consider ourselvesthe almoners of God's bounties. "

"Surely, Hugh. "

"I knew you would feel so, Hester. And suppose we have the chicken fordinner that I sent in the morning. I begin to have a famous appetite. Ithink I should enjoy it. "

Hester knew perfectly well that it was for Paul's sake, and not for hisown, that her husband spoke. But she so far entered into his feelings, that she determined to expend her utmost skill as cook upon the dinner, that Paul might have at least one good meal. 

"Now I will bring the boy in, " said he. "I am obliged to go to work, butyou will find some way to entertain him, I dare say. "

"If you will come out (this he said to Paul), I will introduce you to anew friend. "

Paul was kindly welcomed by the sexton's wife, who questioned him ina sympathizing tone about his enforced stay in the church. To all herquestions Paul answered in a modest yet manly fashion, so as to producea decidedly favorable impression upon his entertainer. 

Our hero was a handsome boy. Just at present he was somewhat thin, nothaving entirely recovered from the effects of his sickness and poor farewhile a member of Mr. Mudge's family; but he was well made, and badefair to become a stout boy. His manner was free and unembarrassed, andhe carried a letter of recommendation in his face. It must be admitted, however that there were two points in which his appearance might havebeen improved. Both his hands and face had suffered from the dust oftravel. His clothes, too, were full of dust. 

A single glance told Hester all this, and she resolved to remedy it. 

She quietly got some water and a towel, and requested Paul to pull offhis jacket, which she dusted while he was performing his ablutions. Then, with the help of a comb to arrange his disordered hair, he seemedquite like a new boy, and felt quite refreshed by the operation. 

"Really, it improves him very much, " said Hester to herself. 

She couldn't help recalling a boy of her own, --the only child she everhad, --who had been accidentally drowned when about the age of Paul. 

"If he had only lived, " she thought, "how different might have been ourlives. "

A thought came into her mind, and she looked earnestly at Paul. 

"I--yes I will speak to Hugh about it, " she said, speaking aloud, unconsciously. 

"Did you speak to me?" asked Paul. 

"No, --I was thinking of something. "

She observed that Paul was looking rather wistfully at a loaf of breadon the table. 

"Don't you feel hungry?" she asked, kindly. 

"I dare say you have had no breakfast. "

"I have eaten nothing since yesterday afternoon. "

"Bless my soul! How hungry you must be!" said the good woman, as shebustled about to get a plate of butter and a knife. 

She must have been convinced of it by the rapid manner in which theslices of bread and butter disappeared. 

At one o'clock the sexton came home. Dinner was laid, and Paul partookof it with an appetite little affected by his lunch of the morning. Ashe rose from the table, he took his cap, and saying, "Good-by, I thankyou very much for your kindness!" he was about to depart. 

"Where are you going?" asked the sexton, in surprise. 

"I don't know, " answered Paul. 

"Stop a minute. Hester, I want to speak to you. "

They went into the sitting-room together. 

"This boy, Hester, " he commenced with hesitation. 

"Well, Hugh?"

"He has no home. "

"It is a hard lot. "

"Do you think we should be the worse off if we offered to share our homewith him?"

"It is like your kind heart, Hugh. Let us go and tell him. "

"We have been talking of you, Paul, " said the sexton. "We have thought, Hester and myself, that as you had no home and we no child, we shouldall be the gainers by your staying with us. Do you consent?"

"Consent!" echoed Paul in joyful surprise. "How can I ever repay yourkindness?"

"If you are the boy we take you for, we shall feel abundantly repaid. Hester, we can give Paul the little bedroom where--where John used tosleep. "

His voice faltered a little, for John was the name of his boy, who hadbeen drowned. 

XVI. 

YOUNG STUPID. 

Paul found the sexton's dwelling very different from his last home, ifthe Poorhouse under the charge of Mr. And Mrs. Mudge deserved such aname. His present home was an humble one, but he was provided with everyneedful comfort, and the atmosphere of kindness which surrounded him, gave him a feeling of peace and happiness which he had not enjoyed for along time. 

Paul supposed that he would be at once set to work, and even then wouldhave accounted himself fortunate in possessing such a home. 

But Mr. Cameron had other views for him. 

"Are you fond of studying?" asked the sexton, as they were all threegathered in the little sitting room, an evening or two after Paul firstcame. 

"Very much!" replied our hero. 

"And would you like to go to school?"

"What, here in New York?"

"Yes. "

"Oh, very much indeed. "

"I am glad to hear you say so, my lad. There is nothing like a goodeducation. If I had a son of my own, I would rather leave him thatthan money, for while the last may be lost, the first never can be. Andthough you are not my son, Paul, Providence has in a manner conductedyou to me, and I feel responsible for your future. So you shall go toschool next Monday morning, and I hope you will do yourself much creditthere. "

"Thank you very much, " said Paul. "I feel very grateful, but----"

"You surely are not going to object?" said the sexton. 

"No, but----"

"Well, Paul, go on, " seeing that the boy hesitated. 

"Why, " said our hero, with a sense of delicacy which did him credit, "If I go to school, I shall not be able to earn my board, and shall beliving at your expense, though I have no claim upon you. "

"Oh, is that all?" said the sexton cheerfully, "I was afraid that it wassomething more serious. As to that, I am not rich, and never expect tobe. But what little expense you will be will not ruin me. Besides, whenyou are grown up and doing well, you can repay me, if I ever need it. "

"That I will, " said Paul. 

"Mind, if I ever need it, --not otherwise. There, now, it's a bargain onthat condition. You haven't any other objection, " seeing that Paul stillhesitated. 

"No, or at least I should like to ask your advice, " said Paul. "Justbefore my father died, he told me of a debt of five hundred dollarswhich he had not been able to pay. I saw that it troubled him, and Ipromised to pay it whenever I was able. I don't know but I ought to goto work so as to keep my promise. "

"No, " said the sexton after a moment's reflection, "the best course willbe to go to school, at present. Knowledge is power, and a good educationwill help you to make money by and by. I approve your resolution, mylad, and if you keep it resolutely in mind I have no doubt you willaccomplish your object. But the quickest road to success is through theschoolroom. At present you are not able to earn much. Two or three yearshence will be time enough. "

Paul's face brightened as the sexton said this. He instinctively feltthat Mr. Cameron was right. He had never forgotten his father's dyinginjunction, and this was one reason that impelled him to run away fromthe Almshouse, because he felt that while he remained he never wouldbe in a situation to carry out his father's wishes. Now his duty wasreconciled with his pleasure, and he gratefully accepted the sexton'ssuggestions. 

The next Monday morning, in accordance with the arrangement which hadjust been agreed upon, Paul repaired to school. He was at once placed ina class, and lessons were assigned him. 

At first his progress was not rapid. While living in Wrenville he hadan opportunity only of attending a country school, kept less than sixmonths in the year, and then not affording advantages to be comparedwith those of a city school. During his father's sickness, besides, hehad been kept from school altogether. Of course all this lost time couldnot be made up in a moment. Therefore it was that Paul lagged behind hisclass. 

There are generally some in every school, who are disposed to takeunfair advantage of their schoolmates, or to ridicule those whom theyconsider inferior to themselves. 

There was one such in Paul's class. His name was George Dawkins. 

He was rather a showy boy, and learned easily. He might have stood aclass above where he was, if he had not been lazy, and depended too muchon his natural talent. As it was, he maintained the foremost rank in hisclass. 

"Better be the first man in a village than the second man in Rome, "he used to say; and as his present position not only gave him thepre-eminence which he desired, but cost him very little exertion tomaintain, he was quite well satisfied with it. 

This boy stood first in his class, while Paul entered at the foot. 

He laughed unmercifully at the frequent mistakes of our hero, andjeeringly dubbed him, "Young Stupid. "

"Do you know what Dawkins calls you?" asked one of the boys. 

"No. What does he call me?" asked Paul, seriously. 

"He calls you 'Young Stupid. '"

Paul's face flushed painfully. Ridicule was as painful to him as it isto most boys, and he felt the insult deeply. 

"I'd fight him if I were you, " was the volunteered advice of hisinformant. 

"No, " said Paul. "That wouldn't mend the matter. Besides, I don't knowbut he has some reason for thinking so. "

"Don't call yourself stupid, do you?"

"No, but I am not as far advanced as most boys of my age. That isn't myfault, though. I never had a chance to go to school much. If I had beento school all my life, as Dawkins has, it would be time to find outwhether I am stupid or not. "

"Then you ain't going to do anything about it?"

"Yes, I am. "

"You said you wasn't going to fight him. "

"That wouldn't do any good. But I'm going to study up and see if I can'tget ahead of him. Don't you think that will be the best way of showinghim that he is mistaken?"

"Yes, capital, but----"

"But you think I can't do it, I suppose, " said Paul. 

"You know he is at the head of the class, and you are at the foot. "

"I know that, " said Paul, resolutely. "But wait awhile and see. "

In some way George Dawkins learned that Paul had expressed thedetermination to dispute his place. It occasioned him considerableamusement. 

"Halloa, Young Stupid, " he called out, at recess. 

Paul did not answer. 

"Why don't you answer when you are spoken to?" he asked angrily. 

"When you call me by my right name, " said Paul, quietly, "I will answer, and not before. "

"You're mighty independent, " sneered Dawkins. "I don't know but I mayhave to teach you manners. "

"You had better wait till you are qualified, " said Paul, coolly. 

Dawkins approached our hero menacingly, but Paul did not look in theleast alarmed, and he concluded to attack him with words only. 

"I understand you have set yourself up as my rival!" he said, mockingly. 

"Not just yet, " said Paul, "but in time I expect to be. "

"So you expect my place, " said Dawkins, glancing about him. 

"We'll talk about that three months hence, " said Paul. 

"Don't hurt yourself studying, " sneered Dawkins, scornfully. 

To this Paul did not deign a reply, but the same day he rose one in hisclass. 

Our hero had a large stock of energy and determination. When he had onceset his mind upon a thing, he kept steadily at work till he accomplishedit. This is the great secret of success. It sometimes happens that a manwho has done nothing will at once accomplish a brilliant success by onespasmodic effort, but such cases are extremely rare. 

"Slow and sure wins the race, " is an old proverb that has a great dealof truth in it. 

Paul worked industriously. 

The kind sexton and his wife, who noticed his assiduity, strove todissuade him from working so steadily. 

"You are working too hard, Paul, " they said. 

"Do I look pale?" asked Paul, pointing with a smile to his red cheeks. 

"No, but you will before long. "

"When I am, I will study less. But you know, Uncle Hugh, " so the sextoninstructed him to call him, "I want to make the most of my presentadvantages. Besides, there's a particular boy who thinks I am stupid. Iwant to convince him that he is mistaken. "

"You are a little ambitious, then, Paul?"

"Yes, but it isn't that alone. I know the value of knowledge, and I wantto secure as much as I can. "

"That is an excellent motive, Paul. "

"Then you won't make me study less?"

"Not unless I see you are getting sick. "

Paul took good care of this. He knew how to play as well as to study, and his laugh on the playground was as merry as any. His cheerful, obliging disposition made him a favorite with his companions. OnlyGeorge Dawkins held out; he had, for some reason, imbibed a dislike forPaul. 

Paul's industry was not without effect. He gradually gained position inhis class. 

"Take care, Dawkins, " said one of his companions--the same one who hadbefore spoken to Paul--"Paul Prescott will be disputing your place withyou. He has come up seventeen places in a month. "

"Much good it'll do him, " said Dawkins, contemptuously. 

"For all that, you will have to be careful; I can tell you that. "

"I'm not in the least afraid. I'm a little too firm in my position to beousted by Young Stupid. "

"Just wait and see. "

Dawkins really entertained no apprehension. He had unbounded confidencein himself, and felt a sense of power in the rapidity with which hecould master a lesson. He therefore did not study much, and though hecould not but see that Paul was rapidly advancing, he rejected withscorn the idea that Young Stupid could displace him. 

This, however, was the object at which Paul was aiming. He had notforgotten the nickname which Dawkins had given him, and this was therevenge which he sought, --a strictly honorable one. 

At length the day of his triumph came. At the end of the month themaster read off the class-list, and, much to his disgust, George Dawkinsfound himself playing second fiddle to Young Stupid. 

XVII. 

BEN'S PRACTICAL JOKE. 

Mrs. Mudge was in the back room, bending over a tub. It was washing-day, and she was particularly busy. She was a driving, bustling woman, and, whatever might be her faults of temper, she was at least industrious andenergetic. Had Mr. Mudge been equally so, they would have been betteroff in a worldly point of view. But her husband was constitutionallylazy, and was never disposed to do more than was needful. 

Mrs. Mudge was in a bad humor that morning. One of the cows had gotinto the garden through a gap in the fence, and made sad havoc among thecabbages. Now if Mrs. Mudge had a weakness, it was for cabbages. Shewas excessively fond of them, and had persuaded her husband to set outa large number of plants from which she expected a large crop. They wereplanted in one corner of the garden, adjoining a piece of land, which, since mowing, had been used for pasturing the cows. There was a weakplace in the fence separating the two inclosures, and this Mrs. Mudgehad requested her husband to attend to. He readily promised this, andMrs. Mudge supposed it done, until that same morning, her sharp eyes haddetected old Brindle munching the treasured cabbages with a provokingair of enjoyment. The angry lady seized a broom, and repaired quickly tothe scene of devastation. Brindle scented the danger from afar, and beata disorderly retreat, trampling down the cabbages which she had hithertospared. Leaping over the broken fence, she had just cleared the gap asthe broom-handle, missing her, came forcibly down upon the rail, and wassnapped in sunder by the blow. 

Here was a new vexation. Brindle had not only escaped scot-free, but thebroom, a new one, bought only the week before, was broken. 

"It's a plaguy shame, " said Mrs. Mudge, angrily. "There's my best broombroken; cost forty-two cents only last week. "

She turned and contemplated the scene of devastation. This yielded herlittle consolation. 

"At least thirty cabbages destroyed by that scamp of a cow, " sheexclaimed in a tone bordering on despair. "I wish I'd a hit her. If I'dbroken my broom over her back I wouldn't a cared so much. And it's allMudge's fault. He's the most shiftless man I ever see. I'll give him adressing down, see if I don't. "

Mrs. Mudge's eyes snapped viciously, and she clutched the relics of thebroom with a degree of energy which rendered it uncertain what sort of adressing down she intended for her husband. 

Ten minutes after she had re-entered the kitchen, the luckless man madehis appearance. He wore his usual look, little dreaming of the stormthat awaited him. 

"I'm glad you've come, " said Mrs. Mudge, grimly. 

"What's amiss, now?" inquired Mudge, for he understood her look. 

"What's amiss?" blazed Mrs. Mudge. "I'll let you know. Do you see this?"

She seized the broken broom and flourished it in his face. 

"Broken your broom, have you? You must have been careless. "

"Careless, was I?" demanded Mrs. Mudge, sarcastically. "Yes, of course, it's always I that am in fault. "

"You haven't broken it over the back of any of the paupers, have you?"asked her husband, who, knowing his helpmeet's infirmity of temper, thought it possible she might have indulged in such an amusement. 

"If I had broken it over anybody's back it would have been yours, " saidthe lady. 

"Mine! what have I been doing?"

"It's what you haven't done, " said Mrs. Mudge. "You're about the laziestand most shiftless man I ever came across. "

"Come, what does all this mean?" demanded Mr. Mudge, who was getting alittle angry in his turn. 

"I'll let you know. Just look out of that window, will you?"

"Well, " said Mr. Mudge, innocently, "I don't see anything inparticular. "

"You don't!" said Mrs. Mudge with withering sarcasm. "Then you'd betterput on your glasses. If you'd been here quarter of an hour ago, you'dhave seen Brindle among the cabbages. "

"Did she do any harm?" asked Mr. Mudge, hastily. 

"There's scarcely a cabbage left, " returned Mrs. Mudge, purposelyexaggerating the mischief done. 

"If you had mended that fence, as I told you to do, time and again, itwouldn't have happened. "

"You didn't tell me but once, " said Mr. Mudge, trying to get up a feebledefence. 

"Once should have been enough, and more than enough. You expect me toslave myself to death in the house, and see to all your work besides. If I'd known what a lazy, shiftless man you were, at the time I marriedyou, I'd have cut off my right hand first. "

By this time Mr. Mudge had become angry. 

"If you hadn't married me, you'd a died an old maid, " he retorted. 

This was too much for Mrs. Mudge to bear. She snatched the larger halfof the broom, and fetched it down with considerable emphasis uponthe back of her liege lord, who, perceiving that her temper was up, retreated hastily from the kitchen; as he got into the yard hedescried Brindle, whose appetite had been whetted by her previous raid, re-entering the garden through the gap. 

It was an unfortunate attempt on the part of Brindle. Mr. Mudge, angry with his wife, and smarting with the blow from the broomstick, determined to avenge himself upon the original cause of all the trouble. Revenge suggested craft. He seized a hoe, and crept stealthily to thecabbage-plot. Brindle, whose back was turned, did not perceive hisapproach, until she felt a shower of blows upon her back. Confused atthe unexpected attack she darted wildly away, forgetting the gap in thefence, and raced at random over beds of vegetables, uprooting beets, parsnips, and turnips, while Mr. Mudge, mad with rage, followed close inher tracks, hitting her with the hoe whenever he got a chance. 

Brindle galloped through the yard, and out at the open gate. Thence sheran up the road at the top of her speed, with Mr. Mudge still pursuingher. 

It may be mentioned here that Mr. Mudge was compelled to chase theterrified cow over two miles before he succeeded with the help of aneighbor in capturing her. All this took time. Meanwhile Mrs. Mudge athome was subjected to yet another trial of her temper. 

It has already been mentioned that Squire Newcome was Chairman of theOverseers of the Poor. In virtue of his office, he was expected toexercise a general supervision over the Almshouse and its management. It was his custom to call about once a month to look after matters, andascertain whether any official action or interference was needed. 

Ben saw his father take his gold-headed cane from behind the door, andstart down the road. He understood his destination, and instantly theplan of a stupendous practical joke dawned upon him. 

"It'll be jolly fun, " he said to himself, his eyes dancing with fun. "I'll try it, anyway. "

He took his way across the fields, so as to reach the Almshouse beforehis father. He then commenced his plan of operations. 

Mrs. Mudge had returned to her tub, and was washing away with bitterenergy, thinking over her grievances in the matter of Mr. Mudge, when aknock was heard at the front door. 

Taking her hands from the tub, she wiped them on her apron. 

"I wish folks wouldn't come on washing day!" she said in a tone ofvexation. 

She went to the door and opened it. 

There was nobody there. 

"I thought somebody knocked, " thought she, a little mystified. "PerhapsI was mistaken. "

She went back to her tub, and had no sooner got her hands in the sudsthan another knock was heard, this time on the back door. 

"I declare!" said she, in increased vexation, "There's another knock. Ishan't get through my washing to-day. "

Again Mrs. Mudge wiped her hands on her apron, and went to the door. 

There was nobody there. 

I need hardly say that it was Ben, who had knocked both times, andinstantly dodged round the corner of the house. 

"It's some plaguy boy, " said Mrs. Mudge, her eyes blazing with anger. "Oh, if I could only get hold of him!"

"Don't you wish you could?" chuckled Ben to himself, as he caught a slyglimpse of the indignant woman. 

Meanwhile, Squire Newcome had walked along in his usual slow anddignified manner, until he had reached the front door of the Poorhouse, and knocked. 

"It's that plaguy boy again, " said Mrs. Mudge, furiously. "I won't gothis time, but if he knocks again, I'll fix him. "

She took a dipper of hot suds from the tub in which she had beenwashing, and crept carefully into the entry, taking up a station closeto the front door. 

"I wonder if Mrs. Mudge heard me knock, " thought Squire Newcome. "Ishould think she might. I believe I will knock again. "

This time he knocked with his cane. 

Rat-tat-tat sounded on the door. 

The echo had not died away, when the door was pulled suddenly open, anda dipper full of hot suds was dashed into the face of the astonishedSquire, accompanied with, "Take that, you young scamp!"

"Wh--what does all this mean?" gasped Squire Newcome, nearly strangledwith the suds, a part of which had found its way into his mouth. 

"I beg your pardon, Squire Newcome, " said the horrified Mrs. Mudge. "Ididn't mean it. "

"What did you mean, then?" demanded Squire Newcome, sternly. "I thinkyou addressed me, --ahem!--as a scamp. "

"Oh, I didn't mean you, " said Mrs. Mudge, almost out of her wits withperplexity. 

"Come in, sir, and let me give you a towel. You've no idea how I've beentried this morning. "

"I trust, " said the Squire, in his stateliest tone, "you will be ableto give a satisfactory explanation of this, ahem--extraordinaryproceeding. "

While Mrs. Mudge was endeavoring to sooth the ruffled dignity of theaggrieved Squire, the "young scamp, " who had caused all the mischief, made his escape through the fields. 

