At this moment Mr. Dean entered the office. David Mullins had returned to his desk.

"This young man wishes to see you, Mr. Dean," he said, formally, when his employer entered.

Mr. Dean looked at Chester, inquiringly.

"I am Chester Rand, with whom you have had some correspondence," said Chester, tendering his card. "I have just arrived from New York."

The broker regarded him in surprise.

"You Chester Rand?" he exclaimed. "Why, you are a boy."

"I must plead guilty to that indictment," said Chester, smiling, "but I am the owner of the lots which I understand are wanted for the new hotel."

David Mullins, who heard this conversation, looked up in amazement. He had not known of the correspondence with Chester, as Mr. Dean had written his letter personally, and it had not gone through the office.

"Can you furnish any evidence of this?" asked Mr. Dean.

"Here is the letter you sent me, and here is a copy of my reply."

The broker took the letter from Chester's hand and all doubt vanished from his countenance.

"I am glad to see you here so soon, Mr. Rand," he said, "as the parties with whom I am negotiating are anxious to conclude matters as soon as possible. Will you go over with me to Mr. Taylor's office? Taylor and Pearson are the parties' names."

"I will go with pleasure."

As they walked through the chief business street Chester noticed with interest evidences of activity everywhere. Tacoma he found was situated, like San Francisco, on a side hill, sloping down toward Puget Sound.

"What a fine location for a town," he said.

"Yes," answered Mr. Dean, "this is destined to be a large city. Our people are enterprising and progressive. Seattle is at present ahead of us, but we mean to catch up, and that ere many years."

"At what price are lots selling on this street?"

"I see you have business ideas," said the broker, smiling. "I suppose you want to know what price you can charge for your lots."

"You are right."

"Of course it will not be right for me to advise you, being employed by the other party, but I will give you some idea. The lot adjoining your plot sold last week for two thousand dollars."

"Two thousand?"

"Yes."

"Probably it would be well for me to wait a year or two, as the lots would undoubtedly command more then."

"That is one way of looking at it. Let me point out another. You have five lots, have you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"If you sell three to the hotel company you can hold the other two five years if you like. The proximity of the hotel will help to enhance their value."

"I see that."

"That is a point to be considered. If you ask a prohibitory price, the hotel will go elsewhere, and you may have to wait a good while before you have a chance to sell. But here is Mr. Taylor's office."

The broker entered, followed by Chester. Here a surprise awaited him.

Sitting in an armchair was his venerable friend of the train, appearing very much at home. His face lighted up when Chester came in.

"William," he said to a stout man of middle age, "this is the young man who generously advanced money to meet my car fare when I was in danger of being put off the train."

The younger man advanced and cordially offered his hand.

"My boy," he said, "I shall not soon forget your kindness to my father. I will gladly repay you for the money you disbursed on his account."

"I was very glad to stand his friend, sir," returned Chester, modestly.

"Let me know to whom I am indebted."

"Mr. Taylor," said the broker, "this young gentleman is Chester Rand, owner of the lots which you wish to buy."

"Is it possible?" ejaculated William Taylor. "I didn't know that the owner of the lots was a boy."

"The lots were a bequest to me from the original owner," said Chester.

"And you have never been out this way before?"

"This is my first visit to Tacoma."

"You are hardly old enough to be in business."

"I am an artist; that is, I furnish illustrations to a comic weekly paper in New York."

"You have begun life early. I suspect you are better fitted for business than most young men of your age. Here is my partner, Mr. Pearson."

In the negotiation that followed the reader will not be interested. At length a mutually satisfactory arrangement was made. Chester agreed to sell the three lots wanted for the hotel for eight thousand dollars, half cash and the balance on a year's time at twelve per cent. interest.

When the business was concluded and papers signed, Mr. Dean said: "Mr. Rand, I think you have made a good bargain. You might have extorted more, but you have received a fair price and retained the good will of the purchaser. What do you propose to do with the four thousand dollars you will receive in cash?"

"I have not had time to think."

"I will venture to give you some advice. My partner, John Downie, has made a specialty of city property, and he will invest any part for you in lower-priced city lots, which are sure to advance rapidly."

"Then I will put the matter in his hands and rely on his judgment. I will carry back with me a thousand dollars, and leave with him three thousand dollars for investment."

