At last he recalled the circumstances under which he fell asleep, and he jumped to the conclusion that he was in the same house still.

"They must have put me to bed," he said to himself. "They were very kind; but this is a queer room."

Thus far no thought that he was a prisoner had entered his mind.

He arose and began to feel his way around by the walls. He judged that he was in a room not more than ten feet square. He could form no idea what was the time. It might be the middle of the night, so far as he knew.

"This is awkward," he thought. "I don't fancy being shut up like this. Where's the door? There must be one somewhere."

He found it at last, and tried the lock, but it did not yield to his efforts.

Then came the startling thought:

"Am I a prisoner?"

He stopped short and thought over the situation. He recalled all he could of the men in whose company he had been at the time he went to sleep. The longer he thought the more it seemed probable that it was as he suspected.

Though a little startled at this view of the situation, Jasper was by no means disposed to be despondent. His courage arose with the difficulties of his position.

"I'll find out how matters stand," he said to himself. "I'll pound till somebody comes."

He began to pound on the walls of the room with such effect that the old man below heard him.

"The bird is beating against the walls of his cage," he thought. "I'll go up and see him."

Presently Jasper heard steps ascending the stairs. Almost immediately another sliding-door about four feet from the floor was drawn open, and the old man's face was poked in.

"Did you knock?" he asked, grinning.

"Yes," said Jasper. "Open the door, and let me out."

"Won't you have some supper first?" asked Nathan, with a leer.

"No; I'd rather go out," said Jasper, in a tone of suspicion.

"I couldn't allow that. Oh, no!" said Nathan.

"What right have you to keep me here against my will?" exclaimed Jasper, furiously.

"We like your company so much, my dear young man," said Nathan, nodding his head waggishly.

"Who's 'we'?" demanded Jasper.

"Jack, and Bill, and me."

"Let me out, I say."

"Don't be agitated, my dear boy. You'll be taken good care of."

"I'd rather take care of myself. Will you open the door?"

"I couldn't, but I'll bring you up some supper directly."

The sliding-door was closed suddenly, and again Jasper found himself in the dark, fully understanding now that he was a prisoner, but why, he could not form a conjecture.



CHAPTER XXVI.

IN CONFINEMENT.

Soon the old man reappeared and opened the sliding-door. He carried a small waiter containing a cup of tea, a plate of cold meat, and a slice of white bread without butter.

"We don't want you to starve," he said. "Here's something to stay your stomach. You're hungry, ain't you?"

Jasper admitted that he was.

"I thought so. When I was your age I was always eating. Never could get enough."

Jasper wondered, if this were the case, why the old man had not grown larger, but he did not say this. He took the waiter from Nathan and set it on his lap, there being no table.

"I hope you don't mean to keep me long as a boarder," he said. "You won't find it profitable, boarding me for nothing."

"That isn't for me to say," said Nathan. "Jack and Bill will see to that."

"Did they tell you to confine me?"

"Yes; I told you that already."

"Will you ask them to come up and speak to me? I want to know why I am here."

"They ain't at home now. I'll tell them when they come in."

"Thank you. Do you think that will be to-night?"

"Not likely. They'll come in so late you'll be abed and asleep."

"Don't let them go out to-morrow morning without seeing me."

"I'll tell them."

The old man waited till Jasper had finished eating, and then took the waiter back through the window.

"Won't you let me have a light?" asked Jasper. "I don't want to stay here in the dark."

"You'll set the house on fire," said the old man, hesitating.

"And get burned up myself? I should be fool to run such a risk as that."

This consideration suggested itself to the old man's judgment, and he promised to bring up a lamp before long.

This he really did. Jasper found it a great relief. He was now broad awake, the effect of the drug having passed off.

There was nothing to do, indeed, but his thoughts were busy, and he tried hard to devise some method of escape, in case he should not be released.

The next morning breakfast was brought to him about eight o'clock. It was not till ten that the sliding-door was opened and the face of Jack appeared at the opening.

"Well, boy, how do you like your quarters?" he asked, with a disagreeable smile.

"Not at all," answered Jasper. "Why do you keep me here?"

