"How is Miss Douglas?" he asked.

"Very contrary," answered the landlady. "I can't get her to eat. It's my belief she means to starve herself."

"It's a crazy freak," said Jones, shrugging his shoulders. "Well, I've come to take her away."

"To take her away—so soon?" asked Mrs. Bradshaw, in surprise.

"Yes, Mr. Orton thought it best."

"Is he with you?"

"No."

"I think I see some one in the carriage."

"To be sure. It's the mad doctor from the asylum. Don't let Miss Douglas know it," continued Jones, lowering his voice, "or she wouldn't consent to go with us."

"I see," answered the landlady, nodding. "Do you want to go up now?"

"Yes; let me see her alone, so that I can tell her a story which will quiet her suspicions."

"Mr. Campbell hasn't paid me all he promised yet," said Mrs. Bradshaw, rather uneasily.

"Oh, that's all right," said Jones. "He never forgets his promise—and seldom keeps it," he said to himself.

Florence was sitting on the lounge in her room in rather a despondent state of mind when the door opened, and she looked up, expecting to see Orton Campbell.

Jones closed the door behind him, and then, putting his hand over his lips, said, "Miss Douglas, I bring you good news."

"Are you not the man who brought me out here yesterday?"

"The same one."

"Then how have you the face to show yourself in my presence?"

"Because I am come to free you from your imprisonment."

Florence started to her feet in some excitement. "If this were true!" she exclaimed. "But no; you are an agent of Orton Campbell, and this is some new trick of his."

"I was an agent of Orton Campbell, but he deceived me, and I am his enemy."

"Is he with you?" asked Florence, suspiciously.

"No; but in the carriage outside is one whom you will be glad to meet."

"Who is it?"

"Richard Dewey."

"You brought me a note from him which he never wrote. How do you expect me to believe you now?"

"If he is not there, don't get into the carriage. Not a word to Mrs. Bradshaw. She is in the employ of Mr. Campbell, who represented you as insane, and I told her that Mr. Dewey, whom I did not dare to bring in, was a doctor from the insane asylum."

"Are you sure you are not deceiving me?" said Florence, earnestly.

"I am on the square, miss, but you can easily convince yourself by coming down stairs. If you prefer to remain here till nine o'clock, when Orton Campbell will be here, you can do so."

"No, no! anything better than that!"

Mrs. Bradshaw watched the exit of her guest with a peculiar look. "She little knows where she's going," thought the woman. "Well, if she's crazy, it's the best place for her."

As may easily be imagined, there was scant leave-taking. Florence was eager to leave this shabby cabin, where she had passed a night of anxious solicitude.

She approached the carriage, and Jones opened the door. She looked in, and saw Dewey, who said in a low voice, "Get in at once, Florence, but keep silent till we are on our way."

An expression of joy came over her face as she saw this most convincing proof of her driver's good faith. He mounted the box and drove rapidly off.

On their way back to San Francisco the two who had been so long separated had ample time to compare notes and form plans for the future.

"Florence," said Richard Dewey, "after this treachery of Orton Campbell there is but one way of safety for you."

"And what is that?"

"Let me become your legal protector, and at once. When we are married your guardian will be powerless. He will have me to deal with then, not a defenceless girl."

"But, Richard, this seems so sudden!"

"It ought not to, Florence. Have we not waited for each other long enough? Have we not been separated long enough? I am not much richer than when I left you—not so rich," he added, smiling, "as your other suitor, Orton Campbell."

"I will marry you if only to get rid of him, Richard," said Florence, impetuously.

"I won't quarrel with your motives, since you consent."

So it happened that on their arrival in San Francisco they directed Jones to drive to the house of a clergyman, and were speedily united in marriage, the clergyman's wife and daughter being witnesses. Circumstances compelled them to dispense with the usual "cards and cake."

At nine o'clock, Orton Campbell, secure of his prey, drove up to Mrs. Bradshaw's door and leisurely descended.

"Well, and how is Miss Douglas this morning?" he asked of the astonished landlady.

"How is she? She's gone."

"What!" ejaculated Orton, furiously; "you have dared to let her escape?"

"You sent for her yourself. She went away with the mad doctor."

"'The mad doctor'? I don't know anything about any mad doctor. Woman, you are deceiving me."

"Don't call me woman!" said Mrs. Bradshaw, offensively, putting her arms akimbo. "I'm no more a woman than you are."

"Then you'd better dress differently," sneered Campbell. "Tell me what all this means."

"The man that drove the lady out here yesterday came here more than an hour ago and said you had sent for her. He said there was a doctor in the carriage who would take her to the asylum. That corresponded with what you told me, and I let her go."

"That scoundrel Jones!" exclaimed Orton Campbell. "So this is his revenge? I must go back to the city at once and circumvent him if I can."

He was about to go when Mrs. Bradshaw said, "Before you go you'd better pay me what you promised."

"I won't pay you a cent," said Campbell, angrily.

"Jack!"

The word spoken by the woman brought a rough-looking man to the carriage-door.

"This man says he won't pay me a cent, Jack," said Mrs. Bradshaw.

"You'd better reconsider that, stranger," said Jack, pulling out a revolver and fingering it significantly.

"I owe her nothing," said Orton Campbell, surveying the revolver uneasily. "If she had kept the young lady here, it would have been different."

"If there's a trick been played on you, my wife ain't goin' to suffer by it. She's earned the money, stranger, and I'll give you just two minutes to pay it over."