"Then come back to the office and I will introduce you to Mr. Downie, with whom you can leave instructions."

Chester was presented to Mr. Downie, a blond young man, who looked honest and reliable, and they soon came to an understanding. They walked about the town—it was not a city then—and Chester picked out several lots which he was in favor of buying.

He remained a week in Tacoma, and before the end of that time all arrangements were perfected, and he found himself the owner of seven lots, more or less eligible, in addition to the two he had reserved in the original plot.

On the evening of the second day, as he was taking a walk alone, he encountered David Mullins.

"Good-evening, Mr. Mullins," he said, politely.

"Good-evening, Chester," returned the bookkeeper, flushing slightly. "I want to thank you for not exposing my past misdeeds."

"I hope, Mr. Mullins, you did not think me mean enough to do so."

"I am sorry to say that according to my sad experience eight out of ten would have done so, especially if they had reason, like you, to complain of personal ill treatment."

"I don't believe in persecuting a man."

"I wish all were of your way of thinking. Shall I tell you my experience?"

"If you will."

"When I left New York I went to Chicago and obtained the position of collector for a mercantile establishment. I was paid a commission, and got on very well till one unlucky day I fell in with an acquaintance from New York.

"'Where are you working?' he asked.

"I told him.

"The next day my employer summoned me to his presence.

"'I shall not require your services any longer,' he said.

"I asked no questions. I understood that my treacherous friend had given me away.

"I had a few dollars saved, and went to Minneapolis. There I was undisturbed for six months. Then the same man appeared and again deprived me of my situation."

"How contemptible!" ejaculated Chester, with a ring of scorn in his voice.

"Then I came to Tacoma, and here I have been thus far undisturbed. When I saw you I had a scare. I thought my time had come, and I must again move on."

"So far from wishing to harm you, Mr. Mullins," said Chester, "if, through the meanness of others you get into trouble you can any time send to me for a loan of fifty dollars."

"Thank you," ejaculated Mullins, gratefully, wringing Chester's hand. "You are heaping coals of fire on my head."

"You will always have my best wishes for your prosperity. If ever you are able, repay the money you took from Mr. Fairchild, and I will venture to promise that he will forgive you."

"With God's help I will!"



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

ABNER TRIMBLE'S PLOT.

Just off First Street, in Portland, Ore., is a saloon, over which appears the name of the proprietor:

"Abner Trimble."

Two rough-looking fellows, smoking pipes, entered the saloon. Behind the bar stood a stout, red-faced man. This was Trimble, and his appearance indicated that he patronized the liquors he dispensed to others.

"Glad to see you, Floyd," said Trimble.

"That means a glass of whisky, doesn't it?" returned Floyd.

"Well, not now. I want you to go up to the house again, to see my wife."

"About the old matter?"

"Yes; she isn't quite satisfied about the kid's death, and she won't make a will in my favor till she is. She wants to ask you a few questions."

Floyd made a wry face.

"She's as bad as a lawyer. I say, Abner, I'm afraid I'll get tripped up."

"You must stick to the old story."

"What was it?"

"Don't you remember you said that the kid hired a boat to row in the harbor along with two other boys, and the boat was upset and all three were drowned?"

"Yes, I remember. It's a smart yarn, isn't it?" grinned Floyd.

"Yes, but you mustn't let her doubt it. You remember how you came to know about the drowning?"

"No, I forget."

Abner Trimble frowned.

"Look here, Floyd. You'd better remember, or you won't get the money I promised you. You were out in a boat yourself, and saw the whole thing. You jumped into the water, and tried to save the kid, but it was no use. He went to the bottom—and that was the end of him!"

"A very pretty story," said Floyd, complacently. "Won't I get somethin' for tryin' to save the kid's life?"

"As like as not. I'll suggest it to the old lady myself."

"When do you want me to go up to the house?"

"Now. The lawyer's coming at four o'clock, and I want you to confirm Mrs. T. in her belief in the boy's death."

"It's dry talkin', Abner," said Floyd, significantly.

"Take a glass of sarsaparilla, then."

"Sarsaparilla!" repeated Floyd, contemptuously. "That's only fit for children."

"Lemon soda, then."

"What's the matter with whisky?"