"Oh, wasn't it bully!" he exclaimed. "I believe I shall die of laughing. I wish Paul had been here to see it. Mrs. Mudge has got herself into ascrape, now, I'm thinking. "

Having attained a safe distance from the Poorhouse, Ben doubled himselfup and rolled over and over upon the grass, convulsed with laughter. 

"I'd give five dollars to see it all over again, " he said to himself. "Inever had such splendid fun in my life. "

Presently the Squire emerged, his tall dicky looking decidedly limp anddrooping, his face expressing annoyance and outraged dignity. Mrs. Mudgeattended him to the door with an expression of anxious concern. 

"I guess I'd better make tracks, " said Ben to himself, "it won't do forthe old gentleman to see me here, or he may smell a rat. "

He accordingly scrambled over a stone wall and lay quietly hidden behindit till he judged it would be safe to make his appearance. 

XVIII. 

MORE ABOUT BEN. 

"Benjamin, " said Squire Newcome, two days after the occurrence mentionedin the last chapter, "what made the dog howl so this morning? Was you adoing anything to him?"

"I gave him his breakfast, " said Ben, innocently. "Perhaps he washungry, and howling for that. "

"I do not refer to that, " said the Squire. "He howled as if in pain orterror. I repeat; was you a doing anything to him?"

Ben shifted from one foot to the other, and looked out of the window. 

"I desire a categorical answer, " said Squire Newcome. 

"Don't know what categorical means, " said Ben, assuming a perplexedlook. 

"I desire you to answer me IMMEGIATELY, " explained the Squire. "What wasyou a doing to Watch?"

"I was tying a tin-kettle to his tail, " said Ben, a little reluctantly. 

"And what was you a doing that for?" pursued the Squire. 

"I wanted to see how he would look, " said Ben, glancing demurely at hisfather, out of the corner of his eye. 

"Did it ever occur to you that it must be disagreeable to Watch to havesuch an appendage to his tail?" queried the Squire. 

"I don't know, " said Ben. 

"How should you like to have a tin pail suspended to your--ahem! yourcoat tail?"

"I haven't got any coat tail, " said Ben, "I wear jackets. But I think Iam old enough to wear coats. Can't I have one made, father?"

"Ahem!" said the Squire, blowing his nose, "we will speak of that atsome future period. "

"Fred Newell wears a coat, and he isn't any older than I am, " persistedBen, who was desirous of interrupting his father's inquiries. 

"I apprehend that we are wandering from the question, " said the Squire. "Would you like to be treated as you treated Watch?"

"No, " said Ben, slowly, "I don't know as I should. "

"Then take care not to repeat your conduct of this morning, " said hisfather. "Stay a moment, " as Ben was about to leave the room hastily. "Idesire that you should go to the post-office and inquire for letters. "

"Yes, sir. "

Ben left the room and sauntered out in the direction of the post-office. 

A chaise, driven by a stranger, stopped as it came up with him. 

The driver looked towards Ben, and inquired, "Boy, is this the way toSparta?"

Ben, who was walking leisurely along the path, whistling as he went, never turned his head. 

"Are you deaf, boy?" said the driver, impatiently. "I want to know ifthis is the road to Sparta?"

Ben turned round. 

"Fine morning, sir, " he said politely. 

"I know that well enough without your telling me. Will you tell mewhether this is the road to Sparta?"

Ben put his hand to his ear, and seemed to listen attentively. Then heslowly shook his head, and said, "Would you be kind enough to speak alittle louder, sir?"

"The boy is deaf, after all, " said the driver to himself. "IS THIS THEROAD TO SPARTA?"

"Yes, sir, this is Wrenville, " said Ben, politely. 

"Plague take it! he don't hear me yet. IS THIS THE ROAD TO SPARTA?"

"Just a little louder, if you please, " said Ben, keeping his hand to hisear, and appearing anxious to hear. 

"Deaf as a post!" muttered the driver. "I couldn't scream any louder, ifI should try. Go along. "

"Poor man! I hope he hasn't injured his voice, " thought Ben, his eyesdancing with fun. "By gracious!" he continued a moment later, burstinginto a laugh, "if he isn't going to ask the way of old Tom Haven. He'sas deaf as I pretended to be. "

The driver had reined up again, and inquired the way to Sparta. 

"What did you say?" said the old man, putting his hand to his ear. "I'mrather hard of hearing. "

The traveller repeated his question in a louder voice. 

The old man shook his head. 

"I guess you'd better ask that boy, " he said, pointing to Ben, who bythis time had nearly come up with the chaise. 

"I have had enough of him, " said the traveller, disgusted. "I believeyou're all deaf in this town. I'll get out of it as soon as possible. "

He whipped up his horse, somewhat to the old man's surprise, and droverapidly away. 

I desire my young readers to understand that I am describing Ben as hewas, and not as he ought to be. There is no doubt that he carried hislove of fun too far. We will hope that as he grows older, he will growwiser. 

Ben pursued the remainder of his way to the Post-office without anyfurther adventure. 

Entering a small building appropriated to this purpose, he inquired forletters. 

"There's nothing for your father to-day, " said the post-master. 

"Perhaps there's something for me, --Benjamin Newcome, Esq. , " said Ben. 

"Let me see, " said the post-master, putting on his spectacles; "yes, Ibelieve there is. Post-marked at New York, too. I didn't know you hadany correspondents there. "

"It's probably from the Mayor of New York, " said Ben, in a tone ofcomical importance, "asking my advice about laying out Central Park. "

"Probably it is, " said the postmaster. "It's a pretty thickletter, --looks like an official document. "

By this time, Ben, who was really surprised by the reception of theletter, had opened it. It proved to be from our hero, Paul Prescott, andinclosed one for Aunt Lucy. 

"Mr. Crosby, " said Ben, suddenly, addressing the postmaster, "youremember about Paul Prescott's running away from the Poorhouse?"

"Yes, I didn't blame the poor boy a bit. I never liked Mudge, and theysay his wife is worse than he. "

"Well, suppose the town should find out where he is, could they get himback again?"

"Bless you! no. They ain't so fond of supporting paupers. If he's ableto earn his own living, they won't want to interfere with him. "

"Well, this letter is from him, " said Ben. "He's found a pleasant familyin New York, who have adopted him. "

"I'm glad of it, " said Mr. Crosby, heartily. "I always liked him. He wasa fine fellow. "

"That's just what I think. I'll read his letter to you, if you wouldlike to hear it. "

"I should, very much. Come in behind here, and sit down. "

Ben went inside the office, and sitting down on a stool, read Paul'sletter. As our reader may be interested in the contents, we will takethe liberty of looking over Ben's shoulder while he reads. 

New York, Oct. 10, 18--. 

DEAR BEN:--

I have been intending to write to you before, knowing the kind interestwhich you take in me. I got safely to New York a few days after I leftWrenville. I didn't have so hard a time as I expected, having fallen inwith a pedler, who was very kind to me, with whom I rode thirty or fortymiles. I wish I had time to tell all the adventures I met with on theway, but I must wait till I see you. 

When I got to the city, I was astonished to find how large it was. Thefirst day I got pretty tired wandering about, and strayed into a churchin the evening, not knowing where else to go. I was so tired I fellasleep there, and didn't wake up till morning. When I found myselflocked up in a great church, I was frightened, I can tell you. It wasonly Thursday morning, and I was afraid I should have to stay theretill Sunday. If I had, I am afraid I should have starved to death. But, fortunately for me, the sexton came in the morning, and let me out. Thatwasn't all. He very kindly took me home with him, and then told me Imight live with him and go to school. I like him very much, and his wifetoo. I call them Uncle Hugh and Aunt Hester. When you write to me, youmust direct to the care of Mr. Hugh Cameron, 10 R---- Street. Then itwill be sure to reach me. 

I am going to one of the city schools. At first, I was a good dealtroubled because I was so far behind boys of my age. You know I hadn'tbeen to school for a long time before I left Wrenville, on account offather's sickness. But I studied pretty hard, and now I stand very well. I sometimes think, Ben, that you don't care quite so much about studyas you ought to. I wish you would come to feel the importance of it. Youmust excuse me saying this, as we have always been such good friends. 

I sometimes think of Mr. And Mrs. Mudge, and wonder whether they missme much. I am sure Mr. Mudge misses me, for now he is obliged to get upearly and milk, unless he has found another boy to do it. If he has, Ipity the boy. Write me what they said about my going away. 

I inclose a letter for Aunt Lucy Lee, which I should like to have yougive her with your own hands. Don't trust it to Mrs. Mudge, for shedoesn't like Aunt Lucy, and I don't think she would give it to her. 

Write soon, Ben, and I will answer without delay, Your affectionatefriend, PAUL PRESCOTT. 

"That's a very good letter, " said Mr. Crosby; "I am glad Paul is doingso well. I should like to see him. "

"So should I, " said Ben; "he was a prime fellow, --twice as good as I am. That's true, what he said about my not liking study. I guess I'll try todo better. "

"You'll make a smart boy if you only try, " said the postmaster, with whom Ben was rather a favorite, in spite of his mischievouspropensities. 

"Thank you, " said Ben, laughing, "that's what my friend, the mayor ofNew York, often writes me. But honestly, I know I can do a good dealbetter than I am doing now. I don't know but I shall turn over a newleaf. I suppose I like fun a little too well. Such jolly sport as I hadcoming to the office this morning. "

Ben related the story of the traveller who inquired the way to Sparta, much to the amusement of the postmaster, who, in his enjoyment of thejoke, forgot to tell Ben that his conduct was hardly justifiable. 

"Now, " said Ben, "as soon as I have been home, I must go and see myparticular friend, Mrs. Mudge. I'm a great favorite of hers, " he added, with a sly wink. 

XIX. 

MRS. MUDGE'S DISCOMFITURE. 

Ben knocked at the door of the Poorhouse. In due time Mrs. Mudgeappeared. She was a little alarmed on seeing Ben, not knowing how SquireNewcome might be affected by the reception she had given him on his lastvisit. Accordingly she received him with unusual politeness. 

"How do you do, Master Newcome?" she inquired. 

"As well as could be expected, " said Ben, hesitatingly. 

"Why, is there anything the matter with you?" inquired Mrs. Mudge, hercuriosity excited by his manner of speaking. 

"No one can tell what I suffer from rheumatism, " said Ben, sadly. 

This was very true, since not even Ben himself could have told. 

"You are very young to be troubled in that way, " said Mrs. Mudge, "andhow is your respected father, to-day?" she inquired, with some anxiety. 

"I was just going to ask you, Mrs. Mudge, " said Ben, "whether anythinghappened to disturb him when he called here day before yesterday?"

"Why, " said Mrs. Mudge, turning a little pale, "Nothing of anyconsequence, --that is, not much. What makes you ask?"

"I thought it might be so from his manner, " said Ben, enjoying Mrs. Mudge's evident alarm. 

"There was a little accident, " said Mrs. Mudge, reluctantly. "Somemischievous boy had been knocking and running away; so, when your fatherknocked, I thought it might be he, and--and I believe I threw somewater on him. But I hope he has forgiven it, as it wasn't intentional. I should like to get hold of that boy, " said Mrs. Mudge, wrathfully, "Ishould like to shake him up. "

"Have you any idea who it was?" asked Ben, gravely. 

"No, " said Mrs. Mudge, "I haven't, but I shall try to find out. Whoeverit is, he's a scamp. "

"Very complimentary old lady, " thought Ben. He said in a sobertone, which would have imposed upon any one, "There are a good manymischievous boys around here. "

Mrs. Mudge grimly assented. 

"Oh, by the way, Mrs. Mudge, " asked Ben, suddenly, "have you ever heardanything of Paul Prescott since he left you?"

"No, " snapped Mrs. Mudge, her countenance growing dark, "I haven't. ButI can tell pretty well where he is. "

"Where?"

"In the penitentiary. At any rate, if he isn't, he ought to be. But whatwas you wanting?"

"I want to see Mrs. Lee. "

"Aunt Lucy Lee?"

"Yes. I've got a letter for her. "

"If you'll give me the letter I'll carry it to her. "

"Thank you, " said Ben, "but I would like to see her. "

"Never mind, " thought Mrs. Mudge, "I'll get hold of it yet. I shouldn'twonder at all if it was from that rascal, Paul. "

Poor Paul! It was fortunate that he had some better friends than Mr. AndMrs. Mudge, otherwise he would have been pretty poorly off. 

Aunt Lucy came to the door. Ben placed the letter in her hands. 

"Is it from Paul?" she asked, hopefully. 

"Yes, " said Ben. 

She opened it eagerly. "Is he well?" she asked. 

"Yes, well and happy, " said Ben, who treated the old lady, for whom hehad much respect, very differently from Mrs. Mudge. 

"I'm truly thankful for that, " said Aunt Lucy; "I've laid awake morethan one night thinking of him. "

"So has Mrs. Mudge, I'm thinking, " said Ben, slyly. 

Aunt Lucy laughed. 

"There isn't much love lost between them, " said Aunt Lucy, smiling. "Hewas very badly treated here, poor boy. "

"Was he, though?" repeated Mrs. Mudge? who had been listening at thekeyhole, but not in an audible voice. "Perhaps he will be again, if Iget him back. I thought that letter was from Paul. I must get hold of itsome time to-day. "

"I believe I must go, " said Ben. "If you answer the letter, I will putit into the office for you. I shall be passing here to-morrow. "

"You are very kind, " said Aunt Lucy. "I am very much obliged to you forbringing me this letter to-day. You can't tell how happy it makes me. Ihave been so afraid the dear boy might be suffering. "

"It's no trouble at all, " said Ben. 

"She's a pretty good woman, " thought he, as he left the house. "Iwouldn't play a trick on her for a good deal. But that Mrs. Mudge is ahard case. I wonder what she would have said if she had known that I wasthe 'scamp' that troubled her so much Monday. If I had such a mother asthat, by jingo, I'd run away to sea. "

Mrs. Mudge was bent upon reading Aunt Lucy's letter. Knowing it to befrom Paul, she had a strong curiosity to know what had become of him. If she could only get him back! Her heart bounded with delight as shethought of the annoyances to which, in that case, she could subject him. It would be a double triumph over him and Aunt Lucy, against whom shefelt that mean spite with which a superior nature is often regarded byone of a lower order. 

After some reflection, Mrs. Mudge concluded that Aunt Lucy wouldprobably leave the letter in the little chest which was appropriated toher use, and which was kept in the room where she slept. The key of thischest had been lost, and although Aunt Lucy had repeatedly requestedthat a new one should be obtained, Mrs. Mudge had seen fit to pay noattention to her request, as it would interfere with purposes of herown, the character of which may easily be guessed. 

As she suspected, Paul's letter had been deposited in this chest. 

Accordingly, the same afternoon, she left her work in the kitchen inorder to institute a search for it. As a prudent precaution, however, she just opened the door of the common room, to make sure that Aunt Lucywas at work therein. 

She made her way upstairs, and entering the room in which the old ladylodged, together with two others, she at once went to the chest andopened it. 

She began to rummage round among the old lady's scanty treasures, and atlength, much to her joy, happened upon the letter, laid carefully awayin one corner of the chest. She knew it was the one she sought, from therecent postmark, and the address, which was in the unformed handwritingof a boy. To make absolutely certain, she drew the letter from theenvelope and looked at the signature. 

She was right, as she saw at a glance. It was from Paul. 

"Now I'll see what the little rascal has to say for himself, " shemuttered, "I hope he's in distress; oh, how I'd like to get hold ofhim. "

Mrs. Mudge began eagerly to read the letter, not dreaming ofinterruption. But she was destined to be disappointed. To account forthis we must explain that, shortly after Mrs. Mudge looked into thecommon room, Aunt Lucy was reminded of something essential, which shehad left upstairs. She accordingly laid down her work upon the chair inwhich she had been sitting, and went up to her chamber. 

Mrs. Mudge was too much preoccupied to hear the advancing steps. 

As the old lady entered the chamber, what was her mingled indignationand dismay at seeing Mrs. Mudge on her knees before _her_ chest, withthe precious letter, whose arrival had gladdened her so much, in herhands. 

"What are you doing there, Mrs. Mudge?" she said, sternly. 

Mrs. Mudge rose from her knees in confusion. Even she had the grace tobe ashamed of her conduct. 

"Put down that letter, " said the old lady in an authoritative voicequite new to her. 

Mrs. Mudge, who had not yet collected her scattered senses, did as shewas requested. 

Aunt Lucy walked hastily to the chest, and closed it, first securing theletter, which she put in her pocket. 

"I hope it will be safe, now, " she said, rather contemptuously. "Ain'tyou ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Mudge?"

"Ashamed of myself!" shrieked that amiable lady, indignant with herselffor having quailed for a moment before the old lady. 

"What do you mean--you--you pauper?"

"I may be a pauper, " said Aunt Lucy, calmly, "But I am thankful tosay that I mind my own business, and don't meddle with other people'schests. "

A red spot glowed on either cheek of Mrs. Mudge. She was trying hard tofind some vantage-ground over the old lady. 

"Do you mean to say that I don't mind my business?" she blustered, folding her arms defiantly. 

"What were you at my trunk for?" said the old lady, significantly. 

"Because it was my duty, " was the brazen reply. 

Mrs. Mudge had rapidly determined upon her line of defense, and thoughtit best to carry the war into the enemy's country. 

"Yes, I felt sure that your letter was from Paul Prescott, and as he ranaway from my husband and me, who were his lawful guardians, it was myduty to take that means of finding out where he is. I knew that you werein league with him, and would do all you could to screen him. This iswhy I went to your chest, and I would do it again, if necessary. "

"Perhaps you have been before, " said Aunt Lucy, scornfully. "I thinkI understand, now, why you were unwilling to give me another key. Fortunately there has been nothing there until now to reward yoursearch. "

"You impudent trollop!" shrieked Mrs. Mudge, furiously. 

Her anger was the greater, because Aunt Lucy was entirely correct in hersupposition that this was not the first visit her landlady had made tothe little green chest. 

"I'll give Paul the worst whipping he ever had, when I get him back, "said Mrs. Mudge, angrily. 

"He is beyond your reach, thank Providence, " said Aunt Lucy, whoseequanimity was not disturbed by this menace, which she knew to be anidle one. "That is enough for you to know. I will take care that younever have another chance to see this letter. And if you ever go to mychest again"--

"Well, ma'am, what then?"

"I shall appeal for protection to 'Squire Newcome. "

"Hoity, toity, " said Mrs. Mudge, but she was a little alarmed, nevertheless, as such an appeal would probably be prejudicial to herinterest. 

So from time to time Aunt Lucy received, through Ben, letters from Paul, which kept her acquainted with his progress at school. These letterswere very precious to the old lady, and she read them over many times. They formed a bright link of interest which bound her to the outsideworld, and enabled her to bear up with greater cheerfulness against thetyranny of Mrs. Mudge. 

XX. 

PAUL OBTAINS A SITUATION. 

The month after Paul Prescott succeeded in reaching the head of hisclass, George Dawkins exerted himself to rise above him. He studiedbetter than usual, and proved in truth a formidable rival. But Paul'sspirit was roused. He resolved to maintain his position if possible. Hehad now become accustomed to study, and it cost him less effort. Whenthe end of the month came, there was considerable speculation in theminds of the boys as to the result of the rivalry. The majority hadfaith in Paul, but there were some who, remembering how long Dawkins hadbeen at the head of the class, thought he would easily regain his lostrank. 

The eventful day, the first of the month, at length came, and theclass-list was read. 

Paul Prescott ranked first. 

George Dawkins ranked second. 

A flush spread over the pale face of Dawkins, and he darted a malignantglance at Paul, who was naturally pleased at having retained his rank. 

Dawkins had his satellites. One of these came to him at recess, andexpressed his regret that Dawkins had failed of success. 

Dawkins repelled the sympathy with cold disdain. 

"What do you suppose I care for the head of the class?" he demanded, haughtily. 

"I thought you had been studying for it. "

"Then you thought wrong. Let the sexton's son have it, if he wants it. It would be of no use to me, as I leave this school at the end of theweek. "

"Leave school!"

The boys gathered about Dawkins, curiously. 

"Is it really so, Dawkins?" they inquired. 

"Yes, " said Dawkins, with an air of importance; "I shall go to a privateschool, where the advantages are greater than here. My father does notwish me to attend a public school any longer. "

This statement was made on the spur of the moment, to cover themortification which his defeat had occasioned him. It proved true, however. On his return home, Dawkins succeeded in persuading his fatherto transfer him to a private school, and he took away his books at theend of the week. Had he recovered his lost rank there is no doubt thathe would have remained. 

Truth to tell, there were few who mourned much for the departure ofGeorge Dawkins. He had never been a favorite. His imperious temper andarrogance rendered this impossible. 