"We had reasons for putting you here."

"What were they?"

"First and foremost, you knew too much."

"Were you afraid I should betray you?" asked Jasper.

"You might."

"I promise not to, if you will let me go."

"That's all very well, but when you get out you might break your promise."

"Then it would be for the first time," said Jasper, proudly. "I never break my promises."

"You talk well, boy, but it's easy to talk."

"It's all I can do. There is no way of proving what I say."

"That's so; and that's the reason I'm going to keep you."

"At that rate, you will have to keep me all my life."

"No; there's another way."

"What is it?" asked Jasper, eagerly.

"Join us, and when you're in the same box you won't go to blabbing."

"What do you mean by joining you?" asked Jasper, though he was afraid he understood only too well.

"You ought to be smart enough to know that."

"I don't know what your business is," said our hero.

"You don't!" said Jack, ironically. "Perhaps you think we're commission merchants, or bankers, or something of that kind, Bill and me?"

"I don't think you are either of them," said Jasper, laughing.

"Why not?"

"You don't look like a commission merchant or a banker."

"What do I look like, eh, boy?"

"You may be angry if I answer that question."

"No, I won't. Go ahead!"

"You look as if you didn't get your living in any way so honest as that."

"Well, suppose you are right?"

"Then I am sorry. I wish you would reform and lead a different life."

"No preaching! I didn't bargain for that."

"Then all I have to say is, you are in no danger from me. I shall not betray you."

"Perhaps you are to be trusted, but I can't run the risk. You must join us."

"You may be wicked yourself. You have no right to make me so," said Jasper, firmly.

"That's all nonsense. The world owes me a living, and you, too."

"Not without work. I'm going to work for my living."

"I mean you shall. You shall work for me."

"That kind of work will do the world no good. I want to do something useful."

"So you shall. You shall help us bleed some of these bloated aristocrats. They've got more money than is good for them—more than they have any business to keep."

"I don't agree with you," said Jasper.

"You'd better. It is for your interest," said Jack, frowning.

"It can't be for my interest to become a law-breaker."

"Then you can stay here till you rot!" retorted the burglar, roughly. "You won't come out of this chamber till you have agreed to become one of us."

There was something in this threat which startled Jasper, bold and brave as he was.

"Such an outrage won't be permitted," he said.

"Won't it?" sneered Jack. "We'll see about that. I'll take the risk. You don't know me yet," he added, with an oath.

"Is it wholly because you are afraid I will betray you that you treat me in this way?" asked Jasper.

"No."

"What other reason have you?"

"I'll tell you. You're the sort of boy we want. You ain't any whining, milk-and-water sort of boy. You're brave and spirited. You would be worth a good deal to us."

Burglar though Jack was, Jasper was not insensible to the compliment. Any boy likes to be considered spirited, even if he does not deserve it, and he felt flattered by this tribute, which he felt that he deserved, at least, in part.

"I am glad you have a good opinion of my courage," he said, "but I think I can find a better use for it than in the career you open to me. If I accepted your proposal from fear of imprisonment it would show that I was not such a boy as you describe."

"You are an obstinate fool!" said Jack, with a frown.

"I am obstinate in this," said Jasper, composedly. "You want to spoil my life by making me a criminal."

"Do you mean to call me a criminal!" exclaimed Jack, angrily.

"I call you nothing—I only take you at your word."

"You'll talk differently from this a week from now!" said Jack, prepariug to shut the sliding-door.

"Do you mean to keep me in this dark hole a week?" asked Jasper, unable to repress a shudder.

"Ha! that disturbs you, does it?" asked the other, smiling sardonically.

"Yes, it does. You don't think I fancy it, do you?"

"Well, you know the way to end your imprisonment."

"Is there only one way?"

"There's only one way. Tell the old man, Nathan, when you've made up your mind to accept my offer."

Without waiting for a reply Jack pushed the sliding-door in its place, and once more Jasper found himself in the dark.



CHAPTER XXVII.

AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND.

Three days and nights passed, and Jasper was still in confinement. Three times a day Nathan came to bring him his meals. Each time he asked our hero:

"Are you ready to join our friends?"