"Are you a fool? Do you think Mrs. T. will believe your story if you come to her smelling of whisky?"

"You're hard on me, Abner. Just one little glass."

"You can put that off till afterward. Here, take some lemon soda, or I'll mix you a glass of lemonade."

"Well, if I must," said Floyd, in a tone of resignation.

"You can have as much whisky as you like afterward."

"Then the sooner we get over the job the better. I'm ready now."

"Here, Tim, take my place," said Abner Trimble, calling his barkeeper; "I'm going to the house for an hour. Now come along."

Abner Trimble lived in a comfortable dwelling in the nicer portion of the city. It belonged to his wife when he married her, and he had simply taken up his residence in her house. He would have liked to have lived nearer the saloon, and had suggested this to his wife, but she was attached to her home and was unwilling to move.

Trimble ushered his visitor into the sitting room and went up to see his wife. She was sitting in an armchair in the room adjoining her chamber, looking pale and sorrowful.

"Well, Mary," said Trimble, "I've brought Floyd along to answer any questions relating to poor Edward's death."

"Yes, I shall be glad to see him," answered his wife, in a dull, spiritless tone.

"Shall I bring him up?"

"If you like."

Trimble went to the landing and called out: "You can come up, Floyd."

Floyd entered the room, holding his hat awkwardly in his hands. He was not used to society, and did not look forward with much pleasure to the interview which had been forced upon him.

"I hope I see you well, ma'am," he said, bobbing his head.

"As well as I ever expect to be," answered Mrs. Trimble, sadly. "Your name is——"

"Floyd, ma'am. Darius Floyd."

"And you knew my poor son?"

"Yes, ma'am, I knew him well. Ed and I was regular cronies."

Mrs. Trimble looked at the man before her, and was mildly surprised. Certainly Edward must have changed, or he would not keep such company. But, prejudiced against her son as she had been by her husband's misrepresentations, she feared that this was only another proof of Edward's moral decadence.

"You have been in New York recently?"

"Yes; I was there quite a while."

"And you used to see Edward?"

"'Most every day, ma'am."

"How was he employed?"

This was not a question to which Mr. Floyd had prepared an answer. He looked to Mr. Trimble as if for a suggestion, and the latter nodded impatiently, and shaped his mouth to mean "anything."

"He was tendin' a pool room, ma'am," said Floyd, with what he thought a lucky inspiration. "He was tendin' a pool room on Sixth Avenue."

"He must indeed have changed to accept such employment. I hope he didn't drink?"

"Not often, ma'am; just a glass of sarsaparilla or lemon soda. Them are my favorites."

Abner Trimble turned aside to conceal a smile. He remembered Mr. Floyd's objecting to the innocent beverages mentioned, and his decided preference for whisky.

"I am glad that he was not intemperate. You saw the accident?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please tell me once more what you can."

"I took a boat down at the Battery to have a row one afternoon, when, after a while, I saw another boat comin' out with three fellers into it. One of them was your son, Edward."

"Did you know Edward's companions?"

"Never saw them before in my life. They was about as old as he. Well, by and by one of them stood up in the boat. I surmise he had been drinkin'. Then, a minute afterward, I saw the boat upset, and the three was strugglin' in the water.

"I didn't take no interest in the others, but I wanted to save Edward, so I jumped into the water and made for him. That is, I thought I did. But it so happened in the confusion that I got hold of the wrong boy, and when I managed to get him on board my boat, I saw my mistake. It was too late to correct it—excuse my emotion, ma'am," and Mr. Floyd drew a red silk handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes; "but when I looked out and couldn't see either of the other young fellers, and realized that they were drowned, I felt awful bad."

Mrs. Trimble put her handkerchief to her eyes and moaned. The picture drawn by Mr. Floyd was too much for her.

"I wish I could see the young man whose life you saved," she said, after a pause, "Have you his name and address?"

"No, ma'am; he didn't even thank me. I didn't get even the price of a glass of—sarsaparilla out of him."

Mr. Floyd came near saying whisky, but bethought himself in time.

"I have been much interested by your sad story, Mr. Floyd," said the sorrow-stricken mother. "You seem to have a good and sympathetic heart."

"Yes, ma'am," replied Floyd; "that is my weakness."

"Don't call it a weakness! It does you credit."