After he left school, Paul saw little of him for two or three years. At their first encounter Paul bowed and spoke pleasantly, but Dawkinslooked superciliously at him without appearing to know him. 

Paul's face flushed proudly, and afterwards he abstained from makingadvances which were likely to be repulsed. He had too much self-respectto submit voluntarily to such slights. 

Meanwhile Paul's school life fled rapidly. It was a happy time, --happyin its freedom from care, and happy for him, though all school boys donot appreciate that consideration, in the opportunities for improvementwhich it afforded. These opportunities, it is only just to Paul to say, were fully improved. He left school with an enviable reputation, andwith the good wishes of his schoolmates and teachers. 

Paul was now sixteen years old, a stout, handsome boy, with a frank, open countenance, and a general air of health which formed quite acontrast to the appearance he presented when he left the hospitablemansion which Mr. Nicholas Mudge kept open at the public expense. 

Paul was now very desirous of procuring a situation. He felt that it wastime he was doing something for himself. He was ambitious to relieve thekind sexton and his wife of some portion, at least, of the burden of hissupport. 

Besides, there was the legacy of debt which his father had bequeathedhim. Never for a moment had Paul forgotten it. Never for a moment had hefaltered in his determination to liquidate it at whatever sacrifice tohimself. 

"My father's name shall be cleared, " he said to himself, proudly. "Neither Squire Conant nor any one else shall have it in his power tocast reproach upon his memory. "

The sexton applauded his purpose. 

"You are quite right, Paul, " he said. "But you need not feel in haste. Obtain your education first, and the money will come by-and-by. As longas you repay the amount, principal and interest, you will have done allthat you are in honor bound to do. Squire Conant, as I understand fromyou, is a rich man, so that he will experience no hardship in waiting. "

Paul was now solicitous about a place. The sexton had little influence, so that he must depend mainly upon his own inquiries. 

He went into the reading-room of the Astor House every day to look overthe advertised wants in the daily papers. Every day he noted downsome addresses, and presented himself as an applicant for a position. Generally, however, he found that some one else had been before him. 

One day his attention was drawn to the following advertisement. 

"WANTED. A smart, active, wide-awake boy, of sixteen or seventeen, in aretail dry-goods store. Apply immediately at--Broadway. "

Paul walked up to the address mentioned. Over the door he read, "Smith &Thompson. " This, then, was the firm that had advertised. 

The store ran back some distance. There appeared to be six or eightclerks in attendance upon quite a respectable number of customers. 

"Is Mr. Smith in?" inquired Paul, of the nearest clerk. 

"You'll find him at the lower end of the store. How many yards, ma'am?"

This last was of course addressed to a customer. 

Paul made his way, as directed, to the lower end of the store. 

A short, wiry, nervous man was writing at a desk. 

"Is Mr. Smith in?" asked Paul. 

"My name; what can I do for you?" said the short man, crisply. 

"I saw an advertisement in the Tribune for a boy. "

"And you have applied for the situation?" said Mr. Smith. 

"Yes, sir. "

"How old are you?" with a rapid glance at our hero. 

"Sixteen--nearly seventeen. "

"I suppose that means that you will be seventeen in eleven months and ahalf. "

"No, sir, " said Paul, "I shall be seventeen in three months. "

"All right. Most boys call themselves a year older. What's your name?"

"Paul Prescott. "

"P. P. Any relation to Fanny Fern?"

"No, sir, " said Paul, rather astonished. 

"Didn't know but you might be. P. P. And F. F. Where do you live?"

Paul mentioned the street and number. 

"That's well, you are near by, " said Mr. Smith. "Now, are you afraid ofwork?"

"No sir, " said Paul, smiling, "not much. "

"Well, that's important; how much wages do you expect?"

"I suppose, " said Paul, hesitating, "I couldn't expect very much atfirst. "

"Of course not; green, you know. What do you say to a dollar a week?"

"A dollar a week!" exclaimed Paul, in dismay, "I hoped to get enough topay for my board. "

"Nonsense. There are plenty of boys glad enough to come for a dollar aweek. At first, you know. But I'll stretch a point with you, and offeryou a dollar and a quarter. What do you say?"

"How soon could I expect to have my wages advanced?" inquired our hero, with considerable anxiety. 

"Well, " said Smith, "at the end of a month or two. "

"I'll go home and speak to my uncle about it, " said Paul, feelingundecided. 

"Can't keep the place open for you. Ah, there's another boy at thedoor. "

"I'll accept, " said Paul, jumping to a decision. He had applied in somany different quarters without success, that he could not make up hismind to throw away this chance, poor as it seemed. 

"When shall I come?"

"Come to-morrow. "

"At what time, sir?"

"At seven o'clock. "

This seemed rather early. However, Paul was prepared to expect somediscomforts, and signified that he would come. 

As he turned to go away, another boy passed him, probably bent on thesame errand with himself. 

Paul hardly knew whether to feel glad or sorry. He had expected at leastthree dollars a week, and the descent to a dollar and a quarter wasrather disheartening. Still, he was encouraged by the promise of a riseat the end of a month or two, --so on the whole he went home cheerful. 

"Well, Paul, what luck to-day?" asked Mr. Cameron, who had just got homeas Paul entered. 

"I've got a place, Uncle Hugh. "

"You have, --where?"

"With Smith & Thompson, No. --Broadway. "

"What sort of a store? I don't remember the name. "

"It is a retail dry-goods store. "

"Did you like the looks of your future employer?"

"I don't know, " said Paul, hesitating, "He looked as if he might be apretty sharp man in business, but I have seen others that I would ratherwork for. However, beggars mustn't be choosers. But there was one thingI was disappointed about. "

"What was that, Paul?"

"About the wages. "

"How much will they give you?"

"Only a dollar and a quarter a week, at first. "

"That is small, to be sure. "

"The most I think of, Uncle Hugh, is, that I shall still be an expenseto you. I hoped to get enough to be able to pay my board from thefirst. "

"My dear boy, " said the sexton, kindly, "don't trouble yourself on thatscore. It costs little more for three than for two, and the little Iexpend on your account is richly made up by the satisfaction we feel inyour society, and your good conduct. "

"You say that to encourage me, Uncle Hugh, " said Paul. "You have doneall for me. I have done nothing for you. "

"No, Paul, I spoke the truth. Hester and I have both been happier sinceyou came to us. We hope you will long remain with us. You are already asdear to us as the son that we lost. "

"Thank you, Uncle Hugh, " said Paul, in a voice tremulous with feeling. "I will do all I can to deserve your kindness. "

XXI. 

SMITH AND THOMPSON'S YOUNG MAN. 

At seven o'clock the next morning Paul stood before Smith & Thompson'sstore. 

As he came up on one side, another boy came down on the other, andcrossed the street. 

"Are you the new boy?" he asked, surveying Paul attentively. 

"I suppose so, " said Paul. "I've engaged to work for Smith & Thompson. "

"All right. I'm glad to see you, " said the other. 

This looked kind, and Paul thanked him for his welcome. 

"O. " said the other, bursting into a laugh, "you needn't troubleyourself about thanking me. I'm glad you've come, because now I shan'thave to open the store and sweep out. Just lend a hand there; I'll helpyou about taking down the shutters this morning, and to-morrow you'llhave to get along alone. "

The two boys opened the store. 

"What's your name?" asked Paul's new acquaintance. 

"Paul Prescott. What is yours?"

"Nicholas Benton. You may call me MR. Benton. "

"Mr. Benton?" repeated Paul in some astonishment. 

"Yes; I'm a young man now. I've been Smith & Thompson's boy till now. Now I'm promoted. "

Paul looked at MR. Benton with some amusement. That young man wassomewhat shorter than himself, and sole proprietor of a stock of paleyellow hair which required an abundant stock of bear's grease to keepit in order. His face was freckled and expressionless. His eyebrows andeyelashes were of the same faded color. He was dressed, however, with some pretensions to smartness. He wore a blue necktie, of largedimensions, fastened by an enormous breast-pin, which, in its alreadytarnished splendor, suggested strong doubts as to the apparent goldbeing genuine. 

"There's the broom, Paul, " said Mr. Benton, assuming a graceful positionon the counter. 

"You'll have to sweep out; only look sharp about raising a dust, orSmith'll be into your wool. "

"What sort of a man is Mr. Smith?" asked Paul, with some curiosity. 

"O, he's an out and outer. Sharp as a steel trap. He'll make you toe themark. "

"Do you like him?" asked Paul, not quite sure whether he understood hisemployer's character from the description. 

"I don't like him well enough to advise any of my folks to trade withhim, " said Mr. Benton. 

"Why not?"

"He'd cheat 'em out of their eye teeth if they happened to have any, "said the young man coolly, beginning to pick his teeth with a knife. 

Paul began to doubt whether he should like Mr. Smith. 

"I say, " said Mr. Benton after a pause, "have you begun to shave yet?"

Paul looked up to see if his companion were in earnest. 

"No, " said he; "I haven't got along as far as that. Have you?"

"I, " repeated the young man, a little contemptuously, "of course I have. I've shaved for a year and a half. "

"Do you find it hard shaving?" asked Paul, a little slyly. 

"Well, my beard is rather stiff, " said the late BOY, with an importantair, "but I've got used to it. "

"Ain't you rather young to shave, Nicholas?" asked Paul. 

"Mr. Benton, if you please. "

"I mean, Mr. Benton. "

"Perhaps I was when I begun. But now I am nineteen. "

"Nineteen?"

"Yes, that is to say, I'm within a few months of being nineteen. What doyou think of my moustache?"

"I hadn't noticed it. "

"The store's rather dark, " muttered Mr. Benton, who seemed a littleannoyed by this answer. "If you'll come a little nearer you can see it. "

Drawing near, Paul, after some trouble, descried a few scattering hairs. 

"Yes, " said he, wanting to laugh, "I see it. "

"Coming on finely, isn't it?" asked Mr. Nicholas Benton, complacently. 

"Yes, " said Paul, rather doubtfully. 

"I don't mind letting you into a secret, " said Benton, affably, "if youwon't mention it. I've been using some of the six weeks' stuff. "

"The what?" asked Paul, opening his eyes. 

"Haven't you heard of it?" inquired Benton, a little contemptuously. "Where have you been living all your life? Haven't you seen itadvertised, --warranted to produce a full set of whiskers or moustachesupon the smoothest face, etc. I got some a week ago, only a dollar. Fiveweeks from now you'll see something that'll astonish you. "

Paul was not a little amused by his new companion, and would havelaughed, but that he feared to offend him. 

"You'd better get some, " said Mr. Benton. "I'll let you just try mineonce, if you want to. "

"Thank you, " said Paul; "I don't think I want to have a moustache justyet. "

"Well, perhaps you're right. Being a boy, perhaps it wouldn't beadvisable. "

"When does Mr. Smith come in?"

"Not till nine. "

"And the other clerks?"

"About eight o'clock. I shan't come till eight, to-morrow morning. "

"There's one thing I should like to ask you, " said Paul. "Of course youwon't answer unless you like. "

"Out with it. "

"How much does Mr. Smith pay you?"

"Ahem!" said Benton, "what does he pay you?"

"A dollar and a quarter a week. "

"He paid me a dollar and a half to begin with. "

"Did he? He wanted me to come first at a dollar. "

"Just like him. Didn't I tell you he was an out and outer? He'll be sureto take you in if you will let him. "

"But, " said Paul, anxiously, "he said he'd raise it in a month or two. "

"He won't offer to; you'll have to tease him. And then how much'll heraise it? Not more than a quarter. How much do you think I get now?"

"How long have you been here?"

"A year and a half. "

"Five dollars a week, " guessed Paul. 

"Five! he only gives me two and a half. That is, he hasn't been payingme but that. Now, of course, he'll raise, as I've been promoted. "

"How much do you expect to get now?"

"Maybe four dollars, and I'm worth ten any day. He's a mean oldskinflint, Smith is. "

This glimpse at his own prospects did not tend to make Paul feel verycomfortable. He could not repress a sigh of disappointment when hethought of this mortifying termination of all his brilliant prospects. He had long nourished the hope of being able to repay the good sextonfor his outlay in his behalf, besides discharging the debt which hisfather had left behind him. Now there seemed to be little prospect ofeither. He had half a mind to resign his place immediately upon theentrance of Mr. Smith, but two considerations dissuaded him; one, thatthe sum which he was to receive, though small, would at least buy hisclothes, and besides, he was not at all certain of obtaining anothersituation. 

With a sigh, therefore, he went about his duties. 

He had scarcely got the store ready when some of the clerks entered, andthe business of the day commenced. At nine Mr. Smith appeared. 

"So you're here, Peter, " remarked he, as he caught sight of our hero. 

"Paul, " corrected the owner of that name. 

"Well, well, Peter or Paul, don't make much difference. Both wereapostles, if I remember right. All ready for work, eh?"

"Yes, sir, " said Paul, neither very briskly nor cheerfully. 

"Well, " said Mr. Smith, after a pause, "I guess I'll put you into thecalico department. Williams, you may take him under your wing. And nowPeter, --all the same, Paul, --I've got a word or two to say to you, as Ialways do to every boy who comes into my store. Don't forget what you'rehere for? It's to sell goods. Take care to sell something to every man, woman, and child, that comes in your way. That's the way to do business. Follow it up, and you'll be a rich man some day. "

"But suppose they don't want anything?" said Paul. 

"Make 'em want something, " returned Smith, "Don't let 'em off withoutbuying. That's my motto. However, you'll learn. "

Smith bustled off, and began in his nervous way to exercise a generalsupervision over all that was going on in the store. He seemed to be alleyes. While apparently entirely occupied in waiting upon a customer, hetook notice of all the customers in the store, and could tell what theybought, and how much they paid. 

Paul listened attentively to the clerk under whom he was placed forinstruction. 

"What's the price of this calico?" inquired a common-looking woman. 

"A shilling a yard, ma'am, " (this was not in war times. )

"It looks rather coarse. "

"Coarse, ma'am! What can you be thinking of? It is a superfine piece ofgoods. We sell more of it than of any other figure. The mayor's wife wasin here yesterday, and bought two dress patterns off of it. "

"Did she?" asked the woman, who appeared favorably impressed by thiscircumstance. 

"Yes, and she promised to send her friends here after some of it. You'dbetter take it while you can get it. "

"Will it wash?"

"To be sure it will. "

"Then I guess you may cut me off ten yards. "

This was quickly done, and the woman departed with her purchase. 

Five minutes later, another woman entered with a bundle of the samefigured calico. 

Seeing her coming, Williams hastily slipped the remnant of the piece outof sight. 

"I got this calico here, " said the newcomer, "one day last week. Youwarranted it to wash, but I find it won't. Here's a piece I've tried. "

She showed a pattern, which had a faded look. 

"You've come to the wrong store, " said Williams, coolly. "You must havegot the calico somewhere else. "

"No, I'm sure I got it here. I remember particularly buying it of you. "

"You've got a better memory than I have, then. We haven't got a piece ofcalico like that in the store. "

Paul listened to this assertion with unutterable surprise. 

"I am quite certain I bought it here, " said the woman, perplexed. 

"Must have been the next store, --Blake & Hastings. Better go overthere. "

The woman went out. 

"That's the way to do business, " said Williams, winking at Paul. 

Paul said nothing, but he felt more than ever doubtful about retaininghis place. 

XXII. 

MR. BENTON'S ADVENTURE. 

One evening, about a fortnight after his entrance into Smith &Thompson's employment, Paul was putting up the shutters, the businessof the day being over. It devolved upon him to open and close the store, and usually he was the last one to go home. 

This evening, however, Mr. Nicholas Benton graciously remained behindand assisted Paul in closing the store. This was unusual, and surprisedPaul a little. It was soon explained, however. 

"Good-night, Nicholas, --I mean, Mr. Benton, " said Paul. 

"Not quite yet. I want you to walk a little way with me this evening. "

Paul hesitated. 

"Come, no backing out. I want to confide to you a very importantsecret. "

He looked so mysterious that Paul's curiosity was aroused, andreflecting that it was yet early, he took his companion's proffered arm, and sauntered along by his side. 

"What's the secret?" he asked at length, perceiving that Nicholas wassilent. 

"Wait till we get to a more retired place. "

He turned out of Broadway into a side street, where the passers wereless numerous. 

"I don't think you could guess, " said the young man, turning towards ourhero. 

"I don't think I could. "

"And yet, " continued Benton, meditatively, "it is possible that you mayhave noticed something in my appearance just a little unusual, withinthe last week. Haven't you, now?"

Paul could not say that he had. 

Mr. Benton looked a little disappointed. 

"Nobody can tell what has been the state of my feelings, " he resumedafter a pause. 

"You ain't sick?" questioned Paul, hastily. 

"Nothing of the sort, only my appetite has been a good deal affected. I don't think I have eaten as much in a week as you would in a day, " headded, complacently. 

"If I felt that way I should think I was going to be sick, " said Paul. 

"I'll let you into the secret, " said Mr. Benton, lowering his voice, andlooking carefully about him, to make sure that no one was within hearingdistance--"I'M IN LOVE. "

This seemed so utterly ludicrous to Paul, that he came very near losingMr. Benton's friendship forever by bursting into a hearty laugh. 

"I didn't think of that, " he said. 

"It's taken away my appetite, and I haven't been able to sleep nights, "continued Mr. Benton, in a cheerful tone. "I feel just as HowardCourtenay did in the great story that's coming out in the Weekly Budget. You've read it, haven't you?"

"I don't think I have, " said Paul. 

"Then you ought to. It's tiptop. It's rather curious too that the ladylooks just as Miranda does, in the same story. "

"How is that?"

"Wait a minute, and I'll read the description. "

Mr. Benton pulled a paper from his pocket, --the last copy of the WeeklyBudget, --and by the light of a street lamp read the following extract tohis amused auditor. 

"Miranda was just eighteen. Her form was queenly and majestic. Tall andstately, she moved among her handmaidens with a dignity whichrevealed her superior rank. Her eyes were dark as night. Her luxurianttresses, --there, the rest is torn off, " said Mr. Benton, in a tone ofvexation. 

"She is tall, then?" said Paul. 

"Yes, just like Miranda. "

"Then, " said our hero, in some hesitation, "I should think she would notbe very well suited to you. "

"Why not?" asked Mr. Benton, quickly. 

"Because, " said Paul, "you're rather short, you know. "

"I'm about the medium height, " said Mr. Benton, raising himself upon histoes as he spoke. 

"Not quite, " said Paul, trying not to laugh. 

"I'm as tall as Mr. Smith, " resumed Mr. Benton, in a tone which warnedPaul that this was a forbidden subject. "But you don't ask me who sheis. "

"I didn't know as you would be willing to tell. "

"I shan't tell any one but you. It's Miss Hawkins, --firm of Hawkins &Brewer. That is, her father belongs to the firm, not she. And Paul, "here he clutched our hero's arm convulsively, "I've made a declarationof my love, and--and----"

"Well?"

"She has answered my letter. "

"Has she?" asked Paul with some curiosity, "What did she say?"

"She has written me to be under her window this evening. "

"Why under her window? why didn't she write you to call?"

"Probably she will, but it's more romantic to say, 'be under mywindow. '"

"Well, perhaps it is; only you know I don't know much about suchthings. "

"Of course not, Paul, " said Mr. Benton; "you're only a boy, you know. "

"Are you going to be under her window, Nich, --I mean Mr. Benton?"

"Of course. Do you think I would miss the appointment? No earthly powercould prevent my doing it. "

"Then I had better leave you, " said Paul, making a movement to go. 

"No, I want you to accompany me as far as the door. I feel--a littleagitated. I suppose everybody does when they are in love, " added Mr. Benton, complacently. 

"Well, " said Paul, "I will see you to the door, but I can't stay, forthey will wonder at home what has become of me. "

"All right. "

"Are we anywhere near the house?"

"Yes, it's only in the next street, " said Mr. Benton, "O, Paul, how myheart beats! You can't imagine how I feel!"

Mr. Benton gasped for breath, and looked as if he had swallowed a fishbone, which he had some difficulty in getting down. 

"You'll know how to understand my feelings sometime, Paul, " said Mr. Benton; "when your time comes, I will remember your service of to-night, and I will stand by you. "

Paul inwardly hoped that he should never fall in love, if it was likelyto affect him in the same way as his companion, but he thought it bestnot to say so. 

By this time they had come in sight of a three-story brick house, withBenjamin Hawkins on the door-plate. 

"That's the house, " said Mr. Benton, in an agitated whisper. 

"Is it?"

"Yes, and that window on the left-hand side is the window of herchamber. "

"How do you know?"

"She told me in the letter. "

"And where are you to stand?"

"Just underneath, as the clock strikes nine. It must be about the time. "

At that moment the city clock struck nine. 