Orton Campbell read something in the man's face that convinced him he was not to be trifled with. With many an inward groan he drew out one hundred dollars from his purse and handed it over.

"That's all right, stranger," said Jack, coolly. "I thought you'd be reasonable. Short reckonings make long friends."

With a muttered imprecation Orton Campbell sharply ordered his driver to turn the horses' heads toward San Francisco and make his way there as quickly as possible. His thoughts were by no means pleasant company. He had just been forced to pay out a considerable sum without value received, and was beginning to think the sum paid to Jones also money thrown away.



CHAPTER XXIX.

A WEDDING RECEPTION.

Orton Campbell cursed his folly in arousing the hostility of Jones. He concluded that the latter had released Florence in order to obtain a hold upon him, and would be ready to assist him again if satisfactorily paid. In that event all was not lost. It was necessary to see Jones as early as possible and make matters right with him.

He was not quite clear as to where Jones could be found, but concluded that he had carried Florence back to her boarding-house. He therefore ordered his driver to proceed at once to the house of Mrs. Armstrong.

He hastily descended from the carriage and rang the bell.

It was answered by Mrs. Armstrong in person, who regarded him with no very friendly eye.

Orton Campbell, knowing his own treachery, and conscious that it was also known to the lady before him, asked, in some embarrassment, "Is Miss Douglas here?"

"No, sir."

Orton Campbell looked surprised. "I—I thought she might be here," he stammered.

"Were you the person who lured her from my house yesterday by a false letter?" demanded Mrs. Armstrong, sternly.

"No," answered Campbell, unblushingly; "it was an agent of mine, who has deceived and betrayed me."

"Then, you had nothing to do with the disappearance of the young lady?"

"Certainly not," answered Orton Campbell, boldly. "I assure you it has given me great concern, and I have been riding hither and thither this morning in search of her."

"Won't you come in, sir? Perhaps we may be able to throw some light on this mystery."

"She believes me," thought Orton Campbell, congratulating himself on the effect of his duplicity.—"Certainly," he answered; "I shall be most happy to do so."

He was ushered into the parlor, into which, five minutes later, entered Florence, Richard Dewey, and a gentleman of clerical appearance.

"Miss Douglas!" exclaimed Orton Campbell, in astonishment.—"I thought you said," turning to Mrs. Armstrong, "that Miss Douglas was not here?"

"I am not Miss Douglas," said Florence, quietly.

"I don't understand you."

"Perhaps I can explain the mystery," said Richard Dewey, coming forward.

"I wish you would, if you can," said Orton Campbell, with a sneer.

"This young lady is my wife."

"Your wife? And who are you?"

"Richard Dewey, at your service."

Orton Campbell had never known Dewey well, and his life at the mines had so changed his appearance that it was not surprising he did not recognize him.

"Is this true?" he asked, in visible dismay. "When were you married?"

"Half an hour since, by this gentleman;" and Richard Dewey waved his hand in the direction of the clerical gentleman already referred to.

"You have done a good stroke of business, sir," said Campbell, with a sneer and a look of baffled hatred. "The lady's fortune makes her a good match."

"So you evidently thought, sir," answered Dewey. "Your unscrupulous methods have not succeeded, and I beg to warn you that the lady now has a protector who will punish any such persecution as that with which you have recently visited her."

"You are quite mistaken. My agent—"

"Only followed your instructions," said an unexpected voice, as Jones, who was within hearing, now entered from the adjoining room. "Mr. Orton, I have confessed all, so you needn't try to humbug this gentleman."

"You are a scoundrel," said Campbell, wrathfully, excited by the appearance of the man who, in return for being cheated, had betrayed him.

"Then there's a pair of us, Mr. Campbell," said he, coolly. "I admit that I behaved like a rascal, but I've tried to set matters right."

"You can find your way back to New York as you can; I have done with you," said Campbell, hardly conscious that this very remark betrayed him.

"Mr. Dewey has kindly offered to take me back with him," said Jones, not at all disturbed by this notice.

"If you are going back by the next steamer, Mr. Campbell," said Richard Dewey, "I will thank you to apprise your father of his ward's marriage, and ask him to arrange for the surrender of her property at the proper time."

"You may attend to your own messages, sir," said Orton, irritably. "I will have nothing to do with them."

Without any further words he hurried out of the house, and drove at once to the office of the steamship company, where he secured passage by the earliest vessel eastward bound.

That same evening Mr. and Mrs. Richard Dewey held an informal reception at their boarding-house.

It was not largely attended, for Florence had made but few acquaintances during her stay in the city. Uncertain as her prospects were, she had thought it best to keep aloof from her friends, who might possibly make known her residence to her guardian. Among those present, however, were Richard Dewey's tried friends, Bradley and Ben Stanton.

Bradley tried to excuse himself, on the ground that he was only a rough miner and not accustomed to society, but his objection was overruled both by Florence and her husband.

"You are a true friend, Mr. Bradley," said Florence, gratefully, "and I should miss you more than any one else except my young friend and cousin, Ben."

"Ben's different from what I am," said Bradley. "He ain't such a rough specimen."

"I'm only a miner, like you," said Ben. "I am a country boy and not used to society, but I don't believe Cousin Ida will care for that."

"Cousin Ida" was the name by which Ben had been instructed to call Florence when she came out to California under his escort.

The upshot of it all was that both Bradley and Ben were present at the bride's reception, and were made so thoroughly at home by Mrs. Richard Dewey that neither felt in the least awkward.