And each time Jasper answered:

"No!"

"You must like staying here," said the old man.

"I am very tired of it," said Jasper, with a sigh.

"You can come out any time," said Nathan.

"Let me out now, then."

"Oh, no, my dear young friend," said Nathan, shaking his head, "not until you accept Jack's offer."

"Good heavens!" thought Jasper, "can it be possible that in the middle of a great city I can be imprisoned like this, with hundreds passing the house every hour? I wish I could be heard outside."

But this was impossible, owing to the peculiar situation of the room. The prospects of our young hero were certainly gloomy enough. But there's an old saying that the darkest hour is just before the dawn, and deliverance was nearer than Jasper supposed.

On the fourth day, at noon, Jasper heard steps ascending the stairs. He supposed it to be the old man, with his dinner, and he looked up listlessly as the sliding-door was opened. But instead of the wrinkled face of Nathan he beheld the fresh face of a young girl, apparently about sixteen years of age. She regarded the prisoner with curiosity and surprise.

"Here's your dinner," she said.

"Thank you," said Jasper. "Where is the old man that generally comes up?"

"Uncle Nathan? Oh, he's gone out for a little while."

"He's your uncle, then?"

"Yes."

"Do you live here?"

"I've only just come. He sent for me. What do they keep you here for?" she asked, her face expressing curiosity. "Are you sick?"

"I'm sick of being cooped up here."

"Then why do you stay?"

"Because I have to. Your uncle won't let me out."

"Why not?"

"Hasn't he told you?"

"No. He only told me to bring up your dinner. I thought it was a man. I didn't know it was a boy."

"You want to know why I am confined here?"

"Yes, if you'll tell me."

"It is because your uncle is afraid I'll inform the police against him and the men who come here."

"I don't know much about them. Are they bad people, then?"

"I am afraid they are. They do things that make them liable to be arrested."

"What! my uncle, too?" asked the girl, who appeared to be startled.

"I am not sure about him, but I feel sure about two men who come here. Their names are Jack and Bill."

"I know. I have seen them both. One is a young man, the other must be near fifty. He's stout."

"Yes."

"How long do you think they will keep you here?"

"Until I agree to join them in breaking the laws."

"That's too bad," said the girl, compassionately. "Isn't it awful to be shut up there?"

"Yes, it is. I've been here three or four days, and it seems as many weeks. Don't you think you could help me to escape?" asked Jasper, in a lower tone.

The girl looked frightened.

"I wouldn't dare to," she said.

"Wouldn't you, if you were sure your uncle wouldn't find out?"

"Yes, I would," she answered, heartily.

"Don't you think you could manage it?" asked Jasper, eagerly.

"I don't know. I wish I could," she answered, with evident sincerity.

"Nancy!" called the old man's voice from below, sharply, "hasn't that boy got through yet?"

"Coming, uncle," she answered.

"I'll speak with you again when I bring up your supper," she said, as she hurried down stairs.

She left Jasper eager and excited. At last he had made a friend in the camp of his enemies, and there was hope ahead.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

ESCAPE.

Jasper waited impatiently for supper-time, not that he was hungry, for excitement had taken away his appetite, but because he was feverish with anxiety as to his prospects of release.

"Suppose the old man should suspect her and come up with the supper himself," he thought, anxiously.

But his anxiety proved groundless.

A little after five the door was opened and disclosed the young girl, Nancy. His face lighted up joyfully.

"I'm glad it's you, Nancy," he said. "I was afraid I should see your uncle. Does he suspect anything?"

"No; he scolded me for allowing you so long to eat your dinner, that's all."

"I'll take it off the plate and eat afterward. Now, I want to talk a little. Have you found out any way to help me?"

"I don't know. Do you think you could get out of this window?"

Jasper looked at the aperture critically.

"Yes, I think I could," he said, after a pause, "with some one on the other side to pull me through."

"I'll do that," said Nancy.

"You will? You're a trump! What am I to do afterward? Can you help me to leave the house?"

"That's what I've been thinking," said Nancy. "I'm afraid it wouldn't do to let you out at the front door. It's locked and bolted, and the bolt squeaks. I've tried it to see."