Mr. Benton left Paul, and crossing the street, took up his positionbeneath the window of his charmer, beginning to sing, in a thin, pipingvoice, as preconcerted between them--

 "Ever of thee, I'm fo-o-ondly dreaming. "

The song was destined never to be finished. 

From his post in a doorway opposite, Paul saw the window softly open. Hecould distinguish a tall female figure, doubtless Miss Hawkins herself. She held in her hand a pitcher of water, which she emptied withwell-directed aim full upon the small person of her luckless admirer. 

The falling column struck upon his beaver, thence spreading on allsides. His carefully starched collar became instantly as limp as a rag, while his coat suffered severely from the shower. 

His tuneful accents died away in dismay. 

"Ow!" he exclaimed, jumping at least a yard, and involuntarily shakinghimself like a dog, "who did that?"

There was no answer save a low, musical laugh from the window above, which was involuntarily echoed by Paul. 

"What do you mean by laughing at me?" demanded Mr. Benton, smarting withmortification, as he strode across the street, trying to dry his hatwith the help of his handkerchief, "Is this what you call friendship?"

"Excuse me, " gasped Paul, "but I really couldn't help it. "

"I don't see anything to laugh at, " continued Mr. Benton, in a resentfultone; "because I have been subjected to unmanly persecution, you mustlaugh at me, instead of extending to me the sympathy of a friend. "

"I suppose you won't think of her any more, " said Paul, recoveringhimself. 

"Think of her!" exclaimed Mr. Benton, "would you have me tear her frommy heart, because her mercenary parent chooses to frown upon our love, and follow me with base persecution. "

"Her parent!"

"Yes, it was he who threw the water upon me. But it shall not avail, "the young man continued, folding his arms, and speaking in a tone ofresolution, "bolts and bars shall not keep two loving hearts asunder. "

"But it wasn't her father, " urged Paul, perceiving that Mr. Benton wasunder a mistake. 

"Who was it, then?"

"It was the young lady herself. "

"Who threw the water upon me? It is a base slander. "

"But I saw her. "

"Saw who?"

"A tall young lady with black hair. "

"And was it she who threw the water?" asked Mr. Benton, aghast at thisunexpected revelation. 

"Yes. "

"Then she did it at the command of her proud parent. "

Paul did not dispute this, since it seemed to comfort Mr. Benton. It isdoubtful, however, whether the young man believed it himself, since hestraightway fell into a fit of gloomy abstraction, and made no responsewhen Paul bade him "good-night. "

XXIII. 

PAUL LOSES HIS SITUATION AND GAINS A FRIEND. 

Paul had a presentiment that he should not long remain in the employof Smith & Thompson; it was not many weeks before this presentiment wasverified. 

After having received such instruction as was necessary, the calicodepartment was left in Paul's charge. One day a customer in turning overthe patterns shown her took up a piece which Paul knew from complaintsmade by purchasers would not wash. 

"This is pretty, " said she, "it is just what I have been looking for. You may cut me off twelve yards. "

"Yes, ma'am. "

"Wait a minute, though, " interposed the lady, "will it wash?"

"I don't think it will, " said Paul, frankly, "there have been somecomplaints made about that. "

"Then I shall not want it. Let me see what else you have got. "

The customer finally departed, having found nothing to suit her. 

No sooner had she left the store than Mr. Smith called Paul. 

"Well, did you sell that lady anything?"

"No, sir. "

"And why not?" demanded Smith, harshly. 

"Because she did not like any of the pieces. "

"Wouldn't she have ordered a dress pattern if you had not told her thecalico would not wash?"

"Yes, sir, I suppose so, " said Paul, preparing for a storm. 

"Then why did you tell her?" demanded his employer, angrily. 

"Because she asked me. "

"Couldn't you have told her that it would wash?"

"That would not have been the truth, " said Paul, sturdily. 

"You're a mighty conscientious young man, " sneered Smith, "You'realtogether too pious to succeed in business. I discharge you from myemployment. "

"Very well, sir, " said Paul, his heart sinking, but keeping up a braveexterior, "then I have only to bid you good-morning. "

"Good-morning, sir, " said his employer with mock deference, "I adviseyou to study for the ministry, and no longer waste your talents inselling calico. "

Paul made no reply, but putting on his cap walked out of the store. Itwas the middle of the week, and Mr. Smith was, of course, owing him asmall sum for his services; but Paul was too proud to ask for his money, which that gentleman did not see fit to volunteer. 

"I am sure I have done right, " thought Paul. "I had no right tomisrepresent the goods to that lady. I wonder what Uncle Hugh will say. "

"You did perfectly right, " said the sexton, after Paul had related thecircumstances of his dismissal. "I wouldn't have had you act differentlyfor twenty situations. I have no doubt you will get a better positionelsewhere. "

"I hope so, " said Paul. "Now that I have lost the situation, Uncle Hugh, I don't mind saying that I never liked it. "

Now commenced a search for another place. Day after day Paul went out, and day after day he returned with the same want of success. 

"Never mind, Paul, " said the sexton encouragingly. "When you do succeed, perhaps you'll get something worth waiting for. "

One morning Paul went out feeling that something was going tohappen, --he didn't exactly know what, --but he felt somehow that therewas to be a change in his luck. He went out, therefore, with morehopefulness than usual; yet, when four o'clock came, and nothing hadoccurred except failure and disappointment, which unhappily were notat all out of the ordinary course, Paul began to think that he was veryfoolish to have expected anything. 

He was walking listlessly along a narrow street, when, on a sudden, heheard an exclamation of terror, of which, on turning round, he easilydiscovered the cause. 

Two spirited horses, attached to an elegant carriage, had been terrifiedin some way, and were now running at the top of their speed. 

There was no coachman on the box; he had dismounted in order to ringat some door, when the horses started. He was now doing his best toovertake the horses, but in a race between man and horse, it is easy topredict which will have the advantage. 

There seemed to be but one person in the carriage. It was a lady, --whoseface, pale with terror, could be seen from the carriage window. Herloud cries of alarm no doubt terrified the horses still more, and, byaccelerating their speed, tended to make matters worse. 

Paul was roused from a train of despondent reflections by seeing thehorses coming up the street. He instantly comprehended the whole dangerof the lady's situation. 

Most boys would have thought of nothing but getting out of the way, andleaving the carriage and its inmate to their fate. What, indeed, could aboy do against a pair of powerful horses, almost beside themselves withfright?

But our hero, as we have already had occasion to see, was brave andself-possessed, and felt an instant desire to rescue the lady, whoseglance of helpless terror, as she leaned her head from the window, hecould see. Naturally quickwitted, it flashed upon him that the only wayto relieve a horse from one terror, was to bring another to bear uponhim. 

With scarcely a moment's premeditation, he rushed out into the middle ofthe street, full in the path of the furious horses, and with his cheekspale, for he knew his danger, but with determined air, he waved his armsaloft, and cried "Whoa!" at the top of his voice. 

The horses saw the sudden movement. They saw the boy standing directlyin front of them. They heard the word of command to which they had beenused, and by a sudden impulse, relieved from the blind terror which hadurged them on, they stopped suddenly, and stood still in the middle ofthe street, still showing in their quivering limbs the agitation throughwhich they had passed. 

Just then the coachman, panting with his hurried running, came up andseized them by the head. 

"Youngster, " said he, "you're a brave fellow. You've done us a goodservice to-day. You're a pretty cool hand, you are. I don't know whatthese foolish horses would have done with the carriage if it had notbeen for you. "

"Let me get out, " exclaimed the lady, not yet recovered from her fright. 

"I will open the door, " said Paul, observing that the coachman was fullyoccupied in soothing the horses. 

He sprang forward, and opening the door of the carriage assisted thelady to descend. 

She breathed quickly. 

"I have been very much frightened, " she said; "and I believe I have beenin very great danger. Are you the brave boy who stopped the horses?"

Paul modestly answered in the affirmative. 

"And how did you do it? I was so terrified that I was hardly consciousof what was passing, till the horses stopped. "

Paul modestly related his agency in the matter. 

The lady gazed at his flushed face admiringly. 

"How could you have so much courage?" she asked. "You might have beentrampled to death under the hoofs of the horses. "

"I didn't think of that. I only thought of stopping the horses. "

"You are a brave boy. I shudder when I think of your danger and mine. Ishall not dare to get into the carriage again this afternoon. "

"Allow me to accompany you home?" said Paul, politely. 

"Thank you; I will trouble you to go with me as far as Broadway, andthen I can get into an omnibus. "

She turned and addressed some words to the coachman, directing him todrive home as soon as the horses were quieted, adding that she wouldtrust herself to the escort of the young hero, who had rescued her fromthe late peril. 

"You're a lucky boy, " thought John, the coachman. "My mistress is onethat never does anything by halves. It won't be for nothing that youhave rescued her this afternoon. "

As they walked along, the lady, by delicate questioning, succeeded indrawing from our hero his hopes and wishes for the future. Paul, whowas of a frank and open nature, found it very natural to tell her all hefelt and wished. 

"He seems a remarkably fine boy, " thought the lady to herself. "I shouldlike to do something for him. "

They emerged into Broadway. 

"I will detain you a little longer, " said the lady; "and perhaps troubleyou with a parcel. "

"I shall be very glad to take it, " said Paul politely. 

Appleton's bookstore was close at hand. Into this the lady went, followed by her young companion. 

A clerk advanced, and inquired her wishes. 

"Will you show me some writing-desks?"

"I am going to purchase a writing-desk for a young friend of mine, " sheexplained to Paul; "as he is a boy, like yourself, perhaps you can guideme in the selection. "

"Certainly, " said Paul, unsuspiciously. 

Several desks were shown. Paul expressed himself admiringly of one madeof rosewood inlaid with pearl. 

"I think I will take it, " said the lady. 

The price was paid, and the desk was wrapped up. 

"Now, " said Mrs. Danforth, for this proved to be her name, "I willtrouble you, Paul, to take the desk for me, and accompany me in theomnibus, that is, if you have no other occupation for your time. "

"I am quite at leisure, " said Paul. "I shall be most happy to do so. "

Paul left the lady at the door of her residence in Fifth Avenue, andpromised to call on his new friend the next day. 

He went home feeling that, though he had met with no success inobtaining a place, he had been very fortunate in rendering so importanta service to a lady whose friendship might be of essential service tohim. 

XXIV. 

PAUL CALLS ON MRS. DANFORTH. 

"Mrs. Edward Danforth, " repeated the sexton, on hearing the story ofPaul's exploit. 

"Why, she attends our church. "

"Do you know Mr. Danforth?" asked Paul, with interest. 

"Only by sight. I know him by reputation, however. "

"I suppose he is very rich. "

"Yes, I should judge so. At any rate, he is doing an extensivebusiness. "

"What is his business?"

"He is a merchant. "

"A merchant, " thought Paul; "that is just what I should like to be, butI don't see much prospect of it. "

"How do you like Mrs. Danforth?" inquired the sexton. 

"Very much, " said Paul, warmly. "She was very kind, and made me feelquite at home in her company. "

"I hope she may be disposed to assist you. She can easily do so, in herposition. "

The next day Paul did not as usual go out in search of a situation. His mind was occupied with thoughts of his coming interview with Mrs. Danforth, and he thought he would defer his business plans till thesucceeding day. 

At an early hour in the evening, he paused before an imposing residenceon Fifth Avenue, which he had seen but not entered the day previous. 

He mounted the steps and pulled the bell. 

A smart-looking man-servant answered his ring. 

"Is Mrs. Danforth at home?" asked Paul. 

"Yes, I believe so. "

"I have called to see her. "

"Does she expect you?" asked the servant, looking surprised. 

"Yes; I come at her appointment, " said Paul. 

"Then I suppose it's all right, " said the man. "Will you come in?" heasked, a little doubtfully. 

Paul followed him into the house, and was shown into the drawing-room, the magnificence of which somewhat dazzled his eyes; accustomed only tothe plain sitting-room of Mr. Cameron. 

The servant reappeared after a brief absence, and with rather morepoliteness than he had before shown, invited Paul to follow him to aprivate sitting-room upstairs, where he would see Mrs. Danforth. 

Looking at Paul's plain, though neat clothes, the servant was a littlepuzzled to understand what had obtained for Paul the honor of being onvisiting terms with Mrs. Danforth. 

"Good evening, Paul, " said Mrs. Danforth, rising from her seat andwelcoming our hero with extended hand. "So you did not forget yourappointment. "

"There was no fear of that, " said Paul, with his usual frankness. "Ihave been looking forward to coming all day. "

"Have you, indeed?" said the lady with a pleasant smile. 

"Then I must endeavor to make your visit agreeable to you. Do yourecognize this desk?"

Upon a table close by, was the desk which had been purchased the dayprevious, at Appleton's. 

"Yes, " said Paul, "it is the one you bought yesterday. I think it isvery handsome. "

"I am glad you think so. I think I told you that I intended it for apresent. I have had the new owner's name engraved upon it. "

Paul read the name upon the plate provided for the purpose. His faceflushed with surprise and pleasure. That name was his own. 

"Do you really mean it for me, " he asked. 

"If you will accept it, " said Mrs. Danforth, smiling. 

"I shall value it very much, " said Paul, gratefully. "And I feel verymuch indebted to your kindness. "

"We won't talk of indebtedness, for you remember mine is much thegreater. If you will open the desk you will find that it is furnishedwith what will, I hope, prove of use to you. "

The desk being opened, proved to contain a liberal supply of stationery, sealing wax, postage stamps, and pens. 

Paul was delighted with his new present, and Mrs. Danforth seemed toenjoy the evident gratification with which it inspired him. 

"Now, " said she, "tell me a little about yourself. Have you always livedin New York?"

"Only about three years, " said Paul. 

"And where did you live before?"

"At Wrenville, in Connecticut. "

"I have heard of the place. A small country town, is it not?"

Paul answered in the affirmative. 

"How did you happen to leave Wrenville, and come to New York?"

Paul blushed, and hesitated a moment. 

"I ran away, " he said at length, determined to keep nothing back. 

"Ran away! Not from home, I hope. "

"I had no home, " said Paul, soberly. "I should never have left there, ifmy father had not died. Then I was thrown upon the world. I was sentto the Poorhouse. I did not want to go, for I thought I could supportmyself. "

"That is a very honorable feeling. I suppose you did not fare very wellat the Poorhouse. "

In reply, Paul detailed some of the grievances to which he had beensubjected. Mrs. Danforth listened with sympathizing attention. 

"You were entirely justified in running away, " she said, as heconcluded. "I can hardly imagine so great a lack of humanity as thesepeople showed. You are now, I hope, pleasantly situated?"

"Yes, " said Paul, "Mr. And Mrs. Cameron treat me with as great kindnessas if I were their own child. "

"Cameron! Is not that the name of the sexton of our church?" said Mrs. Danforth, meditatively. 

"It is with him that I have a pleasant home. "

"Indeed, I am glad to hear it. You have been attending school, Isuppose. "

"Yes, it is not more than two months since I left off school. "

"And now I suppose you are thinking of entering upon some business. "

"Yes; I have been trying to obtain a place in some merchant'scounting-room. "

"You think, then, that you would like the career of a merchant?"

"There is nothing that would suit me better. "

"You have not succeeded in obtaining a place yet, I suppose?"

"No. They are very difficult to get, and I have no influential friendsto assist me. "

"I have heard Mr. Danforth say that he experienced equal difficulty whenhe came to New York, a poor boy. "

Paul looked surprised. 

"I see that you are surprised, " said Mrs. Danforth, smiling. "You think, perhaps, judging from what you see, that my husband was always rich. Buthe was the son of a poor farmer, and was obliged to make his own way inthe world. By the blessing of God, he has been prospered in business andbecome rich. But he often speaks of his early discouragements and smallbeginnings. I am sorry he is not here this evening. By the way, he leftword for you to call at his counting-room to-morrow, at eleven o'clock. I will give you his address. "

She handed Paul a card containing the specified number, and soonafter he withdrew, bearing with him his handsome gift, and a cordialinvitation to repeat his call. 

He looked back at the elegant mansion which he had just left, and couldnot help feeling surprised that the owner of such a palace, should havestarted in life with no greater advantages than himself. 

XXV. 

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE. 

Paul slept late the next morning. He did not hear the breakfast-bell, and when the sexton came up to awaken him he rubbed his eyes withsuch an expression of bewilderment that Mr. Cameron could not forbearlaughing. 

"You must have had queer dreams, Paul, " said he. 

"Yes, Uncle Hugh, " said Paul, laughing, "I believe I have. "

"When you have collected your wits, which at present seem absent ona wool-gathering expedition, perhaps you will tell what you have beendreaming about. "

"So I will, " said Paul, "and perhaps you can interpret it for me. Idreamed that I was back again at Mr. Mudge's, and that he sent me outinto the field to dig potatoes. I worked away at the first hill, butfound no potatoes. In place of them were several gold pieces. I pickedthem up in great surprise, and instead of putting them into the basket, concluded to put them in my pocket. But as all the hills turned outin the same way I got my pockets full, and had to put the rest in thebasket. I was just wondering what they would do for potatoes, when allat once a great dog came up and seized me by the arm----"

"And you opened your eyes and saw me, " said the sexton, finishing outhis narrative. 

"Upon my word, that's very complimentary to me. However, some of ourpotatoes have escaped transformation into gold pieces, but I am afraidyou will find them rather cold if you don't get down to breakfast prettyquick. "

"All right, Uncle Hugh. I'll be down in a jiffy. "

About half-past ten Paul started on his way to Mr. Danforth'scounting-room. It was located on Wall Street, as he learned from thecard which had been given him by Mrs. Danforth. He felt a little awkwardin making this call. It seemed as if he were going to receive thanks forthe service which he had rendered, and he felt that he had already beenabundantly repaid. However, he was bound in courtesy to call, since hedid so at the request of Mrs. Danforth. 

It was a large stone building, divided up into offices, to which Paulhad been directed. Mr. Danforth's office he found after a little search, upon the second floor. 

He opened the door with a little embarrassment, and looked about him. 

In one corner was a small room, used as a more private office, the doorof which was closed. In the larger room the only one whom he saw, wasa boy, apparently about his own age, who was standing at a desk andwriting. 

This boy looked around as Paul entered, and he at once recognized in himan old acquaintance. 

"George Dawkins!" he exclaimed in surprise. 

The latter answered in a careless indifferent tone, not exhibiting anyvery decided pleasure at meeting his old schoolmate. 

"Oh, it's you, Prescott, is it?"

"Yes, " said Paul, "I haven't met you since you left our school. "

"No, I believe we have not met, " said Dawkins, in the same tone asbefore. 

"How long have you been in this office?" asked our hero. 

"I really can't say, " said Dawkins, not looking up. 

"You can't say!"

"No, I'm rather forgetful. "

Paul could not help feeling chilled at the indifferent manner in whichhis advances were met. He had been really glad to see Dawkins, and hadaddressed him with cordiality. He could not conceal from himself thatDawkins did not seem inclined to respond to it. 

"Still, " thought Paul, extenuatingly, "perhaps that is his way. "

As the conversation began to flag, Paul was reminded of his errand byDawkins saying, in a tone which was half a sneer, "Have you any businesswith Mr. Danforth this morning, or did you merely come in out ofcuriosity?"

"I have called to see Mr. Danforth, " said Paul. 

"He is usually pretty busy in the morning, " said Dawkins. 

"He directed me to call in the morning, " said Paul, sturdily. 

"Oh, indeed!" said Dawkins, a little surprised. "I wonder, " he thought, "what business this fellow can have with Mr. Danforth. Can he be fishingfor a place?"

"Mr. Danforth is engaged with a visitor just now, " he at lengthcondescended to say; "if your time is not too valuable to wait, you cansee him by-and-by. "

"Thank you, " said Paul, rather nettled, "you are very polite. "

To this Dawkins made no reply, but resumed his pen, and for the next tenminutes seemed entirely oblivious of Paul's presence. 

Our hero took up the morning paper, and began, as he had so often donebefore, to look over the list of wants, thinking it possible he mightfind some opening for himself. 

About ten minutes later the door of the inner office opened, and twogentlemen came out. One was a gentleman of fifty, a business friend ofMr. Danforth's, the other was Mr. Danforth himself. 

The former remarked, on seeing Paul, "Is this your son, Danforth?"

"No, " said the merchant, nodding in a friendly manner to Paul. 

"That's a good joke, " thought Dawkins, chuckling to himself; "Mr. Danforth must be immensely flattered at having a sexton's adopted sontaken for his. "

After a final word or two on business matters, and arrangements foranother interview, the visitor departed, and Mr. Danforth, now atleisure, turned to Paul. 

"Now my lad, " he said kindly, "if you will follow me, we shall have achance to talk a little. "

Paul followed the merchant into his office, the door of which wasclosed, much to the regret of Dawkins, who had a tolerably large shareof curiosity, and was very anxious to find out what business Paul couldpossibly have with his employer. 