Two weeks later Richard Dewey and his wife sailed for New York, but Ben and Bradley remained behind.

"Come with us, Ben," said Florence. "I don't like to leave you behind."

"Thank you, Miss Florence—I mean Mrs. Dewey," said the boy—"but I am not ready to go yet."

"Don't let the thought of money keep you here, Ben. I am rich, or I shall be in a few months, when my guardian surrenders his trust, and I will take care that you are well provided for."

"Thank you again," said Ben; "but I've promised to go back to the mines. I've got a claim reserved for me, and so has Bradley. We'll go back now and try to gather a little more gold-dust."

"But you'll let us see you in New York before long?"

"Yes, I shall go home in a few months, even if I come back again later. I want to see Uncle Job and Cousin Jennie, and all my old friends, not forgetting Sam Sturgis," added Ben, smiling.

"We must be content with that, I suppose," said the young lady. "I hope you will have good luck, but even if you don't, remember that you have two friends who will only be too glad to be of service to you.—Please consider, Mr. Bradley, that this is said to you also."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Jake Bradley, awkwardly, for with all his good traits he was not quite at ease in the society of ladies.

Ben and Bradley saw the young couple off on the steamer, and then prepared to go back to the mines.

"It's made me feel kind of lonesome to part with Dick Dewey," said Bradley, thoughtfully. "He's a whole-souled feller, and he's 'struck it rich' in a wife."

"That's so, Jake."



CHAPTER XXX.

THE NUGGET.

Ben and Bradley made their way back to Golden Gulch by easy stages. They reached the Gulch about sunset, and were welcomed in such noisy style by the miners that it might almost be called an ovation.

"We reckoned you'd come," said one of the leaders. "You look like you'd keep your promise."

"I hope there ain't any hosses been stole since we went away," said Bradley, jocosely. "Ben and I ain't quite ready to hand in our checks."

"We wouldn't hold you responsible if there had been," was the reply.

"That makes me feel a little easier in mind," said Bradley. "It may be pleasant to hang from a branch with a noose round your neck, but I don't want to try it."

The miners were just preparing to take their evening meal, and Ben and his friend were invited to share their hospitality. After supper pipes were produced, and Bradley was called upon to bring forth his budget of news. In the little mining-settlement, far from the great world, a man who could give the latest news from the city or produce a late paper from any of the Eastern cities was hailed as a public benefactor.

So it was at an unusually late hour that our friends and the miners retired to rest.

The next morning the two new-comers were shown the claims which had been set aside for them. They were eligibly located, and already had a commercial value, but were bestowed out of good-will, without a cent of compensation.

Bradley and Ben got to work at once. They had had their vacation, and were ready to settle down to business. They were stimulated to effort by the success of some of their fellow miners. Ben's next neighbor had already gathered nearly three thousand dollars' worth of gold-dust, and it was quite within the limits of probability that our young hero might be as successful.

"If I fail it won't be for lack of trying," thought Ben.

Three thousand dollars, in addition to the thousand he already had, would make him feel rich. Some of my readers, who have been luxuriously reared, will be surprised to hear this. But Ben had always been used to small things. He had been brought up in a small country town, where a dollar counts for a good deal more than it does in the city, and where a man possessing ten thousand dollars is thought to be independently rich. His uncle Job, who was thrifty and industrious, and generally, through careful economy, had a little money in the savings bank, was probably worth, at the outside, fifteen hundred dollars.

No wonder, then, that the prospect of being worth four thousand dollars dazzled our young hero and stimulated him to unwonted effort.

Neither of our two friends got on fast. They averaged perhaps fifty dollars a week each, but out of this their expenses had to be paid, and these, on account of the high price of all articles of necessity, were rather heavy. Still, the end of each week found both richer, and they were contented.

It was the aim of every miner to "strike it rich." Each had a dream of some day cutting a rich vein or finding a nugget of extraordinary size which should compress into one day the profits of a year or two of ordinary success. But such lucky finds were not numerous. As in ordinary life, the large prizes are rare, and average success is the rule. But the general hope was kept up by occasional lucky strokes.

"Ben," said Bradley, one day in excitement, returning from a visit to the claims half a mile distant on the other side of a hilly ridge, "I've got great news."

"What is it, Jake?"

"Perkins has just found a nugget that must contain five hundred dollars' worth of gold."

"You don't say so, Jake?"

"Fact; I just saw it."

"I hope there's more of them 'round here."

"So do I. That's a find worth having."

The discovery made a sensation at Golden Gulch. It excited the hope of all, and stimulated labor. What had fallen to Perkins might chance to any one of his comrades.

So, as the miners sat round their roaring fire—for it was getting chilly in the evening—one and another discussed the interesting question, "What would I do if I could find a nugget?" Various, of course, were the answers. One would go home and start a dry-goods store (he had been a dry-goods clerk in Philadelphia); another would buy the old Stuart place and get married; another would pay off a mortgage on the old homestead, and so on.

"What would you do, Ben?" asked Bradley.

"I would go home by the next steamer, and buy Uncle Job the three-acre lot he has been wanting so long, and buy new dresses for aunt and Jennie. But it isn't much use forming plans till the nugget is found."

"That's so, Ben; but you are as likely to find it as the next man."

"I will hope for it, at any rate."