"The windows?" suggested Jasper, anxiously.

"No, I am afraid not."

"Then if I can't leave the house, it's no use to get out of this room."

"Yes, there's another way out, but it requires courage."

"I'm not a coward," said Jasper.

"No, you don't look like it," said Nancy, who was more favorably disposed toward Jasper on account of his good looks.

"Thank you," said Jasper, gratified. "Now tell me, what is your plan?"

"There's a scuttle through which you can get out on the roof. Would you dare to do it?"

"Yes; I might get on to some other roof."

"Yes, but you might slip off."

"I am not afraid. You think of that because you are a girl."

"Yes. I would rather stay here than trust myself on the roof."

"Do you know if the next house is higher than this?"

"Yes, it is."

"That's very awkward," said Jasper, thoughtfully.

"But there are some windows in the side of the house. You might get in at one of them."

"And be taken for a house-breaker? Well, I must run the risk, any way. When do you think I had better try it?"

"To-night. There'll be nobody in the house to-night but uncle and me."

"That's good," said Jasper, reflecting that Nathan looked feeble, and being small in size would not be more than a match for his strength if the worst came to the worst.

"When does your uncle go to bed?" he asked.

"At eleven."

"When will you come for me?"

"At twelve, or a little after."

"Are the nights dark now?" asked Jasper. "It would be rather ticklish being on the roof if it were pitch dark."

"No, the moon will be up then."

"That's all right. If you find out anything else that will help, let me know."

"Yes, I will."

"Nancy!"

"Yes, uncle!" answered the girl. "To-night at twelve!" she said, in a low voice, and hurried down stairs.

Jasper, in thinking over the plan he had in view, realized that it was one that would probably require all his courage and nerve. It would be a great relief to get through without accident. But he never thought of backing out. He felt that anything was better than to be confined longer in his present prison.

It seemed a long time to wait, especially in the darkness, for the oil was burned out in his lamp, and there was no chance of asking for a further supply. He had forgotten it when Nancy came up with his supper. However, he felt that it was of no particular consequence, as he was so soon to be released.

So the hours passed. He did not permit himself to fall asleep, lest he should not be awake when Nancy came.

At last he heard a faint noise at the door, and saw Nancy standing outside with a candle.

"Are you ready?" she whispered.

"Yes, ready and waiting."

"Now try to get through, and I will help you."

She set down the candle, and Jasper set about his task. It was a tight squeeze, but at last he got out, and stood on his feet in the entry.

"Now, follow me," said Nancy, in a whisper.

He climbed a narrow, steep staircase, and then a ladder, and unfastening the scuttle, he laid it back. The moon shone softly down, bathing the city in its beautiful light. He got out lightly on the roof.

"Good-bye!" he said, "and thank you, Nancy."

"Good luck!" said Nancy.

He lowered the scuttle, and sat astride the roof, considering what to do next.



CHAPTER XXIX.

JASPER IN A NEW CHARACTER.

It was a relief to be out of his prison, but it must be admitted that Jasper's situation was not particularly desirable or agreeable. It was midnight, and he was seated astride the roof of the house which had served as his prison. There seemed to be no chance to reach the street, except to slide down the roof, and that would be certain death.

Jasper looked about him in great perplexity.

As his deliverer had told him, the next house was a story higher than the one on whose roof he was seated, and, still more important, there was a side-window looking out in that direction. When Jasper saw this, hope sprang up in his heart.

"If that window is not fastened I can get in," he thought.

He edged his way along to the window, and found that to reach it he would have to slide down a little way and catch hold of the blind to prevent sliding too far.

"There's some risk about it," thought Jasper. "Shall I try it?"

I don't know whether Jasper was justified in taking the risk he did, for there was great danger of sliding over into the street. I don't think I should have ventured to do it; but our hero was fearless and courageous, and he resolved that, as this was the only method of escape, he would avail himself of it. As a precaution against slipping, however, he took off his shoes, and catching the strings in his teeth commenced the perilous descent. He succeeded in grasping the blind and staying his progress.