Mr. Floyd exchanged a sly glance of complacency with Abner Trimble, who was pleased that his agent got off so creditably. He had evidently produced a good impression on Mrs. Trimble.

"You see, my dear," he said, gently, "that there can be no doubt about poor Edward's death. I have thought, under the circumstances, that you would feel like making a will, and seeing that I was suitably provided for. As matters stand your property would go to distant cousins, and second cousins at that, while I would be left out in the cold.

"I know, of course, that you are younger than myself and likely to outlive me, but still, life is uncertain. I don't care much for money, but I wouldn't like to die destitute, and so I asked Mr. Coleman, the lawyer, to come round. I think I hear his ring now. Will you see him?"

"Yes, if you wish it. I care very little what becomes of the property now my boy is no more."

Mr. Trimble went downstairs, and returned with a very respectable-looking man of middle age, whom he introduced as Mr. Coleman.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

MAKING A WILL.

"Mr. Coleman," said Trimble, with suavity, "this is my wife, Mrs. Trimble."

The lawyer bowed.

"I believe you wish to execute a will, Mrs. Trimble?" said he.

"Yes," answered the poor mother, in a spiritless tone.

Various questions were asked in relation to the property, and then the lawyer seated himself at a table and wrote the formal part of the will.

"I understand you wish to leave the entire property to your husband?" he said, in a tone of inquiry.

"In the event of my son's death," interpolated Mrs. Trimble.

"But, my dear, he is dead," said Abner Trimble, with a slight frown.

"I would prefer to have it expressed in this way."

"I am sure," continued Trimble, annoyed, "that Mr. Coleman will consider it unnecessary."

"I see no objections to it," said the lawyer. "Of course, the son being dead, it won't count."

"Mr. Coleman," explained Mrs. Trimble, "I have no reason to doubt my poor son's death, but I didn't see him die, and there may have been a mistake."

"How can there be?" demanded Trimble, impatiently. "Didn't my friend Floyd see him drowned?"

"He may have been mistaken. Besides, he only says he did not see him after the boat upset. He may have been picked up by some other boat."

For the first time Trimble and Floyd saw the flaw in the story, which had been invented by Trimble himself.

"Was there any boat near, Floyd?" asked Trimble, winking significantly.

"No, sir; not within a quarter of a mile."

"Edward could swim. He may have reached one by swimming."

This was news to Trimble. He had not been aware that his stepson could swim.

"Under the circumstances," said the lawyer, "I think Mrs. Trimble is right."

Trimble looked panic-stricken. Knowing that Edward Granger was still living he recognized the fact that such a will would do him no good.

"If he were alive he would let us know," he said, after a pause.

"Probably he would."

"So that we may conclude he is dead."

"It might be stipulated that if the missing son does not appear within three years from the time the will is made he may be regarded as dead?" suggested the lawyer.

"One year would be sufficient, it seems to me," put in Trimble.

"I would rather make it three," said his wife.

Abner Trimble looked disappointed, but did not dare object.

The lawyer continued to write.

"I understand, then," he observed, "that you bequeath all your estate to your husband, in the event of your son being decided to be dead."

Mrs. Trimble paused to consider.

"I think," she said, "I will leave the sum of five thousand dollars to charitable purposes as a memorial of Edward."

"I don't think much of charitable societies," growled Trimble.

"Some of them do a great deal of good," said the lawyer. "Are there any particular societies which you would wish to remember, Mrs. Trimble?"

"I leave the choice to my executor," said the lady.

"Whom have you selected for that office?"

"Will you serve?" she asked.

"Then you don't care to appoint Mr. Trimble?"

"No, I think not."

"It is customary to appoint the husband, isn't it, Mr. Coleman?" asked Abner.

"It is quite often done."

"I would prefer you," said Mrs. Trimble, decidedly.

"If it will ease your mind, I will take the office, Mrs. Trimble."

"Now," said the lawyer, after a brief interval; "I will read the draft of the will as I have written it, and you can see if it meets your views."

He had about half completed reading the document when there was heard a sharp ring at the doorbell. Then there were steps on the stairs.

A terrible surprise was in store for Mrs. Trimble.



CHAPTER XL.

AN UNEXPECTED SURPRISE.