Though Ben's prospects were excellent, and he had met with unusual success, his thoughts often wandered back to the quiet village where the years of his boyhood had been chiefly passed. From time to time he was disturbed by the thought that something might have happened to his uncle's family, of whom he had heard little or nothing since he went away. He afterward learned that letters had been sent which he had not received. He was not exactly homesick, but he felt keenly the lack of news from home.

In spite of this, however, he worked on with energy and industry. He felt that every dollar he earned brought nearer the day when he would feel justified in turning his back upon the gold-fields of California and wending his homeward way to Hampton.

Meanwhile, Ben did not neglect to do what he could for the general entertainment. It has already been mentioned that he could sing very creditably, and his talent was very often called into requisition in the evening. Ben was obliging, and, finding he could give pleasure, he generally complied with the request of the miners and rehearsed such songs as he knew, so that he was considered a decided acquisition by the little company, and his popularity was unbounded.

"I've been thinkin', Ben," said Bradley, one Sunday when they were taking a walk together, "that if there was any offices to be filled you'd stand a good show of bein' elected."

"What makes you think so, Jake?"

"You're the most popular man in the camp—leastways, boy."

"I can easily believe that, Jake, as I am the only boy."

"Well, there's no one ahead of you, man or boy."

"I am glad if that is so," said Ben, modestly. "It is chiefly because I am a boy."

"Boys are not always popular. It depends a good deal on the kind of boy."

So the reader will get some idea of Ben's life at the mines and the estimation in which he was held by his comrades. It was not very exciting nor very eventful, but there was to be a change.

One day his pick struck something hard. It might be a rock which would need to be removed. He dug round it patiently, but when he wished to lift it after it was loosened, he found it necessary to summon Bradley to his assistance.

"Why, Ben!" exclaimed Bradley, in excitement, "this isn't a rock; it is a nugget, and a bouncer."

"'A nugget'!" repeated Ben, incredulously.

"Yes; look here!" and Bradley pointed out the indubitable signs of its value. "Yes, Ben, your fortune has come at last."

"How much is it worth?" demanded Ben, almost breathless with excitement and exhilaration.

"How much? Three thousand dollars at least."

"Then I can go home."

"Yes, Ben, you're got your pile."

It may as well be stated here that Bradley's guess was not far out of the way. The nugget, when it reached San Francisco, was found to amount to three thousand seven hundred dollars.

To the credit of the miners of Golden Gulch, it must be said that all rejoiced in Ben's success. No one's good luck would have excited so little envy or jealousy as that of the boy who had worked by their side for months, and done so much by his good-humor and musical gifts to cheer up and entertain them. When he was ready to start for the city on his homeward journey all joined in wishing him a pleasant journey and the best of luck in the years to come.

Ben was not obliged to travel alone. Bradley decided not only to accompany him to San Francisco, but to sail to New York in his company.

"I've never seen York," he said, "and I never shall see it if I don't go now. So, if you don't mind, Ben, I'll go along with you."

"Mind, Jake? There's nothing I shall like better."

While they are on the steamer homeward bound events have transpired in Ben's old home which require to be noted.



CHAPTER XXXI.

JOB STANTON'S MISTAKE.

There had not been many changes in the little town of Hampton since Ben left it. It was one of those quiet New England villages where life moves slowly, and a death or a marriage is an event.

Uncle Job still lived in his plain little cottage with his wife and daughter, and still plied his humble task as the village cobbler, essaying sometimes to make shoes when there were none to be repaired. There was a plat of land belonging to his house rather more than an acre in extent, but land was cheap in Hampton, and it is doubtful whether both house and lot would have brought, if thrown into the market, over one thousand dollars. Uncle Job had at one time about a hundred dollars in the savings bank in a neighboring town—a fund to draw from in an emergency—and this money with his plain home constituted his entire wealth.

Eleven hundred dollars all told! It was not a very brilliant result for forty years' labor, beginning with the days of his boyhood; but Job Stanton was not ambitious, and he actually felt well-to-do. He earned enough to supply the simple wants of his family, and had something over, and this satisfied him.

But one day a strong temptation came to Job Stanton, and he yielded to it.

A trader came riding over from a neighboring town and called on Uncle Job. The good man thought he had come to order a new pair of shoes, and felt flattered that such a dashing man should have gone so far out of his way to patronize him.

"I'm glad to see you, Mr. Richmond," he said. "Won't you set down?"

He should have said sit, but Job Stanton's educational advantages had been very limited.

"I don't care if I do. Snug place you've got here, Mr. Stanton."

"It's very plain and humble, but it's home, and I set by it," answered Job, who was busily engaged in tapping a shoe belonging to Eliphalet Nourza, a farm-laborer.

"I've come over to see you on a little business, Mr. Stanton," said the trader, affably.

"Jest so!" returned Uncle Job cheerfully, glancing over his spectacles at the trader's shoes to see if they looked much worn. "Want a pair of new shoes, I reckon?"

"I shall need a new pair soon," said Richmond, "but that isn't exactly what I meant."

It flashed across Job Stanton's mind that his visitor might be going to make him an offer for the old place, but he felt that he could not bear to part with it. He had lived there ever since he was married, thirty-five years ago, and there Jennie, the child of his old age, had been born.

But the trader's next sentence relieved him of this thought.

"The fact is, Uncle Job," proceeded the trader, adopting the title by which the shoemaker was generally known in Hampton, "I've got a favor to ask of you."

"'A favor to ask of me'?" repeated Job, looking up with some surprise at the well-dressed merchant, who seemed by his presence to honor the homely little shop.