"Now, if the window should be fastened, what should I do?" he thought.

But it was not. He succeeded in raising it, and with a feeling of intense relief made his way into the chamber.

Then for the first time there flashed upon him the thought that he had placed himself in a very suspicious predicament. He had entered a house at midnight through the window. Why might he not be taken for a burglar? This was the way a burglar was likely to enter, and if he should be caught here his explanation would be considered very unsatisfactory.

Jasper, brave as he was, was startled by this thought, while simultaneously the difficulty of escape was forced upon him. He looked about him in mental disturbance.

It was a small attic chamber. There was a bed in the room, a wash-stand, a couple of chairs, and a clothes-press. This, being open, revealed a few clothes belonging, apparently, to a man.

"Why isn't he here?" thought Jasper, "and what shall I do if he comes?"

Though his story was true, he nevertheless felt that it was improbable, and before he could tell it he thought it likely that an alarm would be given, resulting in his being consigned to the care of the police.

An idea came to him.

He opened the bed, drew out one of the sheets and arrayed himself in it, after carefully folding back the quilt.

"Now," he said to himself, "if it is necessary, I will see what sort of a ghost I can make."

Hardly had he done this than he heard steps ascending the stairs. Jasper had little doubt that it was the occupant of the chamber which he had so unceremoniously entered.

"I'll get into the wardrobe if I can," he thought.

He managed to squeeze himself into the wardrobe, and waited with anxiety for the arrival of the new-comer.

Through a crevice he saw the entrance of a stout, good-natured-looking young man, whistling a popular song. He was probably a clerk or young mechanic, who, after a hard day's work, had been to some cheap place of amusement. Wholly unconscious of Jasper's presence, the young man undressed himself, still continuing to whistle, and got into bed. It was so light outside that he had not lighted the gas.

"I wonder how long it'll take for him to get to sleep?" thought Jasper. "I'm getting tired of being cooped up here."

Unfortunately for him the young man seemed to be in no hurry. He whistled to himself, and occasionally sung in a low tone. At length Jasper decided to make a desperate move. Observing that the young man was lying with his face turned from the wardrobe, he seized his opportunity, stepped softly out, and gained the middle of the floor before he was seen.

The effect upon the young man was startling. The whistle died away, and with blanched cheeks and staring eyes he sat bolt upright in bed.

"Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed, tremulously. "What are you?"

Not a word escaped from the white figure, but it solemnly waved its hand.

"Are you a ghost?" asked the young man.

Jasper made a guttural noise and waved his arm again.

"Oh, Lord preserve me!" ejaculated the young man, shaking with terror. "Go away, do, good ghost! I haven't done anything!"

As he spoke he covered up his head with the bedclothes, and Jasper could see by the convulsive movements that he was in a state of the greatest agitation. Our hero felt inclined to laugh, but forebore. He considered whether it would be safe, disguised as he was, to make his way down stairs and out at the front door. But another course suddenly suggested itself. The young man looked good-natured. Why shouldn't he reveal himself to him, and throw himself upon him for protection? Besides, he was sorry to frighten him so much.

Acting upon his new resolution, he threw off the sheet and said in his natural voice:

"Don't be frightened. I am not a ghost."

The young man in bed took courage to uncover his head.

"Ain't you a spirit?" he said, doubtfully.

"No more than you," said Jasper, laughing.

"What made you frighten me so? Who are you?"

"I am a friend of yours."

"I don't think I ever saw you before. How did you get in?"

"Through the window."

"You ain't a burglar, are you?" asked the young man, with fresh apprehension.

"Of course not," said Jasper, laughing. "Do I look like a burglar?"

"No; but I don't see what made you come in."

"The fact is, I want you to help me," said Jasper. "Just light the gas, and I'll tell you all about it."

He spoke so frankly and straightforwardly that the young man was reassured. He got out of bed and lighted the gas.

"There! do I look like a burglar?" asked Jasper.

"No, you don't; but I don't see how you got in."

"Then I'll tell you. I've just escaped from the next house."

"Escaped?"