The door of the sitting room was opened quickly, and two boys dashed into the room. They were Edward Granger and Chester Rand.

Abner Trimble turned pale and uttered an imprecation. All his plans, so carefully laid, were menaced with ignominious defeat.

Floyd looked up in surprise, but did not comprehend the situation. In spite of the positive testimony he had given he did not even know Edward Granger by sight.

Mrs. Trimble uttered a wild cry, but her face lighted up with supreme joy.

"Edward!" she exclaimed, and half rising, opened her arms.

Her son sprang forward and embraced his mother.

"Oh, Edward!" she murmured, "are you really alive?"

"Very much alive, mother," answered Edward, with a smile.

"And I was mourning you as dead! I thought I should never see you again."

"I have not died that I am aware of, mother. Who told you I was dead?"

"Mr. Trimble and—this gentleman," looking at Floyd. "He told me he saw you drowned in New York Bay."

Edward regarded Floyd with curiosity.

"I haven't any recollection of ever seeing the gentleman," he said. "I don't know him."

"How do you explain this, Mr. Floyd?" asked Mrs. Trimble, suspiciously.

Floyd tried to speak, but faltered and stammered. He was in a very awkward position, and he realized it. Abner Trimble came to his assistance.

"You must have been mistaken, Floyd," he said. "The young man you saw drowned must have been a stranger."

"Yes," returned Floyd, grasping the suggestion. "Of course I must have been mistaken. The young man I saw bore a wonderful resemblance to Mr. Granger."

"How long is it since you saw me drowned, Mr. Floyd?" asked Edward.

"About three weeks," answered Floyd, in an embarrassed tone.

"In New York Bay?"

"Yes. You were out in a boat with two other young fellows—that is, a young man who was the perfect image of you was. The boat upset, and all three were spilled out. I saved the life of one, but the others were, as I thought, drowned. I am sorry that I was mistaken."

"Does that mean you are sorry I was not drowned?"

"No; I am sorry to have harrowed up your mother's feelings by a story which proves to be untrue."

"I suppose Mr. Trimble brought you here," said Edward, quietly. He had in former days stood in fear of his stepfather, but now, backed up by Chester, he felt a new sense of courage and independence.

"Of course I brought him here," growled Trimble. "Fully believing in my friend Floyd's story, for I know him to be a gentleman of truth, I thought your mother ought to know it."

"I was about to make my will at Mr. Trimble's suggestion, leaving him all my property," said Mrs. Trimble, regarding her husband suspiciously.

"Of course it was better to leave it to me than to second cousins whom you don't care anything about," interposed Trimble, sourly. "Come, Floyd, our business is at an end. We will go over to the saloon."

"Shan't I get anything for my trouble?" asked Floyd, uneasily, a remark which led the lawyer to regard him sharply.

"Your valuable time will be paid for," said Trimble, sarcastically.

He led the way out, and Floyd followed.

"Mrs. Trimble," said the lawyer, rising, "allow me to congratulate you on the happy event of this day. I am particularly glad that my services are not needed."

"They will be needed, Mr. Coleman. Will you do me the favor of drawing up a will leaving my entire property, with the exception of a thousand dollars, to my son, Edward, and bring it here to-morrow morning, with two trusty witnesses, and I will sign it."

"To whom will you leave the thousand dollars?"

"To my—to Mr. Trimble," answered Mrs. Trimble, coldly. "I will not utterly ignore him."

"Very well, Mrs. Trimble. I will call at half-past ten o'clock to-morrow morning."

The lawyer bowed himself out, leaving Mrs. Trimble and the boys together.

"Mother," said Edward, "I have not yet had a chance to introduce to you my friend, Chester Rand, of New York."

"I am very glad to welcome any friend of yours, Edward."

"You have reason to do so in this case, mother. But for Chester I should not have had the money to come on from New York. He paid my traveling expenses."

"He shall be repaid, and promptly, and he will accept my heartiest thanks, also. I hope, Mr. Rand, you will make your home with us while you are in Portland."

"Thank you, Mrs. Trimble, but I have already secured lodgings at a hotel. At some future time I may accept your invitation."

Chester strongly suspected that he would not be a welcome guest to Mr. Trimble when that gentleman learned that he had been instrumental in bringing home his stepson in time to defeat his plans. But he called every day till, his business being concluded, he started on his return to New York. Edward had expected to go back with him, but to this Mrs. Trimble would not listen.