"Yes," continued Richmond, with gravity; "I want you to indorse my note for five hundred dollars."

"What made you come to me?" asked Job Stanton in surprise. "I am not a capitalist; I am a poor man."

"Oh, well, you're good for five hundred dollars."

"Yes," answered Job with some complacency; "my place here is worth twice that, let alone the money I've got in the savings bank."

"Of course it is."

"Still, I don't want to run no risk. You'd better go to some moneyed man—like Major Sturgis, for instance."

"Why, the fact is, Uncle Job, it's the major that lets me have the money on my note, but he stipulated that I should have an indorser, and he particularly mentioned you."

"That's cur'us!" said Job. "Why should he think of me?"

"Oh, he knew you were a reliable man."

"How does it happen that you need money?" asked Job, bluntly. "Isn't your business good?"

"That's just it," said Richmond, glibly. "It's so good that I've got to extend my stock, and that takes money. I'm turning money over all the time, and it won't be long before I am able to retire."

"I'm glad of that, but I don't quite understand, if that's so, why you're short of funds."

"It's clear you are not a business-man," said Richmond, laughing, "but I think I can explain to you how it is."

He did explain, and the explanation seemed very plausible, yet Job Stanton, who was a cautious man, hesitated.

This brought the trader to his closing argument: "You mustn't think, Uncle Job, that I expect this service for nothing. I am ready to pay you ten dollars for the accommodation, and to order a pair of shoes at your own price."

"That's handsome!" said Job; "and all I've got to do is to sign my name?"

"Just so. It's a mere formality. I shall have the money to pay the note twice over before it comes due."

"Then I wonder the major wants an indorser."

"Oh, it's his invariable custom. 'I know it isn't necessary, Mr. Richmond,' he told me, 'but it's my rule, and I won't break over it, even in your case. If you will get Job Stanton to indorse for you, it will be perfectly satisfactory. I know he is a poor man, but then it's only a form.'"

"Well, I don't know," said Job, doubtfully. "If Ben was here I would ask him."

"You mean your nephew, don't you?"

"Yes, the boy that went to California."

"I'm glad you mentioned him. As soon as he gets back send him to me and I'll give him a place in my store. I've heard he's very smart."

"So he is," said Job, "and I'd like to have him with you, so that he could come to see us once in a while. There ain't no openin' in Hampton."

"Of course not."

"And you'll give Ben a place when he gets home?"

"Certainly; that is, if you indorse my note. I am ready to pay you the ten dollars down."

He drew a crisp bank-note for ten dollars from his pocket, and Job Stanton yielded, for it was a great deal of money to him. I think, however, that he was more influenced by the prospect of obtaining a good place for Ben that would keep him from wandering farther away from home. If he had been shrewder, it would have occurred to him that a prosperous business-man, such as Richmond claimed to be, was unusually anxious for a small accommodation. However, to him five hundred dollars represented a large sum, and it didn't seem at all strange.

So Uncle Job took off his leather apron, ushered his visitor into the sitting-room, and sitting down at the table indorsed the note.

"Thank you," said Richmond. "Here is the ten."

"I don't know as I ought to ask you so much," said Job, with conscientious scruples.

"Oh, that's all right. Now, I'll go into the shop, and you may take my measure for a pair of shoes."

"This has been a lucky day for me," thought Job Stanton. "I've got ten dollars for writing my name, and it isn't often I earn as much as that in a week."

The trader seemed equally pleased, and the two parted in mutual good spirits.

The note was for three months, or ninety days, and Job Stanton thought no more about it. Why should he? Richmond had expressly told him that it was a mere form, and he supposed that this was the case. The ten dollars went to buy new dresses—not very expensive, of course—for his wife and Jennie, and that seemed to be the end of it.

But Job was destined to be undeceived, and that very rudely.

One day he was surprised by a call from his dignified fellow-townsman, Major Sturgis.

"Good-morning, Mr. Stanton," said the major, condescendingly.

"Good-morning, major. I hope your family are quite well."

"Quite well, I thank you."

"What's he come about?" thought Job, wonderingly.

"You indorsed a note for Richmond, the dry-goods man, three months since."

"So I did. Is it really three months?"

"Close upon it, Mr. Stanton. I regret to say that I shall be obliged to call upon you to pay it."

"Me! to pay it!" ejaculated Uncle Job, thunderstruck. "Why, I only indorsed it."

"Precisely. That means that you are to pay it if Richmond doesn't."

"But he will pay it," said the poor shoemaker, eagerly. "He said it was only a matter of form."

"Then he deceived you. I have just received a note from him telling me to look to you."



CHAPTER XXXII.

THE HOUSE IS MORTGAGED.

Job Stanton would not have been more utterly overwhelmed if he had seen his treasured home reduced to ashes before his eyes. That he should be responsible for a debt of five hundred dollars seemed to him almost incredible. The trader's representation that indorsing the note was only a matter of form he had accepted as strictly true.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked the major, impatiently.

"'Goin' to do about it'?" ejaculated Job.

"Certainly. When a man indorses a note he knows that he may be called upon to pay, and of course has some plan for doing it."

"I don't know what to do," said the poor shoemaker, sadly. "I can't pay the note."

"Humph! There seems to be only one thing to do, then."

"What is it?"

"You must sell or mortgage your place."

"What! sell or mortgage my house? I can't do that, Major Sturgis."

"Very well. I won't insist on it if you can pay the note in any other way."