"Yes. I was locked up in a dark room for four days, and the only way I could get out was through the roof. Of course I couldn't slide off into the street and break my neck, so I got in here through the window."

"You don't say!" ejaculated the young man. "What did they shut you up for? Was it your father?"

"No. It's a long story. I knew something they were afraid I would tell."

"What are you going to do?"

"I am going to ask you to let me out into the street."

"What! so late as this? You would have to stay out all night."

"That would be better than to be locked up as I have been for the last four days."

"Suppose you wait till morning. This bed is big enough for both of us."

"Thank you. I should like that, and shall be much obliged to you."

"You are sure you are not a burglar?" said the young man, with a brief return of his former suspicion.

"Neither burglar nor ghost," said Jasper.

"What made you put on the sheet?"

"I was afraid you would take me for a burglar, so I meant to frighten you and escape, concluding that you would be afraid to pursue me."

"That's so. I really thought you were a spirit."

"If you think so now, just feel my muscle," said Jasper, smiling.

"I don't think so now."

"If I am to sleep with you, here is your sheet. We can make better use of it than in masquerading as ghosts."

Jasper undressed himself and got into bed. He learned that his companion's name was Adam Diedrich, and that he kept a small cigar store near-by.



CHAPTER XXX.

JASPER GETS A PLACE.

Jasper took breakfast the next morning with the friendly young German, whose acquaintance he had so singularly made. Not a word was said as to the manner in which he had entered the house. He was introduced by Adam as "my friend, Mr. Kent."

After breakfast Jasper went around with his new friend to the place of business of the latter. He decided not to call upon Mr. Fitch till about ten o'clock.

While on his way to the merchant's counting-room he met the girl, Nancy, with a tin pail in her hand. The girl's face lighted up when she saw him.

"So you got off the roof," she said. "I was so afraid you would fall."

"Thank you, Nancy," said Jasper. "Thanks to you I am out of prison."

"But how did you get off the roof?"

Jasper gave her an account of his midnight adventures.

"And now tell me," he said, "how does your uncle take my flight?"

"He's awful mad about it," said the girl, shaking her head.

"What does he think? Does he suspect you?" asked Jasper, eagerly.

"He did at first, but he doesn't now. He's puzzled to know how you got away. And Jack, he's mad, too."

"Jack, does he know it?"

"Yes; he came around to the house about eight o'clock. He was looking seedy, as if he'd been up all night. As near as I can find out, he failed in some job last night, and that made him cross."

"Very likely."

"'Have you carried up that boy's breakfast?' I heard him say.

"'No,' said my uncle.

"'Then give it to me, and I'll take it up; I want to talk to him.'

"So Uncle Nathan made me get the breakfast ready. I gave it to him, and he went up. A minute after he roared down stairs:

"'Where's the boy? What have you done with him?'

"Uncle Nathan stared, and called out:

"'Where's your eyes, Jack? Can't you see straight this morning?'

"Jack answered, as mad as could be:

"'Come up here, you old fool, and see if your eyes are any better than mine!'

"Uncle went up the stairs, two at a time, and looked in the chamber, too.

"'There, what do you say to that?' I heard Jack say.

"'I'm dumfounded!' said Uncle Nathan; and then he called me."

"Were you frightened?" asked Jasper.

"A little," said the girl. "I was afraid I'd look guilty.

"'Do you know anything about this?' asked my uncle, sternly.

"'Good gracious! You don't mean to say he's gone?' I said, looking as much surprised as possible. 'How did he get out?'

"'That's what I want to know,' said Jack, and he looked suspiciously at Uncle Nathan and me.

"'I'm as innocent as a new-born babe,' said Uncle Nathan.

"'Somebody must have let him out,' said Jack.

"'I guess he squeezed through the opening,' said I.

"'Maybe he did,' said Uncle Nathan.

"'Suppose he did, you'd see him or hear him. He couldn't get out.'

"'He might have got out through the door in the night,' said Uncle Nathan.

"'Did you find the door unlocked?' asked Jack.

"'Nancy was up first. How was it, Nancy?' asked my uncle.

"'No; it was all right,' said I.