"Take that seat, if you please;" said Mr. Danforth, motioning Paul toan arm-chair, and sitting down himself, "Mrs. Danforth told me from howgreat a peril you rescued her. You are a brave boy. "

"I don't know, " said Paul, modestly, "I didn't think of the danger. If Ihad, perhaps I should have hesitated. "

"If you had not been brave you would have thought of your own risk. Mywife and myself are under very great obligations to you. "

"That more than repays me for all I did, " said Paul, in a tone ofmingled modesty and manliness. 

"I like the boy, " thought Mr. Danforth; "he is certainly quite superiorto the common run. "

"Have you left school?" he inquired, after a pause. 

"Yes, sir. Last term closed my school life. "

"Then you have never been in a situation. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Indeed! Before you left school?"

"No, sir, since. "

"You did not like it, then?"

"No, sir, " said Paul. 

"And was that the reason of your leaving?"

"No, sir; my employer was not satisfied with me, " said Paul, frankly. 

"Indeed! I am surprised to hear this! If you have no objection, will youtell me the circumstances?"

Paul related in a straightforward manner the difficulty he had had withSmith & Thompson. 

"I hope you don't think I did wrong, " he concluded. 

"By no means, " said Mr. Danforth, warmly. "Your conduct was entirelycreditable. As for Smith, I know of him. He is a sharper. It would havedone you no good to remain in his employ. "

Paul was pleased with this commendation. He had thought it possible thathis dismissal from his former situation might operate against him withthe merchant. 

"What are your present plans and wishes?" asked Mr. Danforth, after aslight pause. 

"I should like to enter a merchant's counting-room, " said Paul, "but assuch places are hard to get, I think I shall try to get into a store. "

Mr. Danforth reflected a moment, then placing a piece of paper beforeour hero, he said, "Will you write your name and address on this pieceof paper, that I may know where to find you, in case I hear of a place?"

Paul did as directed. He had an excellent handwriting, a point on whichthe merchant set a high value. 

The latter surveyed the address with approval, and said, "I am glad youwrite so excellent a hand. It will be of material assistance to you insecuring a place in a counting-room. Indeed, it has been already, for Ihave just thought of a place which I can obtain for you. "

"Can you, sir?" said Paul, eagerly. 

"Where is it?"

"In my own counting-room, " said Mr. Danforth, smiling. 

"I am very much obliged to you, " said Paul, hardly believing his ears. 

"I was prepared to give it to you when you came in, in case I found youqualified. The superiority of your handwriting decides me. When can youcome?"

"To-morrow, if you like, sir. "

"I like your promptness. As it is the middle of the week, however, youmay take a vacation till Monday. Your salary will begin to-morrow. "

"Thank you, sir. "

"I will give you five dollars per week at first, and more as yourservices become more valuable. Will that be satisfactory?"

"I shall feel rich, sir. Mr. Smith only gave me a dollar and a quarter. "

"I hope you will find other differences between me and Mr. Smith, " saidthe merchant, smiling. 

These preliminaries over, Mr. Danforth opened the door, and glancingat Dawkins, said, "Dawkins, I wish you to become acquainted with yourfellow clerk, Paul Prescott. "

Dawkins looked surprised, and anything but gratified as he respondedstiffly, "I have the honor of being already acquainted with Mr. Prescott. "

"He is a little jealous of an interloper, " thought Mr. Danforth, noticing the repellent manner of young Dawkins. "Never mind, they willget acquainted after awhile. "

When George Dawkins went home to dinner, his father observed thedissatisfied look he wore. 

"Is anything amiss, my son?" he inquired. 

"I should think there was, " grumbled his son. 

"What is it?"

"We've got a new clerk, and who do you think it is?"

"Who is it?"

"The adopted son of old Cameron, the sexton. "

"Indeed, " said Mrs. Dawkins. "I really wonder at Mr. Danforth's badtaste. There are many boys of genteel family, who would have been gladof the chance. This boy is a low fellow of course. "

"Certainly, " said her son, though he was quite aware that this was nottrue. 

"What could have brought the boy to Danforth's notice?" asked Dawkins, senior. 

"I don't know, I'm sure. The boy has managed to get round him in someway. He is very artful. "

"I really think, husband, that you ought to remonstrate with Mr. Danforth about taking such a low fellow into his counting-room with ourGeorge. "

"Pooh!" said Mr. Dawkins, who was a shade more sensible than his wife, "he'd think me a meddler. "

"At any rate, George, " pursued his mother, "there's one thing that isdue to your family and bringing up, --not to associate with this lowfellow any more than business requires. "

"I certainly shall not, " said George, promptly. 

He was the worthy son of such a mother. 

XXVI. 

A VULGAR RELATION. 

At the end of the first week, Paul received five dollars, the sum whichthe merchant had agreed to pay him for his services. With this he feltvery rich. He hurried home, and displayed to the sexton the crisp banknote which had been given him. 

"You will soon be a rich man, Paul, " said Mr. Cameron, with a benevolentsmile, returning the bill. 

"But I want you to keep it, Uncle Hugh. "

"Shall I put it in the Savings Bank, for you, Paul?"

"I didn't mean that. You have been supporting me--giving me board andclothes--for three years. It is only right that you should have what Iearn. "

"The offer is an honorable one on your part, Paul, " said the sexton;"but I don't need it. If it will please you, I will take two dollarsa week for your board, now, and out of the balance you may clotheyourself, and save what you can. "

This arrangement seemed to be a fair one. Mr. Cameron deposited the fivedollar note in his pocket-book, and passed one of three dollars to Paul. This sum our hero deposited the next Monday morning, in a savings bank. He estimated that he could clothe himself comfortably for fifty dollarsa year. This would leave him one hundred towards the payment of the debtdue to Squire Conant. 

"By-and-by my salary will be raised, " thought Paul. "Then I can savemore. "

He looked forward with eager anticipation to the time when he should beable to redeem his father's name, and no one would be entitled to castreproach upon his memory. 

He endeavored to perform his duties faithfully in the office, and tolearn as rapidly as he could the business upon which he had entered. He soon found that he must depend mainly upon himself. George Dawkinsseemed disposed to afford him no assistance, but repelled scornfullythe advances which Paul made towards cordiality. He was by no means asfaithful as Paul, but whenever Mr. Danforth was absent from the office, spent his time in lounging at the window, or reading a cheap novel, withone of which he was usually provided. 

When Paul became satisfied that Dawkins was not inclined to accept hisovertures, he ceased to court his acquaintance, and confined himself tohis own desk. 

One day as he was returning from dinner, he was startled by anunceremonious slap upon the shoulder. 

Looking up in some surprise, he found that this greeting had come from aman just behind him, whose good-humored face and small, twinkling eyes, he at once recognized. 

"How do you do, Mr. Stubbs?" inquired Paul, his face lighting up withpleasure. 

"I'm so's to be round. How be you?" returned the worthy pedler, seizingour hero's hand and shaking it heartily. 

Mr. Stubbs was attired in all the glory of a blue coat with brassbuttons and swallow tails. 

"When did you come to New York?" asked Paul. 

"Just arrived; that is, I got in this mornin'. But I say, how you'vegrown. I shouldn't hardly have known you. "

"Shouldn't you, though?" said Paul, gratified as most boys are, on beingtold that he had grown. "Have you come to the city on business?"

"Well, kinder on business, and kinder not. I thought I'd like to have avacation. Besides, the old lady wanted a silk dress, and she was sot onhavin' it bought in York. So I come to the city. "

"Where are you stopping, Mr. Stubbs?"

"Over to the Astor House. Pretty big hotel, ain't it?"

"Yes, I see you are traveling in style. "

"Yes, I suppose they charge considerable, but I guess I can stand it. Ihain't been drivin' a tin-cart for nothin' the last ten years. 

"How have you been enjoying yourself since you arrived?"

"Oh, pretty well. I've been round seeing the lions, and came pretty nearseeing the elephant at one of them Peter Funk places. "

"You did! Tell me about it. "

"You see I was walkin' along when a fellow came out of one of themplaces, and asked me if I wouldn't go in. I didn't want to refuse sucha polite invitation, and besides I had a curiosity to see what there wasto be seen, so I went in. They put up a silver watch, I could see thatit was a good one, and so I bid on it. It ran up to eight dollars anda quarter. I thought it was a pity it should go off so cheap, so I bideight and a half. "

"'Eight and a half and sold, ' said the man; 'shall I put it up for you?"

"'No, I thank you, ' said I, 'I'll take it as it is. '

"'But I'll put it up in a nice box for you, ' said he. 

"I told him I didn't care for the box. He seemed very unwilling to letit go, but I took it out of his hand and he couldn't help himself. Well, when they made out the bill, what do you suppose they charged?"

"I don't know. "

"Why, eighteen and a half. "

"'Look here, ' said I, 'I guess here's something of a mistake. You've gotten dollars too much. '

"'I think you must be mistaken, ' said he, smiling a foxy smile. 

"'You know I am not, ' said I, rather cross. 

"We can't let that watch go for any thing shorter, ' said he, coolly. 

"Just then a man that was present stepped up and said, 'the man isright; don't attempt to impose upon him. '

"With that he calmed right down. It seems it was a policeman who wassent to watch them, that spoke. So I paid the money, but as I went outI heard the auctioneer say that the sale was closed for the day. Iafterwards learned that if I had allowed them to put the watch in a box, they would have exchanged it for another that was only plated. "

"Do you know anybody in the city?" asked Paul. 

"I've got some relations, but I don't know where they live. "

"What is the name?" asked Paul, "we can look into the directory. "

"The name is Dawkins, " answered the pedler. 

"Dawkins!" repeated Paul, in surprise. 

"Yes, do you happen to know anybody of the name?"

"Yes, but I believe it is a rich family. "

"Well, so are my relations, " said Jehoshaphat. "You didn't thinkJehoshaphat Stubbs had any rich relations, did you? These, as I've heardtell, hold their heads as high as anybody. "

"Perhaps I may be mistaken, " said Paul. 

"What is the name--the Christian name, I mean--of your relation?"

"George. "

"It must be he, then. There is a boy of about my own age of that name. He works in the same office. "

"You don't say so! Well, that is curious, I declare. To think that Ishould have happened to hit upon you so by accident too. "

"How are you related to them?" inquired Paul. 

"Why, you see, I'm own cousin to Mr. Dawkins. His father and my motherwere brother and sister. "

"What was his father's business?" asked Paul. 

"I don't know what his regular business was, but he was a sexton in somechurch. "

This tallied with the account Paul had received from Mr. Cameron, andhe could no longer doubt that, strange as it seemed, the wealthy Mr. Dawkins was own cousin to the pedler. 

"Didn't you say the boy was in the same office with you, Paul?"

"Yes. "

"Well, I've a great mind to go and see him, and find out where hisfather lives. Perhaps I may get an invite to his house. "

"How shocked Dawkins will be!" thought Paul, not, it must be confessed, without a feeling of amusement. He felt no compunction in being theinstrument of mortifying the false pride of his fellow clerk, andhe accordingly signified to Mr. Stubbs that he was on his way to thecounting-room. 

"Are you, though? Well, I guess I'll go along with you. Is it far off?"

"Only in the next street. "

The pedler, it must be acknowledged, had a thoroughly countrifiedappearance. He was a genuine specimen of the Yankee, --a long, gauntfigure, somewhat stooping, and with a long aquiline nose. His dress hasalready been described. 

As Dawkins beheld him entering with Paul, he turned up his nose indisgust at what he considered Paul's friend. 

What was his consternation when the visitor, approaching him witha benignant smile, extended his brown hand, and said, "How d'ye do, George? How are ye all to hum?"

Dawkins drew back haughtily. 

"What do you mean?" he said, pale with passion. 

"Mr. Dawkins, " said Paul, with suppressed merriment, "allow me tointroduce your cousin, Mr. Stubbs. "

"Jehoshaphat Stubbs, " explained that individual. "Didn't your fathernever mention my name to you?"

"Sir, " said Dawkins, darting a furious glance at Paul, "you are entirelymistaken if you suppose that any relationship exists between me andthat--person. "

"No, it's you that are mistaken, " said Mr. Stubbs, persevering, "Mymother was Roxana Jane Dawkins. She was own sister to your grandfather. That makes me and your father cousins Don't you see?"

"I see that you are intending to insult me, " said Dawkins, the morefuriously, because he began to fear there might be some truth in theman's claims. "Mr. Prescott, I leave you to entertain your companyyourself. "

And he threw on his hat and dashed out of the counting-room. 

"Well, " said the pedler, drawing a long breath, "that's cool, --denyin'his own flesh and blood. Rather stuck up, ain't he?"

"He is, somewhat, " said Paul; "if I were you, I shouldn't be disposed toown him as a relation. "

"Darned ef I will!" said Jehoshaphat sturdily; "I have some pride, ef Iam a pedler. Guess I'm as good as he, any day. "

XXVII. 

MR. MUDGE'S FRIGHT. 

Squire Newcome sat in a high-backed chair before the fire with his heelson the fender. He was engaged in solemnly perusing the leading editorialin the evening paper, when all at once the table at his side gave asudden lurch, the lamp slid into his lap, setting the paper on fire, and, before the Squire realized his situation, the flames singed hiswhiskers, and made his face unpleasantly warm. 

"Cre-a-tion!" he exclaimed, jumping briskly to his feet. 

The lamp had gone out, so that the cause of the accident remainedinvolved in mystery. The Squire had little trouble in conjecturing, however, that Ben was at the bottom of it. 

Opening the door hastily, he saw, by the light in the next room, thatyoung gentleman rising from his knees in the immediate vicinity of thetable. 

"Ben-ja-min, " said the Squire, sternly, "What have you been a-doing?"

Ben looked sheepish, but said nothing. 

"I repeat, Benjamin, what have you been a-doing?"

"I didn't mean to, " said Ben. 

"That does not answer my interrogatory. What have you been a-doing?"

"I was chasing the cat, " said Ben, "and she got under the table. Iwent after her, and somehow it upset. Guess my head might have knockedagainst the legs. "

"How old are you, Benjamin?"

"Fifteen. "

"A boy of fifteen is too old to play with cats. You may retire to yourdormitory. "

"It's only seven o'clock, father, " said Ben, in dismay. 

"Boys that play with cats are young enough to retire at seven, " remarkedthe Squire, sagaciously. 

There was nothing for Ben but to obey. 

Accordingly with reluctant steps he went up to his chamber and wentto bed. His active mind, together with the early hour, prevented hissleeping. Instead, his fertile imagination was employed in devisingsome new scheme, in which, of course, fun was to be the object attained. While he was thinking, one scheme flashed upon him which he at oncepronounced "bully. "

"I wish I could do it to-night, " he sighed. 

"Why can't I?" he thought, after a moment's reflection. 

The more he thought of it, the more feasible it seemed, and at length hedecided to attempt it. 

Rising from his bed he quickly dressed himself, and then carefully tookthe sheet, and folding it up in small compass put it under his arm. 

Next, opening the window, he stepped out upon the sloping roof of theell part, and slid down to the end where he jumped off, the height notbeing more than four feet from the ground. By some accident, a tub ofsuds was standing under the eaves, and Ben, much to his disgust, jumpedinto it. 

"Whew!" exclaimed he, "I've jumped into that plaguy tub. What possessedHannah to put it in a fellow's way?"

At this moment the back door opened, and Hannah called out, in a shrillvoice, "Who's there?" Ben hastily hid himself, and thought it best notto answer. 

"I guess 'twas the cat, " said Hannah, as she closed the door. 

"A two-legged cat, " thought Ben, to himself; "thunder, what sopping wetfeet I've got. Well, it can't be helped. "

With the sheet still under his arm, Ben climbed a fence and runningacross the fields reached the fork of the road. Here he concealedhimself under a hedge, and waited silently till the opportunity forplaying his practical joke arrived. 

I regret to say that Mr. Mudge, with whom we have already hadconsiderable to do, was not a member of the temperance society. Latterly, influenced perhaps by Mrs. Mudge's tongue, which made his homefar from a happy one, he had got into the habit of spending hisevenings at the tavern in the village, where he occasionally indulgedin potations that were not good for him. Generally, he kept within thebounds of moderation, but occasionally he exceeded these, as he had doneon the present occasion. 

Some fifteen minutes after Ben had taken his station, he saw, in themoonlight, Mr. Mudge coming up the road, on his way home. Judging fromhis zigzag course, he was not quite himself. 

Ben waited till Mr. Mudge was close at hand, when all at once he startedfrom his place of concealment completely enveloped in the sheet withwhich he was provided. He stood motionless before the astounded Mudge. 

"Who are you?" exclaimed Mudge, his knees knocking together in terror, clinging to an overhanging branch for support. 

There was no answer. 

"Who are you?" he again asked in affright. 

"Sally Baker, " returned Ben, in as sepulchral a voice as he couldcommand. 

Sally Baker was an old pauper, who had recently died. The name occurredto Ben on the spur of the moment. It was with some difficulty that hesucceeded in getting out the name, such was his amusement at Mr. Mudge'sevident terror. 

"What do you want of me?" inquired Mudge, nervously. 

"You half starved me when I was alive, " returned Ben, in a hollow voice, "I must be revenged. "

So saying he took one step forward, spreading out his arms. This was toomuch for Mr. Mudge. With a cry he started and ran towards home at thetop of his speed, with Ben in pursuit. 

"I believe I shall die of laughing, " exclaimed Ben, pausing out ofbreath, and sitting down on a stone, "what a donkey he is, to be sure, to think there are such things as ghosts. I'd like to be by when hetells Mrs. Mudge. "

After a moment's thought, Ben wrapped up the sheet, took it under hisarm, and once more ran in pursuit of Mr. Mudge. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Mudge was sitting in the kitchen of the Poorhouse, mending stockings. She was not in the pleasantest humor, for one of thepaupers had managed to break a plate at tea-table (if that can be calledtea where no tea is provided), and trifles were sufficient to ruffleMrs. Mudge's temper. 

"Where's Mudge, I wonder?" she said, sharply; "over to the tavern, Is'pose, as usual. There never was such a shiftless, good-for-nothingman. I'd better have stayed unmarried all the days of my life than havemarried him. If he don't get in by ten, I'll lock the door, and it shallstay locked. 'Twill serve him right to stay out doors all night. "

Minutes slipped away, and the decisive hour approached. 

"I'll go to the door and look out, " thought Mrs. Mudge, "if he ain'tanywhere in sight I'll fasten the door. "

She laid down her work and went to the door. 

She had not quite reached it when it was flung open violently, and Mr. Mudge, with a wild, disordered look, rushed in, nearly overturning hiswife, who gazed at him with mingled anger and astonishment. 

"What do you mean by this foolery, Mudge?" she demanded, sternly. 

"What do I mean?" repeated her husband, vaguely. 

"I needn't ask you, " said his wife, contemptuously. "I see how it is, well enough. You're drunk!"

"Drunk!"

"Yes, drunk; as drunk as a beast. "

"Well, Mrs. Mudge, " hiccoughed her husband, in what he endeavored tomake a dignified tone, "you'd be drunk too if you'd seen what I'veseen. "

"And what have you seen, I should like to know?" said Mrs. Mudge. 

Mudge rose with some difficulty, steadied himself on his feet, andapproaching his wife, whispered in a tragic tone, "Mrs. Mudge, I've seena sperrit. "

"It's plain enough that you've seen spirit, " retorted his wife. "'Tisn'tmany nights that you don't, for that matter. You ought to be ashamed ofyourself, Mudge. "

"It isn't that, " said her husband, shaking his hand, "it's a sperrit, --aghost, that I've seen. "

"Indeed!" said Mrs. Mudge, sarcastically, "perhaps you can tell whose itis. "

"It was the sperrit of Sally Baker, " said Mudge, solemnly. 

"What did she say?" demanded Mrs. Mudge, a little curiously. 

"She said that I--that we, half starved her, and then she started to runafter me--and--oh, Lordy, there she is now!"

Mudge jumped trembling to his feet. Following the direction of hisoutstretched finger, Mrs. Mudge caught a glimpse of a white figurejust before the window. I need hardly say that it was Ben, who had justarrived upon the scene. 

Mrs. Mudge was at first stupefied by what she saw, but being a womanof courage she speedily recovered herself, and seizing the broomfrom behind the door, darted out in search of the "spirit. " But Ben, perceiving that he was discovered, had disappeared, and there wasnothing to be seen. 

"Didn't I tell you so?" muttered Mudge, as his wife re-entered, baffledin her attempt, "you'll believe it's a sperrit, now. "

"Go to bed, you fool!" retorted his wife. 

This was all that passed between Mr. And Mrs. Mudge on the subject. Mr. Mudge firmly believes, to this day, that the figure which appeared tohim was the spirit of Sally Baker. 