"Heaven knows I can't."

"Then, Mr. Stanton," said the major, sharply, "it's time to speak plainly. Unless you do as I suggest, I shall attach your property and compel you to raise the money in the way I indicate."

Job Stanton was mortally afraid of legal proceedings, and after a while he acceded to the major's proposal, which was himself to accept a mortgage for the sum of five hundred dollars secured upon the place. His wife, who had to be told, wept bitterly, for it seemed to her as if they were parting with their main reliance. But Major Sturgis carried his point, and walked off triumphant.

And now for the major's motive, for he had one, and he had artfully made use of Richmond to forward his plan: He was desirous of getting possession of the poor shoemaker's house and land, having in view the purchase of the lot adjoining. Then he would move the house off, throw down the fence between the two lots, build a nice dwelling, and rent it to a city friend who wished to spend his summers in Hampton. He knew very well that Job Stanton wouldn't listen to a proposition for selling his house, and he therefore tried to accomplish by stratagem what he could not fairly.

"Pa, you are looking in good spirits," said Sam Sturgis when his father came home.

"I don't feel so," said the major, hypocritically. "I have had to do a very disagreeable thing this morning."

"What was it?" Sam asked, his curiosity being excited.

"Mr. Richmond the trader owed me a note for five hundred dollars, indorsed by Job Stanton, and as he did not pay it, I had to call on Stanton."

"He couldn't pay—he's too poor," said Sam.

"Not in money, but he owns his place. I have accepted a mortgage for six months' time on his house and lot."

"Suppose he doesn't pay when the time comes?"

"I am afraid I shall have to foreclose the mortgage."

"And he'll have to leave, won't he?"

"Unless he can raise the money some other way."

"There isn't any other way, is there?"

"Richmond might hand over the money by that time."

"Do you think he will?"

"He ought to, but I don't think there is much chance of it."

"Ben will be rather astonished when he comes home and finds his uncle has lost his place."

"Yes, I suppose he will."

"I sha'n't be sorry for him. He puts on a good many airs, considering how poor he is. I wish I knew how he is getting along in California."

"He may get a living there, but that is about all," said the major. "I shouldn't be at all surprised if his uncle came to me for money to get him home."

"You wouldn't let him have it, would you, pa?"

"I might," answered Major Sturgis, "if he would surrender the place to me without putting me to inconvenience."

"Would you take Ben for my servant, pa, in that case?"

"Why do you want him for a servant?"

"I want to humble his pride," answered Sam, with a gleam of something like hatred in his eyes.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE BLOW ABOUT TO FALL

All this happened soon after Ben went away. His uncle did not write him of it, for he knew it would trouble the boy, and it could do no good. "No, wife," he said; "Ben will have a hard row of his own to hoe. He mustn't have any part nor lot in our troubles."

"It's very hard, Job, at our time of life," said Mrs. Stanton, despondently.

"So it is, wife, but it may turn out for the best, after all. I haven't given up hope that Mr. Richmond will pay the sum, so that I can take up the mortgage. I'm goin' to see him about it to-morrow."

Uncle Job left his work the next day, and walked five miles to the store of the man who had brought this calamity upon him.

"I've come to see you, Mr. Richmond," he said, wiping his forehead with his red cotton handkerchief, "about that money I've had to pay."

"Oh yes," said Richmond, with his usual suavity. "I'm very sorry it happened so."

"It seems to me you didn't treat me just right," said poor Job.

"Such things will happen, you know, Mr. Stanton."

"But you said it was only a matter of form signin' the note?"

"Of course I so regarded it. I could have sworn I should be ready to pay when the note became due. You see, there was money owing to me that I couldn't collect."

"Didn't you know that was likely to happen when you tempted me to indorse the note?"

"It wasn't likely to happen, but it was possible. My plans miscarried, as any man's are liable to. If you were more used to business, Uncle Job, you'd see that I hadn't acted wrong in the matter."

"I don't understand the ways of business men, but I know you've done me a grievous wrong, John Richmond," said Job Stanton, gravely. "I've come to ask if you can pay me back a part of that money."

"Well, I can't do it this morning. I've got two payments to make. You don't look at it in the right light, Uncle Job."

"I want my money," said the old man. "When can you give it to me?"

"Since you push me so hard, I can only say I don't know," said Richmond, dropping his soft tones and looking angry.

"Is that all the satisfaction you are goin' to give me? Don't you ever mean to pay me that money you've made me pay out on your account, mortgaging my house and risking my home?"

"Of course I shall pay you some time, but I can't say exactly when," said the trader, brusquely.

"Will you sign a note for the money at three months or six months, John Richmond?"

"No, I won't. You'll have to wait, Uncle Job, till I get ready to pay you; that's all about it. I may be ready next week, or it may not be till next month. A business-man can't always foresee how he'll be situated at any definite time."

With this poor consolation Job Stanton had to rest content. He looked around him and saw every evidence of prosperity. Several customers were in the store, and the two clerks seemed to have as much as they could do. He saw money paid over for purchases in considerable amounts, and he felt that a part of it might be spared as a partial payment to him; but it was of no avail, and he turned sadly away.

The next week passed, and the next month passed, and Job Stanton waited vainly for a payment on account from John Richmond. He didn't like to judge the trader harshly, but it did seem as if he was quite indifferent in the matter. Another month passed, and Job made another visit to the store of his prosperous debtor. Richmond wasted few words on him.