"We have been separated long enough, Edward," she said. "Henceforth your place is at my side. I feel that I have done you injustice, and I want to repair it. I made a mistake in marrying Mr. Trimble, but it is too late to correct that. I will not permit him, hereafter, to separate me from my son."

"If you wish me to remain, mother, I will," rejoined Edward. "I was not happy away from you. From this time forth I will stand by you and protect you from all that is unpleasant."

Edward spoke with a courage and manliness which he had not formerly shown. It was clear that adversity had strengthened and improved him.



CHAPTER XLI.

CONCLUSION.

Let us go back to Wyncombe. Mrs. Greene, living near Mrs. Rand, was a lady who made it her business to know all about her neighbors' affairs. She stepped into Silas Tripp's store to buy a pound of butter.

Mr. Tripp himself waited upon her; Mrs. Greene generally had some item of news, and for this he possessed a keen relish.

"Any news, Mrs. Greene?" he asked, as he handed her the package of butter.

"I suppose you've heard that the widder Rand has lost her boarder?"

"You don't say so!" returned Silas, with genuine interest.

"Yes, it's so. I saw her go off myself yesterday afternoon, bag and baggage."

"Was she dissatisfied, do you think?"

"Like as not. The widder says she's comin' back, but I don't believe it. Between you and me, Mr. Tripp, I wonder that she stayed so long. Now, if she had been boardin' with you it would have been different."

"So it would, Mrs. Greene; so it would. I would have been willing to take her just to oblige."

"So would I, Mr. Tripp. The widder charged her a ridiculous price—eight dollars a week."

"It was extortionate. I never charged such a price."

"Nor I. Miss Dolby's board ran the house, so that Chester didn't need to send any home, and now Chester's lost his place."

"You don't say so!" ejaculated Silas, eagerly.

"Yes. Mrs. Rand told me herself that he had left his work and gone out West in search of a place. I don't see, for my part, what the widder's goin' to do."

"I'm sorry Chester's been so unlucky. But he needn't have gone out West; I'm ready to take him back into my store."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Tripp."

"I want to help along his mother, seein' she's a widder and in hard luck."

"Shall I tell her you will take Chester back?"

"No; I'll call round and see her about it. There may be some dickerin' about the salary. Chester's got rather high notions, but I can't afford to pay extravagant prices."

"Just so. I'm sorry for the widder Rand, but she's sot too much on that boy, and thought there wasn't no other boy in Wyncombe that was equal to him. I'm sure my Fred is just as smart as he."

It was not till the next evening that Mr. Tripp found it convenient to call on Mrs. Rand. She was rather surprised by the visit, and a little curious to learn what it meant.

"Good-evenin', widder," said Silas, coughing.

"Good-evening, Mr. Tripp. Won't you step in for a few minutes?"

"Thank you. I don't care if I do. I heard yesterday from Mrs. Greene that you'd lost your boarder."

"Yes; Miss Dolby has gone to Chicago for a year. She has a sister there."

"Do you expect her back?"

"Yes, after a year."

"I wouldn't calc'late too much upon it if I were you. Women folks is mighty onsartin when they make promises."

Mrs. Rand smiled.

"You may be right, Mr. Tripp," she said.

"I hear, too, that Chester's lost his place."

"No; he has left it for a time, but he expects to go back."

"That's onsartin, too. I'm sorry for you, widder."

"Thank you, Mr. Tripp, but there's no occasion."

"You'll be rather put to it to get along, I reckon."

"Still, I have good friends in Wyncombe," said Mrs. Rand, smiling mischievously. "Now, if I were really 'put to it,' I am sure I could rely upon your assistance."

"I'm very short of money," returned Silas, alarmed at this suggestion. "Still, I've got the will to help you. If Chester's out of work, I'm ready to take him back into the store."

"I will tell him that when I write."

"Where is he now?"

"He's gone out West."

"He's made a mistake. I knew a boy that went out West some years since, and nearly starved. He came home ragged and hungry."

"I am not afraid Chester will have that experience. He had saved up some money when at work in New York."

"It won't last long, widder. It don't take long for fifty dollars to melt away. Did he have that much?"