XXVIII. 

HOW BEN GOT HOME. 

Delighted with the complete success of his practical joke, Ben took hisway homeward with the sheet under his arm. By the time he reached hisfather's house it was ten o'clock. The question for Ben to consider nowwas, how to get in. If his father had not fastened the front door hemight steal in, and slip up stairs on tiptoe without being heard. This would be the easiest way of overcoming the difficulty, and Ben, perceiving that the light was still burning in the sitting-room, hadsome hopes that he would be able to adopt it. But while he was onlya couple of rods distant he saw the lamp taken up by his father, whoappeared to be moving from the room. 

"He's going to lock the front door, " thought Ben, in disappointment; "ifI had only got along five minutes sooner. "

From his post outside he heard the key turn in the lock. 

The 'Squire little dreamed that the son whom he imagined fast asleep inhis room was just outside the door he was locking. 

"I guess I'll go round to the back part of the house, " thought Ben, "perhaps I can get in the same way I came out. "

Accordingly he went round and managed to clamber upon the roof, whichwas only four feet from the ground. But a brief trial served to convinceour young adventurer that it is a good deal easier sliding down a roofthan it is climbing up. The shingles being old were slippery, and thoughthe ascent was not steep, Ben found the progress he made was very muchlike that of a man at the bottom of a well, who is reported as fallingback two feet for every three that he ascended. What increased thedifficulty of his attempt was that the soles of his shoes were wellworn, and slippery as well as the shingles. 

"I never can get up this way, " Ben concluded, after several fruitlessattempts; "I know what I'll do, " he decided, after a moment'sperplexity; "I'll pull off my shoes and stockings, and then I guess Ican get along better. "

Ben accordingly got down from the roof, and pulled off his shoes andstockings. As he wanted to carry these with him, he was at firsta little puzzled by this new difficulty. He finally tied the shoestogether by the strings and hung them round his neck. He disposed of thestockings by stuffing one in each pocket. 

"Now, " thought Ben, "I guess I can get along better. I don't know whatto do with the plaguy sheet, though. "

But necessity is the mother of invention, and Ben found that he couldthrow the sheet over his shoulders, as a lady does with her shawl. Thusaccoutered he recommenced the ascent with considerable confidence. 

He found that his bare feet clung to the roof more tenaciously thanthe shoes had done, and success was already within his grasp, when anunforeseen mishap frustrated his plans. He had accomplished about threequarters of the ascent when all at once the string which united theshoes which he had hung round his neck gave way, and both fell with agreat thump on the roof. Ben made a clutch for them in which he lost hisown hold, and made a hurried descent in their company, alighting withhis bare feet on some flinty gravel stones, which he found by no meansagreeable. 

"Ow!" ejaculated Ben, limping painfully, "them plaguy gravel stoneshurt like thunder. I'll move 'em away the first thing to-morrow. If thatconfounded shoe-string hadn't broken I'd have been in bed by this time. "

Meanwhile Hannah had been sitting over the kitchen fire enjoying asocial chat with a "cousin" of hers from Ireland, a young man whomshe had never seen or heard of three months before. In what way he hadsucceeded in convincing her of the relationship I have never been ableto learn, but he had managed to place himself on familiar visiting termswith the inmate of 'Squire Newcome's kitchen. 

"It's only me cousin, sir, " Hannah explained to the 'Squire, when hehad questioned her on the subject; "he's just from Ireland, sir, and itseems like home to see him. "

On the present occasion Tim Flaherty had outstayed his usual time, andwas still in the kitchen when Ben reached home. They did not at firsthear him, but when he made his last abortive attempt, and the shoes cameclattering down, they could not help hearing. 

"What's that?" asked Hannah, listening attentively. 

She went to the door to look out, her cousin following. 

There was nothing to be seen. 

"Perhaps you was dramin' Hannah, " said Tim, "more by token, it's time wewas both doin' that same, so I'll bid you good-night. "

"Come again soon, Tim, " said Hannah, preparing to close the door. 

A new plan of entrance flashed upon Ben. 

He quickly put on his shoes and stockings, unfolded the sheet andprepared to enact the part of a ghost once more, --this time for thespecial benefit of Hannah. 

After fully attiring himself he came to the back door which Hannah hadalready locked, and tapped three times. 

Hannah was engaged in raking out the kitchen fire. 

"Sure it's Tim come back, " thought she, as she went to the door. "Perhaps he's forgotten something. "

She opened the door unsuspiciously, fully expecting to see her Irishcousin standing before her. 

What was her terror on beholding a white-robed figure, with extendedarms. 

"Howly virgin, defend me!" she exclaimed, in paralyzing terror, whichwas increased by a guttural sound which proceeded from the throat ofthe ghost, who at the same time waved his arms aloft, and made a steptowards Hannah. 

Hannah, with a wild howl dropped the lamp and fed towards thesitting-room, where 'Squire Newcome was still sitting. 

Ben sped upstairs at the top of his speed, dashed into his own chamber, spread the sheet on the bed, and undressed so rapidly that he seemedonly to shake his clothes off, and jumped into bed. He closed his eyesand appeared to be in a profound slumber. 

Hannah's sudden appearance in the sitting-room in such a state naturallyastonished the 'Squire. 

"What's the matter?" he demanded of the affrighted servant. 

"Oh, sir, " she gasped, "I'm almost kilt entirely. "

"Are you?" said the 'Squire, "you appear to be more frightened thanhurt. "

"Yes, sir, shure I am frightened, which indeed I couldn't help it, sir, for I never saw a ghost before in all my life. "

"A ghost! What nonsense are you talking, Hannah?"

"Shure it's not nonsense, for it's just now that the ghost came to thedoor, sir, and knocked, and I went to the door thinking it might be mecousin, who's been passing the evening with me, when I saw a great whiteghost, ten foot tall, standing forninst me. "

"Ten feet tall?"

"Yes, sir, and he spread out his arms and spoke in a terrible voice, andwas going to carry me off wid him, but I dropped the lamp, and O sir, I'm kilt entirely. "

"This is a strange story, " said 'Squire Newcome, rather suspiciously; "Ihope you have not been drinking. "

Hannah protested vehemently that not a drop of liquor had passed herlips, which was true. 

"I'll go out and hunt for the ghost, " said the 'Squire. 

"Oh, don't sir. He'll carry you off, " said Hannah, terrified. 

"Nonsense!" exclaimed the 'Squire. "Follow me, or you may stay here ifyou are frightened. "

This Hannah would by no means do, since the 'Squire had taken the lampand she would be left in the dark. 

Accordingly she followed him with a trembling step, as he penetratedthrough the kitchen into the back room, ready to run at the least alarm. 

The back-door was wide open, but nothing was to be seen of the ghost. 

"Perhaps the ghost's up-stairs, " said Hannah, "I can't sleep up therethis night, shure. "

But something had attracted Squire Newcome's attention. It was quitemuddy out of doors, and Ben had tracked in considerable mud with him. The footprints were very perceptible on the painted floor. 

"The ghost seems to have had muddy shoes, " said the 'Squire dryly; "Iguess I can find him. "

He followed the tracks which witnessed so strongly against Ben, to whosechamber they led. 

Ben, though still awake, appeared to be in a profound slumber. 

"Ben-ja-min!" said his father, stooping over the bed. 

There was no answer. 

"Ben-ja-min!" repeated his father, giving him a shake, "what does allthis mean?"

"What?" inquired Ben, opening his eyes, and looking very innocent. 

"Where have you been, to-night?"

"You sent me to bed, " said Ben, "and I came. "

But the 'Squire was not to be deceived. He was already in possessionof too much information to be put off. So Ben, who with all his loveof mischief was a boy of truth, finally owned up everything. His fathersaid very little, but told him the next morning that he had made up hismind to send him to a military boarding-school, where the discipline wasvery strict. Ben hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry, but finally, as boys like change and variety, came to look upon his new prospectswith considerable cheerfulness. 

XXIX. 

DAWKINS IN DIFFICULTIES. 

George Dawkins was standing at his desk one morning, when a man enteredthe office, and stepping up to him, unceremoniously tapped him on theshoulder. 

Dawkins turned. He looked extremely annoyed on perceiving his visitor, whose outward appearance was certainly far from prepossessing. His faceexhibited unmistakable marks of dissipation, nor did the huge breastpin and other cheap finery which he wore conceal the fact of his intensevulgarity. His eyes were black and twinkling, his complexion very dark, and his air that of a foreigner. He was, in fact, a Frenchman, thoughhis language would hardly have betrayed him, unless, as sometimes, hechose to interlard his discourse with French phrases. 

"How are you this morning, my friend?" said the newcomer. 

"What are you here for?" asked Dawkins, roughly. 

"That does not seem to me a very polite way of receiving your friends. "

"Friends!" retorted Dawkins, scornfully, "who authorized you to callyourself my friend?"

"Creditor, then, if it will suit you better, mon ami. "

"Hush, " said Dawkins, in an alarmed whisper, "he will hear, " here heindicated Paul with his finger. 

"And why should I care? I have no secrets from the young man. "

"Stop, Duval, " exclaimed Dawkins, in an angry whisper, "Leave the officeat once. Your appearing here will injure me. "

"But I am not your friend; why should I care?" sneered Duval. 

"Listen to reason. Leave me now, and I will meet you when and where youwill. "

"Come, that sounds better. "

"Now go. I'm afraid Mr. Danforth will be in. "

"If he comes, introduce me. "

Dawkins would like to have knocked the fellow over. 

"Name your place and time, and be quick about it, " said he impatiently. 

"Eight o'clock this evening, you know where, " was the answer. 

"Very well. Good-morning. "

"Mind you bring some money. "

"Good-morning, " returned Dawkins, angrily. 

At length, much to his relief, Duval left the office. Dawkins stole aside glance at Paul, to see what impression the interview had made uponhim, but our hero, who had overheard some portions of the dialogue, perceiving that Dawkins wished it to be private, took as little noticeof the visitor as possible. He could not help thinking, however, thatDuval was a man whose acquaintance was likely to be of little benefit tohis fellow clerk. 

Throughout the day Dawkins appeared unusually nervous, and made severalblunders which annoyed Mr. Danforth. Evidently he had something on hismind. Not to keep the reader in suspense, George had fallen among badcompanions, where he had learned both to drink and to gamble. In thisway he had made the acquaintance of Duval, an unscrupulous sharper, whohad contrived to get away all his ready money, and persuading him toplay longer in the hope of making up his losses had run him into debtone hundred and fifty dollars. Dawkins gave him an acknowledgment ofindebtedness to that amount. This of course placed him in Duval's power, since he knew of no means of raising such a sum. He therefore kept outof the Frenchman's way, avoiding the old haunts where he would have beenlikely to meet him. Dawkins supposed Duval ignorant of the whereaboutsof his employer's counting-room. So he had been, but he made it hisbusiness to ascertain where it was. He had no idea of losing sight of sovaluable a prize. 

Dawkins would willingly have broken the appointment he had made withDuval, but he did not dare to do so. He knew that the man was wellable to annoy him, and he would not on any account have had the affairdisclosed to his father or Mr. Danforth. 

As Trinity clock struck eight, he entered a low bar-room in theneighborhood of the docks. 

A young man with pale, sandy hair stood behind the counter with hissleeves rolled up. He was supplying the wants of a sailor who alreadyappeared to have taken more drink than was good for him. 

"Good evening, Mr. Dawkins, " said he, "you're a stranger. "

"Is Duval in?" inquired Dawkins, coldly. His pride revolted at the placeand company. He had never been here but once before, having met Duvalelsewhere. 

"He's up in his room. John show the young gentleman up to No. 9. Won'tyou have a glass of something this evening?"

"No, " said Dawkins, abruptly. 

The boy preceded him up a dark and dirty staircase. 

"That's the room, sir, " he said. 

"Stop a minute, " said Dawkins, "he may not be in. "

He inwardly hoped he might not. But Duval answered his knock by comingto the door himself. 

"Delighted to see you, mon ami. John, may leave the lamp. That's all, unless Mr. Dawkins wishes to order something. "

"I want nothing, " said Dawkins. 

"They have some capital brandy. "

"I am not in the mood for drinking tonight. "

"As you please, " said the Frenchman, disappointed; "be seated. "

Dawkins sat down in a wooden rocking-chair, minus an arm. 

"Well, " said Duval, "how much money have you brought me?"

"None. "

The Frenchman frowned and stroked his mustache, fiercely. 

"What does all this mean? Are you going to put me off longer?"

"I would pay it if I could, " said Dawkins, "but I haven't got themoney. "

"You could get it. "

"How?"

"Ask your father. "

"My father would rave if he knew that I had lost money in such a way. "

"But you need not tell him. "

"If I ask for money, he will be sure to ask what I want it for. "

"Tell him you want clothes, or a watch, or a hundred things. "

Dawkins shook his head; "it won't do, " said he. "He wouldn't give me ahundred and fifty dollars. "

"Then ask seventy-five, and I will wait a month for the rest. "

"Look here, Duval, you have no rightful claim to this money. You've gotenough out of me. Just tear up the paper. "

Duval laughed scornfully, "Aha, Mr. Dawkins, " he said, "that would bea very pretty arrangement FOR YOU. But I don't see how it is going tobenefit me. No, no, I can't afford to throw away a hundred and fiftydollars so easily. If I was a rich man like your father it would make adifference. "

"Then you won't remit the debt, " said Dawkins, sullenly. 

"You would think me a great ninny, if I did. "

"Then you may collect it the best way you can. "

"What do you mean by that?" demanded the Frenchman, his face darkening. 

"I mean what I say, " said Dawkins, desperately, "Gambling debts are notrecognizable in law. "

"Nothing is said about it's being a gambling debt. I have your note. "

"Which is worth nothing, since I am a minor. "

Duval's face became black with rage. 

"Aha, my friend, " said he showing his teeth, "this is a very nice gameto cheat me out of my money. But it won't do, it won't do. "

"Why won't it?"

"I shall say a word in your father's ear, mon ami, and in the ear ofyour worthy employer whom you were so anxious for me not to see, andperhaps that would be worse for you than to pay me my money. "

Dawkins's brief exultation passed away. He saw that he was indeed in thepower of an unscrupulous man, who was disposed to push his advantage tothe utmost. 

He subsided into a moody silence, which Duval watched with satisfaction. 

"Well, my friend, what will you do about it?"

"I don't know what I can do. "

"You will think of something. You will find it best, " said theFrenchman, in a tone which veiled a threat. 

"I will try, " said Dawkins, gloomily. 

"That is well. I thought you would listen to reason, mon ami. Now wewill have a pleasant chat. Hold, I will order some brandy myself. "

"Not for me, " said Dawkins, rising from his chair, "I must be going. "

"Will you not have one little game?" asked Duval, coaxingly. 

"No, no, I have had enough of that. Goodnight. "

"Then you won't stop. And when shall I have the pleasure of seeing youat my little apartment once more?"

"I don't know. "

"If it is any trouble to you to come, I will call at your office, " saidDuval, significantly. 

"Don't trouble yourself, " said Dawkins, hastily; "I will come here aweek from today. "

"A week is a long time. "

"Long or short, I must have it. "

"Very well, mon ami. A week let it be. Good-night. Mind the stairs asyou go down. "

Dawkins breathed more freely as he passed out into the open air. He wasbeginning to realize that the way of the transgressor is hard. 

XXX. 

A TRAP IS LAID FOR PAUL. 

Three months before, George Dawkins had made his first visit to agambling house. At first, he had entered only from curiosity. He watchedthe play with an interest which gradually deepened, until he was easilypersuaded to try his own luck. The stakes were small, but fortunefavored him, and he came out some dollars richer than he entered. Itwould have been fortunate for him if he had failed. As it was, hisgood fortune encouraged him to another visit. This time he was lessfortunate, but his gains about balanced his losses, so that he came outeven. On the next occasion he left off with empty pockets. So it went onuntil at length he fell into the hands of Duval, who had no scruple infleecing him to as great an extent as he could be induced to go. 

George Dawkins's reflections were not of the most cheerful character as, leaving Duval, he slowly pursued his way homeward. He felt that he hadfallen into the power of an unscrupulous villain, who would have nomercy upon him. He execrated his own folly, without which all themachination of Duval would have been without effect. 

The question now, however, was, to raise the money. He knew of no oneto whom he could apply except his father, nor did he have much hope fromthat quarter. Still, he would make the effort. 

Reaching home he found his father seated in the library. He looked upfrom the evening paper as George entered. 

"Only half-past nine, " he said, with an air of sarcasm. "You spend yourevenings out so systematically that your early return surprises me. Howis it? Has the theater begun to lose its charm!"

There was no great sympathy between father and son, and if either feltaffection for the other, it was never manifested. Mutual recriminationwas the rule between them, and George would now have made an angryanswer but that he had a favor to ask, and felt it politic to beconciliatory. 

"If I had supposed you cared for my society, sir, I would have remainedat home oftener. "

"Umph!" was the only reply elicited from his father. 

"However, there was a good reason for my not going to the theaterto-night. "

"Indeed!"

"I had no money. "

"Your explanation is quite satisfactory, " said his father, with a slightsneer. "I sympathize in your disappointment. "

"There is no occasion, sir, " said George, good humoredly, for him. "Ihad no great desire to go. "

Dawkins took down a book from the library and tried to read, butwithout much success. His thoughts continually recurred to his pecuniaryembarrassments, and the debt which he owed to Duval seemed to hang likea millstone around his neck. How should he approach his father on thesubject? In his present humor he feared he would have little chance. 

As his father laid down the newspaper Dawkins said, "Wouldn't you like agame of checkers, sir?"

This, as he well knew, was a favorite game with his father. 

"I don't know but I should, " said Mr. Dawkins, more graciously than washis wont. 

The checker-board was brought, and the two commenced playing. Threegames were played all of which his father won. This appeared to puthim in a good humor, for as the two ceased playing, he drew aten-dollar-bill from his pocket-book, and handed to his son, with theremark, "There, George, I don't want you to be penniless. You are alittle extravagant, though, I think. Your pay from Mr. Danforth ought tokeep you in spending money. "

"Yes, sir, I have been rather extravagant, but I am going to reform. "

"I am very glad to hear it. "

"I wish, sir, " said George a moment afterwards, "that you would allow meto buy my own clothes. "

"I've no sort of an objection, I am sure. You select them now, don'tyou?"

"Yes, sir, but I mean to suggest that you should make me an allowancefor that purpose, --about as much as it costs now, --and give me the moneyto spend where I please. "

Mr. Dawkins looked sharply at his son. 

"The result would probably be, " he said, "that the money would beexpended in other ways, and I should have to pay for the clothes twiceover. "

Dawkins would have indignantly disclaimed this, if he had not felt thathe was not altogether sincere in the request he had made. 

"No, " continued his father, "I don't like the arrangement you propose. When you need clothing you can go to my tailor and order it, of coursenot exceeding reasonable limits. "

"But, " said Dawkins, desperately, "I don't like Bradshaw's style ofmaking clothes. I would prefer trying some other tailor. "

"What fault have you to find with Bradshaw? Is he not one of the mostfashionable tailors in the city?"

"Yes, sir, I suppose so, but----"

"Come, sir, you are growing altogether too particular. All your garmentsset well, so far as I can judge. "

"Yes, sir, but one likes a change sometimes, " persisted George, a littleembarrassed for further objections. 

"Well, " said Mr. Dawkins, after a pause, "If you are so strongly bentupon a new tailor, select one, and order what you need. You can tell himto send in his bill to me. "

"Thank you sir, " said his son, by no means pleased at the manner inwhich his request had been granted. He saw that it would in no mannerpromote the plan which he had in view, since it would give him nocommand of the ready money. It is hardly necessary to say that hisalleged dissatisfaction with his father's tailor had all been trumpedup for the occasion, and would never have been thought of but for thepresent emergency. 

"What shall I do!" thought Dawkins, in perplexity, as he slowlyundressed himself and retired to bed. 

The only true course, undoubtedly, was to confess all to his father, to incur the storm of reproaches which would have followed as the justpenalty of his transgression, and then the haunting fear of discoverywould have been once and forever removed. But Dawkins was not braveenough for this. He thought only of escaping from his present difficultywithout his father's knowledge. 

He rose the next morning with the burden of care still weighing uponhim. In the evening the thought occurred to him that he might retrievehis losses where he had incurred them, and again he bent his steps tothe gambling house. He risked five dollars, being one-half of what hehad. This was lost. Desperately he hazarded the remaining five dollars, and lost again. 

With a muttered oath he sprang to his feet, and left the brilliant room, more gloomy and discouraged than ever. He was as badly off as before, and penniless beside. He would have finished the evening at the theater, but his recent loss prevented that. He lounged about the streets till itwas time to go to bed, and then went home in a very unsatisfactory stateof mind. 