"Uncle Job," he said, "it's no use your coming over here. I'll send you the money when I can spare it."

Finally, six months passed, the mortgage became due, and Job received a notice from Major Sturgis that he wanted his money.

"If you can't raise it," said the major, "I am willing to cancel the note, give you two hundred and fifty dollars, and take a deed of the place."

"That is only allowing seven hundred and fifty dollars for it," said poor Job.

"It's all it is worth," said the rich man, coldly. "If you prefer to put it up at auction, I am willing, but you may in that case get less. I'll give you three days to decide."

There was great sorrow in Job Stanton's house that evening. Six months before he had considered himself well-to-do. Now, at the age of sixty, poverty and destitution stared him in the face.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

CONCLUSION.

"Do you think we shall have to give up the house, Job?" asked Mrs. Stanton, anxiously.

"I see no other way," said Job, mournfully. "I can't raise five hundred dollars anywhere."

"Have you been to Deacon Pitkin?"

"Yes, but the deacon says he's just put out what money he had, and can't accommodate me."

"It's hard!" said Mrs. Stanton, with sad brevity.

"Yes, it is hard!" assented Job. "I did hope the Lord would show us a way of deliverance, but it seems likely that the sorrow must come upon us."

"How meanly Major Sturgis and that man Richmond have behaved! I can't help feeling that they will be come up with sooner or later," said Mrs. Stanton, who, mild as she generally was, could not help feeling exasperated.

"I do think they've been inconsiderate," Job admitted.

"'Inconsiderate'! Their conduct has been contemptible. The major don't need the money. He could just as well let us stay here."

While this conversation was going on Ben and his friend Bradley were approaching the little cottage.

Full of joyful memories, Ben lifted the latch and walked into the presence of his uncle and aunt. Nothing but his return could have chased the mournful expression from their faces.

"Why, it's Ben come back!" exclaimed his aunt, joyfully.

"Well, I declare, so it is!" answered Job Stanton, hurrying forward and grasping the hand of his boy after his aunt had embraced him.

"How you've grown, Ben!" said his aunt, admiringly.

"Yes, Aunt Clarissa, I've grown four inches," said Ben, proudly. "But I've brought a friend with me.—Jake, come in."

And then Bradley was introduced to Job and his wife, and was cordially welcomed by both.

"You're lucky to come while we've got a home to welcome you to," said Job, his face again saddening.

"Why, Uncle Job, you're not thinking of selling the house, are you?"

Then the whole story came out.

Ben listened attentively, and when his uncle had finished he said, "That Richmond is a first-class rascal."

"And I'd like to give him a first-class kick," said Bradley, indignantly.

"That wouldn't mend matters," said Job, shaking his head. "It wouldn't pay off the mortgage."

"You say the mortgage amounts to five hundred dollars, Uncle Job?"

"Yes. Then there's six months' interest, at six per cent., makes fifteen dollars more."

"When do you expect Major Sturgis to call?"

"This morning. It's almost time for him."

"I met Sam on my way here," said Ben. "He told me I'd come just in the nick of time. I didn't know what he meant, but I know now."

"The major offers to buy the house, paying me two hundred and fifty dollars over and above the note."

"Why, that's robbery!" said Ben, indignantly.

"So it is, Ben; but what can I do?"

"I think," said Ben, smiling, "you'd better borrow five hundred and fifteen dollars of your rich nephew."

"What do you mean, Ben?" asked Job, in surprise.

"I mean this, Uncle Job—that I'll lend you the money to pay up this shark."

"You don't mean to say you've got money enough?" ejaculated Uncle Job.

"Yes, I do, uncle, and a little over. I'll prove it to you."

He produced a wallet, from which he drew out five one-hundred-dollar bills and three fives.

"Take them, uncle, and ask me questions afterward, for I see through the window that the major is coming."

Indeed, a knock was heard directly, and Job, answering it himself, ushered in the stately figure of Major Sturgis.

The major looked around him in surprise, finding more persons than he expected to see.

"Don't you remember Ben, Major Sturgis?" asked Job.

"When did you come home, Benjamin," asked the major, taken by surprise.

"I have just arrived, sir."

"Tired of California, eh?"

"For the present, yes, sir."

"I think my son Sam wishes to see you. He thinks of offering you a place."

Ben bowed and smiled. He understood what sort of a place Sam was likely to offer.

"Well, Mr. Stanton," asked the major, pompously, "have you decided to accept my offer for the house?"

"No, major. Your offer is too small."

"You are quite at liberty to look around for a higher bid, or rather you were. Now it is too late."

"Just so, major. On the whole I don't think I want to sell."

"'Don't want to sell'?" repeated the major, frowning; "you will have to sell."

"Why will Uncle Job have to sell?" demanded Ben, irritated by the major's tone.

"Young man," said the major, grandly, "this is not a matter with which you have anything to do. Your uncle and I can arrange it between ourselves."

"Still, I shall advise Uncle Job to pay the mortgage, though he was swindled into agreeing to it."

"I apprehend," sneered the major, "he will have some difficulty in paying me five hundred and fifteen dollars."

"I guess I can manage to do it, major," said Job, mildly.

"I don't believe you," said the major, hastily.

"Have you got the mortgage with you?" asked Job.

"Yes; here it is."

"And here is your money," said the shoemaker, producing the bills.

Major Sturgis received them in amazement bordering upon stupefaction, and counted them over three times.

"I guess they're all right," said Job.