"That puzzled them both. Then they thought of the roof, and went up. I was afraid they would find you there, but they didn't. They seemed to think you couldn't get away so, and they're dreadfully puzzled to know how you did escape. I was afraid you'd fallen off, so I went outside to see if I could find any blood on the sidewalk, but I couldn't, and I hoped you'd got into the next house."

"Your uncle didn't think of that, did he?"

"No, nor Jack, either."

"Well, I've been lucky. I only hope they won't suspect you."

"They will if they should see me talking to you in the street."

"Then we'd better separate. Good-morning, Nancy. I won't forget the service you've done me."

"Good-morning, Jasper. I'm so glad you got away."

"I wish you were away, too, Nancy. It's not a good place for you."

"I don't think I shall stay long," said the girl. "I didn't know uncle kept such company or I wouldn't have come to his house. Some day I shall leave him, and then I shall go out to service."

"That would be better for you. I advise you to do it soon."

The two parted company, and Jasper proceeded at once to Mr. Fitch's office.

"I wonder what he'll think of me?" Jasper said to himself. "I promised to come back after carrying the money, and now it is four days late."

"Is Mr. Fitch in the counting-room?" asked our hero of the clerk.

"Yes, but he's busy."

"I will wait, then."

"Can't I attend to your business?"

"I think not."

"Your business must be very important," said the clerk, with a sneer.

"I don't know about that," said Jasper, composedly, "but I think if you will tell Mr. Fitch that Jasper Kent is here he will receive me."

"Is your name of such weight?" asked the clerk, with another sneer.

"Suppose you put it to the test," said Jasper, smiling.

The clerk had not seen Jasper when he called before and didn't recognize him as the restorer of little Harry; otherwise, he would have treated our hero with more attention.

Influenced by curiosity he went into the counting-room and announced Jasper's name.

"Bring him in," said the merchant.

Jasper entered, but the manner of Mr. Fitch differed greatly from what it had been when they parted four days before. Then it was cordial and friendly, now it was cold and suspicious.

"Good-morning, Mr. Fitch," said Jasper.

"Good-morning," responded the merchant, coldly. "You have been a long time returning from your errand!"

"That's true, sir; but I would have come sooner if I could."

Mr. Fitch looked up in surprise.

"Do you mean to say that you couldn't come?" demanded he.

"Yes, sir."

"What prevented you?"

"I was in close confinement."

"What! were you arrested?" and again the merchant's face was overspread by doubt and suspicion.

"No, sir; I hope I shall never fall into the hands of the police."

"How then could you be in confinement? This is a riddle."

"The house to which I was requested to bring the money was a haunt of desperate men—burglars, I found out—and they were afraid I would betray their rendezvous. They mixed me some lemonade, which I now think must have been drugged, for I went to sleep in the middle of the day, soon after drinking it. When I awoke up I found myself in a dark room, in the centre of the house."

"Is this true?" asked the merchant, amazed. "Can such things take place within earshot of the police?"

"Yes, sir; there was no chance of my making myself heard; if there had been I would have called for help."

"How did you get out, and when?"

"Last night, at midnight."

"How?"

"I will tell you, sir. That, I think, is the most interesting part of it."

"Proceed."

When Mr. Fitch had heard Jasper's explanation he no longer doubted him. His friendly, cordial manner returned, and he congratulated our hero on his prompt rejection of Jack's offers, though that rejection exposed him to continued imprisonment.

"Now," he asked, "what are your plans?"

"To get something to do," said Jasper.

"Of what kind?"

"Any kind."

"I will engage you, for the present, at ten dollars a week. Will that suit you?"

"Yes, sir. Nothing could suit me better."

"Do you think you can live on that?"

"Easily."

"Then that is settled. To-night you will go home with me. To-morrow will be soon enough to look for a boarding-place. Here are your first week's wages in advance."

"Thank you, sir. You are very kind."

"I have not forgotten that I am indebted to you for the recovery of my little Harry. Here, Leonard."

The clerk already mentioned entered the counting-room. He looked inquiringly from Jasper to Mr. Fitch.

"Leonard," said the latter, "this young man is to be your fellow-clerk. He takes the place of Victor, who left last week. Instruct him in his duties."