A day or two after, he met on Broadway the man whom of all others hewould gladly have avoided. 

"Aha, my friend, I am glad to meet you, " said Duval, for it was he. 

Dawkins muttered something unintelligible, and would have hurried on, but Duval detained him. 

"Why are you in such a hurry, my friend?" he said. 

"Business, " returned Dawkins, shortly. 

"That reminds me of the little business affair between us, mon ami. Haveyou got any money for me?"

"Not yet. "

"Not yet! It is three days since we saw each other. Could you not dosomething in three days?"

"I told you I required a week, " said Dawkins, roughly, "Let go my arm. Itell you I am in haste. "

"Very well, mon ami, " said Duval, slowly relinquishing his hold, "takecare that you do not forget. There are four days more to the week. "

Dawkins hurried on feeling very uncomfortable. He was quite aware thatfour days hence he would be as unprepared to encounter the Frenchman asnow. Still, something might happen. 

Something, unfortunately, did happen. 

The next day Mr. Danforth was counting a roll of bills which had beenjust paid in, when he was unexpectedly called out of the counting-room. He unguardedly left the bills upon his own desk. Dawkins saw them lyingthere. The thought flashed upon him, "There lies what will relieve mefrom all my embarrassment. "

Allowing himself scarcely a minute to think, he took from the roll fourfifty dollar notes, thrust one into the pocket of Paul's overcoat, whichhung up in the office, drew off his right boot and slipped the otherthree into the bottom of it, and put it on again. He then nervouslyresumed his place at his desk. A moment afterwards, Paul, who had beento the post-office, entered with letters which he carried into the inneroffice and deposited on Mr. Danforth's desk. He observed the rollof bills, and thought his employer careless in leaving so much moneyexposed, but said nothing on the subject to Dawkins, between whom andhimself there was little communication. 

XXXI. 

CONVICTED OF THEFT. 

Half an hour later Mr. Danforth returned. 

"Has any one been here?" he asked as he passed through the outer office. 

"No, sir, " said Dawkins, with outward composure though his heart wasbeating rapidly. 

While apparently intent upon his writing he listened attentively to whatmight be going on in the next room. One, --two, --three minutes passed. Mr. Danforth again showed himself. 

"Did you say that no one has been here?" he demanded, abruptly. 

"No, sir. "

"Have either of you been into my office since I have been out?"

"I have not, sir, " said Dawkins. 

"I went in to carry your letters, " said Paul. 

"Did you see a roll of bills lying on my desk?"

"Yes, sir, " said Paul, a little surprised at the question. 

"I have just counted it over, and find but six hundred dollars insteadof eight hundred. Can you account for the discrepancy?"

Mr. Danforth looked keenly at the two boys. Dawkins, who had schooledhimself to the ordeal, maintained his outward calmness. Paul, beginningto perceive that his honesty was called in question, flushed. 

"No, sir, " said the boys simultaneously. 

"It can hardly be possible, that Mr. Thompson, who is a very carefulman, should have made such a mistake in paying me, " resumed Mr. Danforth. 

"As we have been the only persons here, " said Dawkins, "the only way tovindicate ourselves from suspicion is, to submit to a search. "

"Yes, sir, " said Paul promptly. 

Both boys turned their pockets inside out, but the missing money was notfound. 

"There is my overcoat, sir, " said Dawkins, "will you be kind enough tosearch it for yourself?"

Next, of course, Paul's overcoat was searched. 

What was our hero's dismay when from one of the pockets Mr. Danforthproduced a fifty dollar bill. 

"Is it possible?" he exclaimed in as much grief as surprise, "Unhappyboy, how came you by this money in your pocket?"

"I don't know, sir, " returned Paul, his cheek alternately flushing andgrowing pale. 

"I wish I could believe you, " said Mr. Danforth; "where have you put theother bills? Produce them, and I may overlook this first offense. "

"Indeed, sir, " said Paul, in great distress, "I have not the slightestknowledge of how this bill came into my pocket. I hope you will believeme, sir. "

"How can I? The money evidently did not go into your pocket withouthands. "

A sudden thought came to Paul. "Dawkins, " said he, "did you put thatmoney into my pocket?"

"What do you mean, sir?" returned Dawkins, haughtily. "Is it yourintention to insult me?"

Dawkins could not prevent his face from flushing as he spoke, but thismight easily be referred to a natural resentment of the imputation castupon him. 

"Paul, " said his employer, coldly, "you will not help your own causeby seeking to involve another. After what has happened you can hardlyexpect me to retain you in my employment. I will not make public yourdisgrace, nor will I inquire farther for the remainder of the money forwhich you have been willing to barter your integrity. I will pay yourwages up to the end of this week, and----"

"Mr. Danforth, " said Paul, manfully, though the tears almost choked hisutterance, "I am sorry that you have no better opinion of me. I do notwant the balance of my wages. If I have taken so large a sum which didnot belong to me, I have no claim to them. Good-morning, sir. Sometime Ihope you will think better of me. "

Paul put on his coat, and taking his cap from the nail on which it hung, bowed respectfully to his employer and left the office. 

Mr. Danforth looked after him, and seemed perplexed. Could Paul beguilty after all?

"I never could have suspected him if I had not this evidence in myhand, " said Mr. Danforth, to himself, fixing his eyes upon the billwhich he had drawn from Paul's overcoat. 

"Dawkins, did you observe whether Paul remained long in the office?" heasked. 

"Longer than sufficient to lay the letters on the desk?"

"Yes, sir, I think he did. "

"Did you notice whether he went to his overcoat after coming out?"

"Yes, sir, he did, " said Dawkins, anxious to fix in Mr. Danforth's mindthe impression of Paul's guilt. 

"Then I am afraid it is true, " said his employer sadly. "And yet, what afine, manly boy he is too. But it is a terrible fault. "

Mr. Danforth was essentially a kind-hearted man, and he cared much morefor Paul's dereliction from honesty than for the loss of the money. Going home early to dinner, he communicated to his wife the unpleasantdiscovery which he had made respecting Paul. 

Now, from the first, Paul had been a great favorite with Mrs. Danforth, and she scouted at the idea of his dishonesty. 

"Depend upon it, Mr. Danforth, " she said decisively, "you have done theboy an injustice. I have some skill in reading faces, and I tell youthat a boy with Paul Prescott's open, frank expression is incapable ofsuch a crime. "

"So I should have said, my dear, but we men learn to be less trustfulthan you ladies, who stay at home and take rose-colored views of life. Unfortunately, we see too much of the dark side of human nature. "

"So that you conclude all to be dark. "

"Not so bad as that. "

"Tell me all the circumstances, and perhaps a woman's wit may help you. "

Mr. Danforth communicated all the details, with which the reader isalready familiar. 

"What sort of a boy is this Dawkins?" she asked, "Do you like him?"

"Not particularly. He does his duties passably well. I took him into mycounting-room to oblige his father. "

"Perhaps he is the thief. "

"To tell the truth I would sooner have suspected him. "

"Has he cleared himself from suspicion?"

"He was the first to suggest a search. "

"Precisely the thing he would have done, if he had placed the billin Paul's pocket. Of course he would know that the search must resultfavorably for him. "

"There is something in that. "

"Besides, what could have been more foolish, if Paul wished to hide themoney, than to multiply his chances of detection by hiding it in twodifferent places, especially where one was so obvious as to afford noconcealment at all. "

"Admitting this to be true, how am I to arrive at the proof of Paul'sinnocence?"

"My own opinion is, that George Dawkins has the greater part of themoney stolen. Probably he has taken it for some particular purpose. Whatit is, you may learn, perhaps, by watching him. "

"I will be guided by your suggestion. Nothing would afford me greaterpleasure than to find that I have been mistaken in assuming Paul'sguilt, though on evidence that seemed convincing. "

This conversation took place at the dinner-table. Mr. Danforthunderstood that no time was to be lost if he expected to gain anyinformation from the movements of his clerk. 

George Dawkins had ventured upon a bold act, but he had been apparentlyfavored by fortune, and had succeeded. That he should have committedthis crime without compunction could hardly be expected. His uneasiness, however, sprang chiefly from the fear that in some way he might yetbe detected. He resolved to get rid of the money which he hadobtained dishonestly, and obtain back from Duval the acknowledgment ofindebtedness which he had given him. 

You will perhaps ask whether the wrong which he had done Paul affectedhim with uneasiness. On the contrary, it gratified the dislike whichfrom the first he had cherished towards our hero. 

"I am well rid of him, at all events, " he muttered to himself, "that isworth risking some thing for. "

When office hours were over Dawkins gladly threw down his pen, and leftthe counting-room. 

He bent his steps rapidly towards the locality where he had before metDuval. He had decided to wait some time before meeting that worthy. Hehad to wait till another day, when as he was emerging from the tavern heencountered the Frenchman on the threshold. 

"Aha, my good friend, " said Duval, offering his hand, which Dawkins didnot appear to see, "I am very glad to see you. Will you come in?"

"No, I have not time, " said Dawkins, shortly. 

"Have you brought me my money?"

"Yes. "

"Aha, that is well. I was just about what you call cleaned out. "

"Have you my note with you?"

Duval fumbled in his pocket-book, and finally produced the desireddocument. 

"Give it to me. "

"I must have the money first, " said the Frenchman, shrewdly. 

"Take it, " said Dawkins contemptuously. "Do you judge me by yourself?"

He tore the note which he received into small pieces, and left Duvalwithout another word. 

Sheltered by the darkness, Mr. Danforth, who had tracked the steps ofDawkins, had been an unseen witness of this whole transaction. 

XXXII. 

RIGHT TRIUMPHANT. 

George Dawkins resumed his duties the next morning as usual. Notwithstanding the crime he had committed to screen himself from theconsequences of a lighter fault, he felt immeasurably relieved at thethought that he had shaken himself free from the clutches of Duval. Hissatisfaction was heightened by the disgrace and summary dismissal ofPaul, whom he had never liked. He decided to ask the place for a cousinof his own, whose society would be more agreeable to him than that ofhis late associate. 

"Good-morning, sir, " he said, as Mr. Danforth entered. 

"Good-morning, " returned his employer, coldly. 

"Have you selected any one in Prescott's place, yet, sir?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Because I have a cousin, Malcolm Harcourt, who would be glad to takeit. "

"Indeed!" said Mr. Danforth, whose manner somewhat puzzled Dawkins. 

"I should enjoy having him with me, " continued Dawkins. 

"Did you like Prescott?"

"No, sir, " said Dawkins, promptly, "I didn't want to say so before, butnow, since he's turned out so badly, I don't mind saying that I neverthought much of him. "

"On the contrary, " said Mr. Danforth, "I liked him from the first. Perhaps we are wrong in thinking that he took the money. "

"I should think there could be no doubt of it, " said Dawkins, not likingthe sympathy and returning good feeling for Paul which his employermanifested. 

"I don't agree with you, " said Mr. Danforth, coldly. "I have decided toreinstate Paul in his former place. "

"Then, if any more money is missing, you will know where it has gone, "said Dawkins, hastily. 

"I shall. "

"Then there is no chance for my cousin?"

"I am expecting to have a vacancy. "

Dawkins looked up in surprise. 

"I shall require some one to fill YOUR place, " said Mr. Danforth, significantly. 

"Sir!" exclaimed Dawkins, in astonishment and dismay. 

His employer bent a searching glance upon him as he asked, sternly, "where did you obtain the money which you paid away last evening?"

"I--don't--understand--you, sir, " gasped Dawkins, who understood onlytoo well. 

"You met a man at the door of a low tavern in--Street, last evening, towhom you paid one hundred and fifty dollars, precisely the sum which Ilost yesterday. "

"Who has been slandering me, sir?" asked Dawkins, very pale. 

"An eye-witness of the meeting, who heard the conversation between you. If you want more satisfactory proof, here it is. "

Mr. Danforth took from his pocket-book the torn fragments of the notewhich Dawkins had given to Duval. 

"Here is an obligation to pay a certain Duval the sum of one hundred andfifty dollars. It bears your signature. How you could have incurred sucha debt to him you best know. "

Dawkins maintained a sullen silence. 

"I suppose you wish me to leave your employment, " he said at length. 

"You are right. Hold, " he added, as Dawkins was about leaving the room, "a word more. It is only just that you should make a restitution of thesum which you have taken. If you belonged to a poor family and therewere extenuating circumstances, I might forego my claim. But your fatheris abundantly able to make good the loss, and I shall require you tolay the matter before him without loss of time. In consideration of youryouth, I shall not bring the matter before the public tribunals, as Ihave a right to do. "

Dawkins turned pale at this allusion, and muttering some words to theeffect that he would do what he could, left the counting-room. 

This threat proved not to be without its effect. The next day he came toMr. Danforth and brought the sum for which he had become responsible. Hehad represented to his father that he had had his pocket picked of thissum belonging to Mr. Danforth, and in that manner obtained an equalamount to replace it. It was some time before Mr. Dawkins learned thetruth. Then came a storm of reproaches in which all the bitterness ofhis father's nature was fully exhibited. There had never been much lovebetween father and son. Henceforth there was open hatred. 

We must return to Paul, whom we left in much trouble. 

It was a sad walk which he took homeward on the morning of hisdismissal. 

"What brings you home so early?" asked Mrs. Cameron, looking up from herbaking, as Paul entered. 

Paul tried to explain, but tears came to his eyes, and sobs choked hisutterance. 

"Are you sick, Paul?" exclaimed Mrs. Cameron, in alarm. 

"No, Aunt Hester. "

"Then what is the matter?" she asked anxiously. 

"I have lost my place. "

"Poor boy! I am very sorry to hear it. But it might have been worse. "

"No, not very well, Aunt Hester, for Mr. Danforth thinks I have takensome of his money. "

"He is very unjust!" exclaimed Aunt Hester, indignantly, "he ought tohave known better than to think you would steal. "

"Why, no, " said Paul, candidly, "I must confess the evidence was againstme, and he doesn't know me as well as you do, Aunt Hester. "

"Tell me all about it, Paul. "

Aunt Hester sat down and listened attentively to our hero's story. 

"How do you account for the money being found in your pocket?" she askedat length. 

"I think it must have been put there by some one else. "

"Have you any suspicions?"

"Yes, " said Paul, a little reluctantly, "but I don't know whether Iought to have. I may be wronging an innocent person. "

"At any rate it won't do any harm to tell me. "

"You've heard me speak of George Dawkins?"

"Yes. "

"I can't help thinking that he put the fifty dollars into my pocket, andtook the rest himself. "

"How very wicked he must be!" exclaimed Mrs. Cameron, indignantly. 

"Don't judge him too hastily; Aunt Hester, he may not be guilty, and Iknow from my own experience how hard it is to be accused when you areinnocent. "

Soon after the sexton came in, and Paul of course, told his story overagain. 

"Never mind, Paul, " said Uncle Hugh, cheerily. "You know your owninnocence; that is the main thing. It's a great thing to have a clearconscience. "

"But I liked Mr. Danforth and I think he liked me. It's hard to feelthat he and Mrs. Danforth will both think me guilty, especially afterthe kindness which I have experienced from them. "

"We all have our crosses, my boy, --some light and others heavy. Yours, Iadmit is a heavy one for a boy to bear. But when men are unjust there isOne above who will deal justly with us. You have not forgotten him. "

"No, Uncle Hugh, " said Paul, reverently. 

"Trust in him, Paul, and all will come out right at last. He can proveyour innocence, and you may be sure he will, in his own good time. Onlybe patient, Paul. "

"I will try to be, Uncle Hugh. "

The simple, hearty trust in God, which the sexton manifested, was notlost upon Paul. Sustained by his own consciousness of innocence, andthe confidence reposed in him by those who knew him best, his mind soonregained its cheerful tone. He felt an inward conviction that God wouldvindicate his innocence. 

His vindication came sooner than he anticipated. 

The next day as the sexton's family were seated at their plain dinner, aknock was heard upon the outer door. 

"Sit still, Hester, " said Mr. Cameron. "I will go to the door. "

Opening the door he recognized Mr. Danforth, who attended the samechurch. 

"Mr. Cameron, I believe, " said Mr. Danforth, pleasantly. 

"Yes, sir. "

"May I come in? I am here on a little business. "

"Certainly, Mr. Danforth. Excuse my not inviting you before; but in mysurprise at seeing you, I forgot my politeness. "

The sexton led the way into the plain sitting-room. 

"I believe Paul Prescott is an inmate of your family. "

"Yes, sir. I am sorry----"

"I know what you would say, sir; but it is needless. May I see Paul amoment?"

Paul was surprised at the summons, and still more surprised at findingwho it was that wished to see him. 

He entered the room slowly, uncertain how to accost Mr. Danforth. Hisemployer solved the doubt in his mind by advancing cordially, and takinghis hand. 

"Paul, " he said pleasantly, "I have come here to ask your forgivenessfor an injustice, and to beg you to resume your place in mycounting-room. "

"Have you found out who took the money, sir?" asked Paul, eagerly. 

"Yes. "

"Who was it, sir?"

"It was Dawkins. "

Mr. Danforth explained how he had become acquainted with the real thief. In conclusion, he said, "I shall expect you back to-morrow morning, Paul. "

"Thank you, sir. "

"Dawkins of course leaves my employ. You will take his place, andreceive his salary, seven dollars a week instead of five. Have you anyfriend whom you would like to have in your own place?"

Paul reflected a moment and finally named a schoolmate of his, the sonof poor parents, whom he knew to be anxiously seeking a situation, butwithout influential friends to help him. 

"I will take him on your recommendation, " said Mr. Danforth, promptly. "Can you see him this afternoon?"

"Yes, sir, " said Paul. 

The next day Paul resumed his place in Mr. Danforth's counting-room. 

XXXIII. 

PAUL REDEEMS HIS PLEDGE. 

Two years passed, unmarked by any incident of importance. Paulcontinued in Mr. Danforth's employment, giving, if possible, increasedsatisfaction. He was not only faithful, but exhibited a rare aptitudefor business, which made his services of great value to his employer. From time to time Mr. Danforth increased his salary, so that, thoughonly nineteen, he was now receiving twelve dollars per week, with theprospect of a speedy increase. But with his increasing salary, he didnot increase his expenses. He continued as economical as ever. He hadnot forgotten his father's dying injunction. He remained true to thecharge which he had taken upon himself, that of redeeming his father'smemory from reproach. This, at times subjected him to the imputationof meanness, but for this he cared little. He would not swerve from theline of duty which he had marked out. 

One evening as he was walking down Broadway with an acquaintance, EdwardHastings, who was employed in a counting-room near him, they pausedbefore a transparency in front of a hall brilliantly lighted. 

"The Hutchinsons are going to sing to-night, Paul, " said Hastings. "Didyou ever hear them?"

"No; but I have often wished to. "

"Then suppose we go in. "

"No, I believe not. "

"Why not. Paul? It seems to me you never go anywhere. You ought to amuseyourself now and then. "

"Some other time I will, --not now. "

"You are not required to be at home in the evening, are you?"

"No. "

"Then why not come in now? It's only twenty-five cents. "

"To tell the truth, Ned, I am saving up my money for a particularpurpose; and until that is accomplished, I avoid all unnecessaryexpense. "

"Going to invest in a house in Fifth Avenue? When you do, I'll call. However, never mind the expense. I'll pay you in. "

"I'm much obliged to you, Ned, but I can't accept. "

"Why not?"

"Because at present I can't afford to return the favor. "

"Never mind that. "

"But I do mind it. By-and-by I shall feel more free. Good-night, if youare going in. "

"Good-night, Paul. "

"He's a strange fellow, " mused Hastings. 

"It's impossible to think him mean, and yet, it looks a great deal likeit. He spends nothing for dress or amusements. I do believe that I'vehad three coats since he's been wearing that old brown one. Yet, healways looks neat. I wonder what he's saving up his money for. "

Meanwhile Paul went home. 

The sexton and his wife looked the same as ever. Paul sometimes fanciedthat Uncle Hugh stooped a little more than he used to do; but his lifemoved on so placidly and evenly, that he grew old but slowly. AuntHester was the same good, kind, benevolent friend that she had alwaysbeen. No mother could have been more devoted to Paul. He felt that hehad much to be grateful for, in his chance meeting with this worthycouple. 

It was the first of January, --a clear, cold day. A pleasant fire burnedin the little stove. Mr. Cameron sat at one side, reading the eveningpaper; Mrs. Cameron at the other, knitting a stocking for Paul. A large, comfortable-looking cat was dozing tranquilly on the hearth-rug. Paul, who had been seated at the table, rose and lighted a candle. 

"Where are you going, Paul?" asked Aunt Hester. 

"Up-stairs for a moment. "

Paul speedily returned, bearing in his hand a small blue bank-book, withhis name on the cover. 

He took out his pencil and figured a few minutes. 