"Where did you get them?" inquired the major, unable to control his curiosity.

"I guess that doesn't matter so long as they're good," answered Job. "Still, I've no objection to tellin' you that it's Ben's money that he's kindly lent to me."

"Did you bring this from California?" asked the major, turning to our hero.

"Yes, sir," answered Ben.

"Have you any more?"

"I've got enough more, so that I don't expect to need the situation Sam thought of offering me."

When Major Sturgis left the cottage his grand air had passed off, and he looked disappointed and mortified. Sam's spirits, too, were perceptibly dashed when he learned that the boy he disliked had been successful in California.

"That settles the major," said Ben. "This afternoon I will see what I can do in the case of Richmond."

"You can't do anything, Ben," said his aunt. "Leave him to the reproaches of his own conscience."

"He hasn't got any conscience, Aunt Clarissa," said Ben.—"Jake, will you ride over with me to the next town this afternoon?"

"I shall be glad to, Ben."

Ben went at once to the office of an able lawyer, engaged his services, and put the matter into his hands. The result was, that John Richmond received a note by messenger summoning him to the lawyer's office. He at first tried to bluster, then to temporize, but the lawyer was stern and threatened to exhaust the resources of the law in behalf of his clients. Like most bullies, Richmond was a coward, and ended by giving a note for the full amount, with interest, at thirty days.

"You had better leave this note with me," said the lawyer to Ben; "I will collect it when due."

And he did. With a crestfallen air John Richmond had to confess himself defeated in his mean attempt at swindling, for he had obtained Uncle Job's indorsement with the deliberate intention of leaving him to pay the note, supposing that the old man would be too timid to do anything about it.

Ben remained in Hampton a week. During that time he bought the three-acre lot adjoining—the major having given up the purchase when his plan of getting possession of Job Stanton's little property fell through—and gave it to his uncle. This made Job feel like a rich man, and he only accepted it on Ben's assurance that he had plenty more money.

At the end of a week Ben received a letter from Richard Dewey, informing him that he proposed to go into business for himself in the city of New York, and was anxious to engage Ben as a clerk. This offer was too good to refuse. So Ben, a month later, found himself in a responsible business position. As his employer within a few months came into possession of his wife's large fortune, which her guardian was reluctantly obliged to surrender, he was not hampered by lack of capital, but within a year had his business securely established.

Ten years have passed. Ben is now junior partner, and enjoys a high reputation for business ability. A year since he married his cousin Jennie, and in so doing has made a wise choice. He lives in the city, but Uncle Job and his wife still live in Hampton, though Job is no longer compelled to work for a livelihood. He has given up his shop, and confines himself to the cultivation of his small tract of land. Though now seventy, his eye is not dim nor his natural force abated.

Major Sturgis is dead, and Sam, it is understood, has wasted a considerable portion of the handsome property that was left him. It is quite possible that he may end in poverty and destitution, and be forced at last to work for a living. This he would regard as a misfortune, but it will probably be a blessing in disguise, for the necessity of honest labor is generally a salutary restraint.

Bradley has gone back to California. His son in now with him, and both are prosperous. Richard Dewey and his wife are rich and happy (the two do not always go together), and have four children, the second of whom, a boy, is named Benjamin Stanton Dewey, in honor of our hero.

I have endeavored to ascertain what became of our Mongolian friend, Ki Sing, but without entire success. My impression is, that he started a laundry in San Francisco, made enough money for a Chinaman to retire upon, and went back to his native land to live in competence, the happy husband of a high-born Chinese maiden with incredibly small feet. Doubtless, he has more than once retailed to wondering ears the account of his adventures and perils when he, as well as Ben, visited California "in search of fortune."

THE END.



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[Transcriber's Note: The advertisement for "Famous Alger Books" has been moved from its position before the main text to the rear of the book. In addition, the following corrections have been made to the original text.

In Chapter V, an apostrophe following "I don't see anything that looks like a cabin," has been changed to a quotation mark.

In Chapter VI, "Here's the cord, Tom, Tie his hands and feet" has been changed to "Here's the cord, Tom, tie his hands and feet".

In Chapter IX, "these follows have tied me hand and foot" has been changed to "these fellows have tied me hand and foot"; a missing period has been inserted after ""It'll do as far as it goes, Mosely," said Bradley"; a superfluous quotation mark has been removed following "echoed Tom Hadley from the other tree."

In Chapter XII, "I thought that too, Ben?" has been changed to "I thought that too, Ben."; an apostrophe preceding "there was an old farmer, Deacon Pitkins" has been changed to a quotation mark.

In Chapter XIII, "My legs get cramped when I am on horsback too long." has been changed to "My legs get cramped when I am on horseback too long."

In Chapter XVI, a superfluous quotation mark has been removed preceding "There's some of us want to see you."

In Chapter XVIII, a missing quotation mark has been added preceding "We will make your share equal to that of the luckiest miner among us."

In Chapter XXI, a missing quotation mark has been added preceding "Her fortune amounts to one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, does it not?"; a missing period has been inserted after "muttered the merchant".

In Chapter XXXI, "So Uncle Joe took off his leather apron" has been changed to "So Uncle Job took off his leather apron".

In Chapter XXXIII, a missing period has been inserted after "All this happened soon after Ben went away"; "red cotton handkerkerchief" has been changed to "red cotton handkerchief".

In Chapter XXXIV, "Why, Uncle Ben" has been changed to "Why, Uncle Job".]

THE END