"I think he did, Mr. Tripp."

"He'd better have put it in a savings bank and come back to Wyncombe to work for me. How soon do you expect him back?"

"Next week."

"When he comes, send him round to see me."

A few days later, Mrs. Greene went into Silas Tripp's store again.

"Well, Mr. Tripp," she said, "Chester Rand's got home."

"You don't say! If you see him, tell him to come round and see me."

"And I can tell you some more news. You know that half-acre lot that j'ins onto the widder's land?"

"The apple orchard? Yes."

"Well, Chester's bought it."

"You don't mean it! Where on earth did he get the money? Do you know what he paid?"

"Two hundred dollars."

"He'll never be able to pay for it."

"He has paid cash down. Besides, he's got a new suit of clothes and a gold watch. I don't believe he will be willing to take a place in your store."

Silas Tripp was amazed. Nay, more, he was incredulous. But it so happened that Chester himself came into the store in five minutes, and confirmed the news.

"Where did you get the money, Chester?" asked Mr. Tripp, curiously, eying the boy with unwonted respect.

"I saved it. I received high pay in New York."

"But you've lost the place?"

"Oh, no! I go back to work next week."

"How much pay do you get?"

"Thirty dollars a week."

"Don't try to fool me!" said Silas, with asperity. "It ain't creditable to deceive a man old enough to be your grandfather."

Chester smiled.

"Do you want me to bring an affidavit from my employers?" he asked.

"But it's ridiculous, payin' a boy such wages!" objected Silas.

"It would be foolish for you to pay it, Mr. Tripp; but they think me worth it."

"What sort of work do you do?"

"I make pictures. I will show you a couple," and Chester produced a copy of The Phoenix.

"Why, I didn't think they paid more'n a quarter apiece for such pictures."

"It's lucky for me that they pay higher than that."

"What was you doin' out West?"

"I went partly to see the country."

"I s'pose it cost you considerable money?"

"Yes, traveling is expensive."

"You'd better have put the money in the bank."

"I don't think so."

"Boys have foolish notions. I s'pose you was sorry to hear that Miss Dolby had gone away?"

"No, I want mother to have a few months' rest."

"Your mother'll miss her board."

"No, for I shall make it up to her."

"You talk as if you was rich, Chester."

"I am not so rich as you, Mr. Tripp."

"You seem to be spending more money; some day you'll be put to it to get along."

But that has not yet come. Two years have passed, and Chester is still in the employ of The Phoenix, but he now receives forty dollars per week. He has sold his other two lots in Tacoma for five thousand dollars each, and still has the cheaper lots he bought as an investment. He could sell these at a handsome profit, but will hold them a while longer.

About a year ago he received intelligence from Edward Granger that his stepfather had died suddenly of heart trouble, brought on by an undue use of alcoholic mixtures. Edward concluded: "Now there is nothing to mar my mother's happiness. I live at home and manage her business, besides filling a responsible place in a broker's office. We hope you will pay us a visit before long. We have never forgotten your kindness to me in my time of need."

A month since Mr. Fairchild was surprised by receiving a remittance from Tacoma. His old bookkeeper, David Mullins, remitted to him the amount he had stolen at the time of his hurried departure from New York, with interest up to date.

"I hope, Mr. Fairchild," he concluded, "you will now forgive me for my treachery. I feel great satisfaction in paying my debt. I have been assisted by a fortunate investment in outside lots. I am glad to hear that Felix is doing well. You were kind to retain him."

Felix is really doing well, and bids fair to make a good business man. He was weak and influenced to evil by his cousin; but with good surroundings he is likely to turn out creditably.

Chester retains the friendship and good opinion of his first friend, Carl Conrad, and is a favorite visitor at the house of Prof. Hazlitt, whose great work has just appeared from the press of a subscription publisher. His nephew, Arthur Burks, is now in college, and he and Chester remain intimate friends.

Silas Tripp has ceased to expect to secure the services of Chester in his store. He had never been able to understand the secret of Chester's success, but has been heard to remark: "It does beat all how that boy gets along!"

Fortunately, prosperity has not spoiled Chester. He is still the same modest and warm-hearted boy, or perhaps I should say young man, and his friends all agree that he deserves his success.

THE END.