"Uncle Hugh, " said he, looking up, "when I get a hundred dollars more, Ishall have enough to pay father's debt. "

"Principal and interest?"

"Yes, principal and interest; reckoning the interest for a year tocome. "

"I did not suppose you had so much money, Paul. You must have been veryeconomical. "

"Yes, Uncle Hugh more so than I have wanted to be, oftentimes; butwhenever I have been tempted to spend a cent unnecessarily, I havealways called to mind my promise made to father on his deathbed, and Ihave denied myself. "

"You have done well, Paul. There are few who would have had theresolution to do as you have. "

"Oh yes, Uncle Hugh, " said Paul, modestly, "I think there are a greatmany. I begin to feel repaid already. In a few months I shall be able topay up the whole debt. "

At this moment a knock was heard at the door. Mr. Cameron answered thesummons. 

"Does Mr. Paul Prescott live here?" inquired a boy. 

"Yes. Do you want to see him?"

"Here is a letter for him. There is no answer. "

The messenger departed, leaving the letter in Mr. Cameron's hand. 

Somewhat surprised, he returned to the sitting-room and handed it toPaul. 

Paul opened it hastily, and discovered inclosed, a bank-note for onehundred dollars. It was accompanied with a note from his employer, stating that it was intended as a New Year's gift, but in the hurry ofbusiness, he had forgotten to give it to him during the day. 

Paul's face lighted up with joy. 

"Oh, Uncle Hugh!" he exclaimed, almost breathless with delight. "Don'tyou see that this will enable me to pay my debt at once?"

"So it will, Paul. I wish you joy. "

"And my father's memory will be vindicated, " said Paul, in a tone ofdeep satisfaction. "If he could only have lived to see this day!"

A fortnight later, Paul obtained permission from his employer tobe absent from the office for a week. It was his purpose to visitCedarville and repay 'Squire Conant the debt due him: and then, to goacross the country to Wrenville, thirty miles distant, to see Aunt LucyLee. First, however, he ordered a new suit of a tailor, feeling a desireto appear to the best advantage on his return to the scene of his formerhumiliation. I must not omit to say that Paul was now a fine-lookingyoung fellow of nineteen, with a frank, manly face, that won favorwherever he went. 

In due course of time, he arrived at Cedarville, and found his waywithout difficulty to the house of 'Squire Conant. 

It was a large house, rather imposing in its exterior, being quite thefinest residence in the village. 

Paul went up the walk, and rang the bell. 

"Can I see 'Squire Conant?" he asked of the servant who answered thebell. 

"You'll find him in that room, " said the girl, pointing to a door on theleft hand of the hall. 

"As he doesn't know me, perhaps you had better go before. "

The door was opened, and Paul found himself in the presence of hisfather's creditor. 'Squire Conant was looking pale and thin. He was justrecovering from a severe sickness. 

"I presume you don't recognize me, sir, " said Paul. 

"Did I ever see you before?"

"Yes, sir; my name is Paul Prescott. "

"Not the son of John Prescott?"

"The same, sir. I believe my father died in your debt. "

"Yes. I lent him five hundred dollars, which he never repaid. "

"He tried to do so, sir. He had saved up a hundred and fifty dollarstowards it, but sickness came upon him, and he was obliged to use it. "

'Squire Conant's temper had been subdued by the long and dangerousillness through which he had passed. It had made him set a smaller valueon his earthly possessions, from which he might be separated at anymoment. When he answered Paul, it was in a manner which our hero did notexpect. 

"Never mind. I can afford to lose it. I have no doubt he did what hecould. "

"But I have come to pay it, sir, " said Paul. 

"You!" exclaimed 'Squire Conant, in the greatest astonishment. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Where did you get the money?"

"I earned it, sir. "

"But you are very young. How could you have earned so much?"

Paul frankly told the story of his struggles; how for years he hadpractised a pinching economy, in order to redeem his father's memoryfrom reproach. 

'Squire Conant listened attentively. 

"You are a good boy, " he said, at length. 

"Shall you have anything left after paying this money?"

"No, sir; but I shall soon earn more. "

"Still, you ought to have something to begin the world with. You shallpay me half the money, and I will cancel the note. "

"But, sir, ----"

"Not a word. I am satisfied, and that is enough. If I hadn't lent yourfather the money, I might have invested it with the rest, and lost all. "

'Squire Conant produced the note from a little trunk of papers, andhanded it to Paul, who paid him the amount which he had stipulated, expressing at the same time his gratitude for his unexpected generosity. 

"Never mind about thanks, my boy, " said 'Squire Conant: "I am afraid Ihave loved money too well heretofore. I hope I am not too old to turnover a new leaf. "

XXXIV. 

HOW PAUL GOES BACK TO WRENVILLE. 

While 'Squire Conant was speaking, Paul formed a sudden resolution. Heremembered that Aunt Lucy Lee was a sister of 'Squire Conant. Perhaps, in his present frame of mind, it might be possible to induce him to dosomething for her. 

"I believe I am acquainted with a sister of yours, 'Squire Conant, " hecommenced. 

"Ha!" exclaimed the 'Squire. 

"Mrs. Lucy Lee. "

"Yes, " was the slow reply; "she is my sister. Where did you meet her?"

"At the Wrenville Poorhouse. "

"How long ago?"

"About six years since. "

"Is she there, still?"

"Yes, sir. Since I have been in New York, I have heard from herfrequently. I am going from here to visit her. Have you any message, sir? I am sure she would be glad to hear from you. "

"She shall hear from me, " said the 'Squire in a low voice. "Sit down, and I will write her a letter which, I hope, will not prove unwelcome. "

Five minutes afterwards he handed Paul an open letter. 

"You may read it, " he said, abruptly. 

"You have been a better friend to my sister than I. You shall witness mylate reparation. "

The letter was as follows:----

CEDARVILLE, JAN 13, 18--. 

MY DEAR SISTER:--

I hope you will forgive me for my long neglect. It is not fitting thatwhile I am possessed of abundant means you should longer remain thetenant of an almshouse. I send you by the bearer of this note, PaulPrescott, who, I understand, is a friend of yours, the sum of threehundred dollars. The same sum will be sent you annually. I hope it willbe sufficient to maintain you comfortably. I shall endeavor to call uponyou soon, and meanwhile remain, Your affectionate brother, EZEKIEL CONANT. 

Paul read this letter with grateful joy. It seemed almost to good to betrue. Aunt Lucy would be released from the petty tyranny of Mrs. Mudge'shousehold, and perhaps--he felt almost sure Aunt Hester would be willingto receive her as a boarder, thus insuring her a peaceful and happy homein her declining years. 

"Oh, sir, " said he, seizing 'Squire Conant's hand, "you cannot tell howhappy you have made me. "

"It is what I ought to have done before. Here is the money referred toin the letter, --three hundred dollars, --mind you don't lose it. "

"I will take every care, sir. "

"You may tell my sister that I shall be happy to have her write me. "

"I will, sir. "

Paul left 'Squire Conant's house, feeling that he had great cause forjoy. The 'Squire's refusal to receive more than half the debt, left himmaster of over three hundred dollars. But I am not sure whether he didnot rejoice even more over the good fortune which had come to Aunt LucyLee, whose kindness to him, in his unfriended boyhood, he would everhold in grateful remembrance. He enjoyed in anticipation the joywhich he knew Aunt Lucy would feel when the change in her fortunes wascommunicated to her. He knew also how great would be the chagrin of Mr. And Mrs. Mudge, when they found that the meek old lady whom they hatedwas about to be rescued from their clutches. On the whole, Paul feltthat this was the happiest day of his life. It was a satisfaction tofeel that the good fortune of his early friend was all due to his ownintercession. 

He was able to take the cars to a point four miles distant fromWrenville. On getting out on the platform he inquired whether there wasa livery stable near by. He was directed to one but a few rods distant. Entering he asked, "Can you let me have a horse and chaise to go toWrenville?"

"Yes, sir, " said the groom. 

"Let me have the best horse in the stable, " said Paul, "and charge meaccordingly. "

"Yes, sir, " said the groom, respectfully, judging from Paul's dress andtone that he was a young gentleman of fortune. 

A spirited animal was brought out, and Paul was soon seated in thechaise driving along the Wrenville road. Paul's city friends wouldhardly have recognized their economical acquaintance in the well-dressedyoung man who now sat behind a fast horse, putting him through his bestpaces. It might have been a weakness in Paul, but he remembered themanner in which he left Wrenville, an unfriended boy, compelled to flyfrom persecution under the cover of darkness, and he felt a certainpride in showing the Mudges that his circumstances were now entirelychanged. It was over this very road that he had walked with his littlebundle, in the early morning, six years before. It seemed to him almostlike a dream. 

At length he reached Wrenville. Though he had not been there for sixyears, he recognized the places that had once been familiar to him. Buteverything seemed to have dwindled. Accustomed to large city warehouses, the houses in the village seemed very diminutive. Even 'Squire BenjaminNewcome's house, which he had once regarded as a stately mansion, nowlooked like a very ordinary dwelling. 

As he rode up the main street of the village, many eyes were fixedupon him and his carriage, but no one thought of recognizing, inthe well-dressed youth, the boy who had run away from the WrenvillePoorhouse. 

XXXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

At the very moment that Paul was driving through the village street, Mr. Nicholas Mudge entered the Poorhouse in high spirits. Certainlyill-fortune must have befallen some one to make the good man soexhilarant. 

To explain, Mr. Mudge had just been to the village store to purchasesome groceries. One of his parcels was tied up in a stray leaf of arecent New York Daily, in which he discovered an item which he feltsure would make Aunt Lucy unhappy. He communicated it to Mrs. Mudge, who highly approved his design. She called the old lady from the commonroom. 

"Here, Aunt Lucy, " she said, "is something that will interest you. "

Aunt Lucy came in, wondering a little at such an unusual mark ofattention. 

Mrs. Mudge immediately commenced reading with malicious emphasis aparagraph concerning a certain Paul Prescott, who had been arrestedfor thieving, and sentenced to the House of Reformation for a term ofmonths. 

"There, " said Mrs. Mudge, triumphantly, "what do you say to yourfavorite now? Turned out well, hasn't he? Didn't I always say so? Ialways knew that boy was bad at heart, and that he'd come to a bad end. "

"I don't believe it's the same boy, " declared Aunt Lucy, who wasnevertheless unpleasantly affected by the paragraph. She thought itpossible that Paul might have yielded to a powerful temptation. 

"Perhaps you think I've been making it up. If you don't believe it lookat the paper for yourself, " thrusting it into Aunt Lucy's hands. 

"Yes, " said the old lady. "I see that the name is the same; but, forall that, there is a mistake somewhere. I do not believe it is the sameboy. "

"You don't? Just as if there would be more than one boy of that name. There may be other Prescotts, but there isn't but one Paul Prescott, take my word for it. "

"If it is he, " said Aunt Lucy, indignantly, "is it Christianlike torejoice over the poor boy's misfortune?"

"Misfortune!" retorted Mrs. Mudge with a sneer; "you call it amisfortune to steal, then! I call it a crime. "

"It's often misfortune that drives people to it, though, " continued theold lady, looking keenly at Mrs. Mudge. "I have known cases where theydidn't have that excuse. "

Mrs. Mudge colored. 

"Go back to your room, " said she, sharply; "and don't stay here accusingme and Mr. Mudge of unchristian conduct. You're the most troublesomepauper we have on our hands; and I do wish the town would provide foryou somewhere else. "

"So do I, " sighed the old lady to herself, though she did not think fitto give audible voice to her thoughts. 

It was at this moment that Paul halted his chaise at the gate, andlightly jumping out, fastened his horse to a tree, and walked up to thefront door. 

"Who can it be?" thought Mrs. Mudge, hastily adjusting her cap, andtaking off her apron. 

"I don't know, I'm sure, " said Mr. Mudge, unsuspiciously. 

"I declare! I look like a fright. "

"No worse than usual, " said her husband, gallantly. 

By this time Paul had knocked. 

"Good-morning, sir, " said Mrs. Mudge, deferentially, her respect excitedby Paul's dress and handsome chaise. 

"Is Mrs. Lee in?" inquired Paul, not caring to declare himself, yet, tohis old enemy. 

"Yes, " said Mrs. Mudge, obsequiously, though not overpleased to findthat this was Aunt Lucy's visitor; "would you like to see her?"

"If you please. "

"What can he want of the old lady?" thought Mrs. Mudge, as she went tosummon her. 

"A visitor for me?" asked Aunt Lucy, looking at Mrs. Mudge somewhatsuspiciously. 

"Yes; and as he's come in a carriage, you'd better slick up a little;put on a clean cap or something. "

Aunt Lucy was soon ready. 

She looked wonderingly at Paul, not recognizing him. 

"You are not very good at remembering your old friends, " said Paul, witha smile. 

"What!" exclaimed Aunt Lucy, her face lighting up with joy; "are youlittle Paul?"

"Not very little, now, " said our hero, laughing; "but I'm the same Paulyou used to know. "

Mrs. Mudge, who through the half open door had heard this revelation, was overwhelmed with astonishment and confusion. She hurried to herhusband. 

"Wonders will never cease!" she exclaimed, holding up both hands. "Ifthat doesn't turn out to be Paul Prescott. Of course he's up in theworld, or he wouldn't dress so well, and ride in such a handsomecarriage. "

"You don't say so!" returned Mr. Mudge, who looked as if he had heard ofa heavy misfortune. 

"Yes, I do; I heard him say so with his own lips. It's a pity you showedthat paragraph to Aunt Lucy, this morning. "

"That you showed, you mean, " retorted her husband. 

"No, I don't. You know it was you that did it. "

"Hush; they'll hear. "

Meanwhile the two friends were conversing together happily. 

"I'm so glad you're doing so well, Paul, " said Aunt Lucy. "It was alucky day when you left the Poorhouse behind you. "

"Yes, Aunt Lucy, and to-day is a lucky day for you. There's room for twoin that chaise, and I'm going to take you away with me. "

"I should enjoy a ride, Paul. It's a long time since I have taken one. "

"You don't understand me. You're going away not to return. "

The old lady smiled sadly. 

"No, no, Paul. I can't consent to become a burden upon your generosity. You can't afford it, and it will not be right. "

"O, " said Paul, smiling, "you give me credit for too much. I mean thatyou shall pay your board. "

"But you know I have no money. "

"No, I don't. I don't consider that a lady is penniless, who has anincome of three hundred dollars a year. "

"I don't understand you, Paul. "

"Then, perhaps you will understand this, " said our hero, enjoying theold lady's astonishment. 

He drew from his pocket a roll of bills, and passed them to Aunt Lucy. 

The old lady looked so bewildered, that he lost no time in explainingthe matter to her. Then, indeed, Aunt Lucy was happy; not only becauseshe had become suddenly independent, but, because after years ofcoldness and estrangement, her brother had at last become reconciled toher. 

"Now, Aunt Lucy, " resumed Paul, "I'll tell you what my plans are. Youshall get into the chaise with me, and go at once to New York. I thinkAunt Hester will be willing to receive you as a boarder; if not, I willfind you a pleasant place near by. Will that suit you?"

"It will make me very happy; but I cannot realize it. It seems like adream. "

At this moment Mrs. Mudge entered the room, and, after a moment'sscrutiny, pretended to recognize Paul. Her husband followed close behindher. 

"Can I believe my eyes?" she exclaimed. "Is this indeed Paul Prescott? Iam very glad to see you back. "

"Only a visit, Mrs. Mudge, " said Paul, smiling. 

"You'll stop to dinner, I hope?"

Paul thought of the soup and dry bread which he used to find souninviting, and said that he should not have time to do so. 

"We've thought of you often, " said Mr. Mudge, writhing his harshfeatures into a smile. "There's scarcely a day that we haven't spoken ofyou. "

"I ought to feel grateful for your remembrance, " said Paul, his eyestwinkling with mirth. "But I don't think, Mr. Mudge, you always thoughtso much of me. "

Mr. Mudge coughed in some embarrassment, and not thinking of anything inparticular to say, said nothing. 

"I am going to take from you another of your boarders, " said Paul. "Canyou spare Aunt Lucy?"

"For how long?" asked Mrs. Mudge. 

"For all the time. She has just come into possession of a littleproperty, --several hundred dollars a year, --and I have persuaded her togo to New York to board. "

"Is this true?" exclaimed Mrs. Mudge in astonishment. 

"Yes, " said the old lady, "God has been bountiful to me when I leastexpected it. "

"Can I be of any service in assisting you to pack up, Mrs. Lee?"asked Mrs. Mudge, with new-born politeness. She felt that as a lady ofproperty, Aunt Lucy was entitled to much greater respect and deferencethan before. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Mudge, " said Paul, answering for her. 

"She won't have occasion for anything in this house. She will get asupply of new things when she gets to New York. "

The old lady looked very happy, and Mrs. Mudge, in spite of her outwarddeference, felt thoroughly provoked at her good fortune. 

I will not dwell upon the journey to New York. Aunt Lucy, thoughsomewhat fatigued, bore it much better than she had anticipated. Mr. AndMrs. Cameron entered very heartily into Paul's plans, and readily agreedto receive Aunt Lucy as an inmate of their happy and united household. The old lady felt it to be a happy and blessed change from thePoorhouse, where scanty food and poor accommodations had been madeharder to bear by the ill temper of Mr. And Mrs. Mudge, to a home whoseatmosphere was peace and kindness. 

*****

And now, dear reader, it behooves us to draw together the differentthreads of our story, and bring all to a satisfactory end. 

Mr. And Mrs. Mudge are no longer in charge of the Wrenville Poorhouse. After Aunt Lucy's departure, Mrs. Mudge became so morose and despotic, that her rule became intolerable. Loud complaints came to the ears of'Squire Newcome, Chairman of the Overseers of the Poor. One fine morninghe was compelled to ride over and give the interesting couple warningto leave immediately. Mr. Mudge undertook the charge of a farm, but hishabits of intoxication increased upon him to such an extent, that he wasfound dead one winter night, in a snow-drift, between his own house andthe tavern. Mrs. Mudge was not extravagant in her expressions of grief, not having a very strong affection for her husband. At last accounts, she was keeping a boarding-house in a manufacturing town. Some timesince, her boarders held an indignation meeting, and threatened toleave in a body unless she improved her fare, --a course to which she wasobliged to submit. 

George Dawkins, unable to obtain a recommendation from Mr. Danforth, didnot succeed in securing another place in New York. He finally prevailedupon his father to advance him a sum of money, with which he went toCalifornia. Let us hope that he may "turn over a new leaf" there, andestablish a better reputation than he did in New York. 

Mr. Stubbs is still in the tin business. He is as happy as the day islong, and so are his wife and children. Once a year he comes to New Yorkand pays Paul a visit. This supplies him with something to talk aboutfor the rest of the year. He is frugal in his expenses, and is ableto lay up a couple of hundred dollars every year, which he confides toPaul, in whose financial skill he has the utmost confidence. 

I am sure my boy readers would not forgive me for omitting to tell themsomething more about Ben Newcome. Although his mirthful spirit sometimesled him into mischief, he was good-hearted, and I have known him do manyan act of kindness, even at considerable trouble to himself. It will beremembered that in consequence of his night adventure, during whichhe personated a ghost, much to the terror of Mr. Mudge his fatherdetermined to send him to a military school. This proved to be awise arrangement. The discipline was such as Ben needed, and he soondistinguished himself by his excellence in the military drill. Soonafter he graduated, the Rebellion broke out, and Ben was at once, inspite of his youth, elected Captain of the Wrenville company. At thebattle of Antietam he acquitted himself with so much credit that hewas promoted to a major. He was again promoted, and when Richmond wasevacuated, he was one of the first officers to enter the streets of theRebel capital, a colonel in command of his regiment. I have heard onhigh authority, that he is considered one of the best officers in theservice. 

Mr. And Mrs. Cameron are still living. They are happy in the success andincreasing prosperity of Paul, whom they regard as a son. Between themand Aunt Lucy he would stand a very fair chance of being spoiled, if hisown good sense and good judgment were not sufficient to save him fromsuch a misfortune. Paul is now admitted to a small interest in the firm, which entitles him to a share in the profits. As Danforth and Co. Havedone a very extensive business of late years, this interest brings himin a very handsome income. There is only one cause of difference betweenhim and the sexton. He insists that Uncle Hugh, who is getting infirm, should resign his office, as he is abundantly able to support the wholefamily. But the good sexton loves his duties, and will continue todischarge them as long as he is able. 

And now we must bid farewell to Paul. He has battled bravely with thedifficulties and discouragements that beset him in early life, hehas been faithful to the charge which he voluntarily assumed, and hisfather's memory is free from reproach. He often wishes that his fathercould have lived to witness his prosperity? but God has decreed itotherwise. Happy in the love of friends, and in the enjoyment of allthat can make life desirable, so far as external circumstances have thatpower, let us all wish him God speed!