"Yes, sir," said the clerk, in no little surprise.

Jasper followed him out into the warehouse.



CHAPTER XXXI.

THE UNWELCOME RELATIVE.

Now that Jasper has found a place we can venture to leave him for a time and go back to the home which he had felt compelled to leave.

His step-mother felt relieved by his departure. It left her mistress of the situation, with no one to interfere with or question her authority. How Jasper fared she cared little, or not at all. How he was likely to get along without money she never inquired, nor did she feel a twinge of remorse for her treatment of one who had been her late husband's sole care and hope. It was enough for her that she had Nicholas with her. Stern as she generally was toward him, she was weakly indulgent. Whatever he wanted she gave him, if it were not utterly unreasonable. She was afraid he would tire of the country and want to go away, and this led her to gratify him in his wishes, in order that she might retain him at her side.

Nicholas was not slow in finding out his power and in using it. He asked and obtained a horse for his own use, and later an elegant little carriage was ordered from the city, in which he used to drive around the neighborhood with the airs of a young prince. To others he might seem arrogant and conceited—to his mother he was only possessed of the proper spirit of a gentleman. In her eyes he was handsome, though in the eyes of no one else.

But perfect happiness is short-lived. In her new prosperity Mrs. Kent forgot that she had a brother who was not likely to reflect credit upon the family. She had not heard from him for years, and supposed he did not know where she was. But in this, as we know, she was mistaken.

One day Nicholas was standing on the lawn in front of the house, waiting for his carriage to be brought around from the stable, when his attention was drawn to a common-looking man who was standing by the fence and looking at him in what he considered an impudently familiar way.

Since Nicholas had become a young aristocrat he was easily made angry by such familiarity on the part of anyone of the lower orders, and he resented it at once.

"Why are you standing there, fellow?" he demanded, frowning.

The man neither seemed overawed nor angry. He only looked amused.

"Because I am tired of walking," he said.

"Then go somewhere else."

"Thank you, this suits me very well," said the man, smiling provokingly.

"It doesn't suit me, though," said Nicholas, bristling up.

"Who are you?" inquired Dick, for it was he, with provoking nonchalance.

"Who am I? I'll let you know!" retorted Nicholas, now very angry.

"I wish you would. That's what I just asked you."

"I'm the owner of this place, and I warn you off."

"Oh, you're the owner of this place!" said the stranger, laughing. "Do you own the road, too?"

"Yes," said Nicholas, "I own the road in front of my place."

Dick laughed again.

"You're a young man, ain't you, to be a landed proprietor. How about your mother? Doesn't she own anything?"

"What do you know about my mother?" demanded Nicholas, a little nonplussed.

"More than you think for, young man," said Dick. "She used to go to school with me."

"Did she? Well, I suppose she couldn't help it if there were low persons in the school with her."

"That's good!" said the stranger, laughing heartily. "So I am a low person, am I?"

"You look like it," said Nicholas, insolently.

He expected the man would be angry, but instead he laughed more heartily than before.

Nicholas began to think he was crazy.

"Well, boy," he said, after a pause, "just remember that appearances are sometimes deceitful."

"I don't think they are so in this case," said Nicholas, "but I can't waste anymore time with you. There's my horse coming around. I'm going to ride."

"Is that your team? It's very neat, 'pon my word."

"That's nothing to you."

"Won't you give me a seat? I've never been in this town before, and I should like to take a drive."

"Look here, fellow, you've got cheek!" exclaimed Nicholas.

"Have I?"

"Do you think I would be seen in such low company?"

"Why not? I'm a gentleman. If you are a gentleman, then I am, too."

"What do you mean? What have I to do with you?"

"A good deal," said the stranger. "I am your uncle!"

Nicholas gasped for breath. What! this low, common person his uncle? He would not credit it.

"That's a lie!" he said. "You are trying to humbug me."

"Not so fast, nephew Nicholas," said Dick. "You can't alter facts. I'm your mother's brother. Didn't she ever tell you of your Uncle Dick?"

Uncle Dick! Nicholas did remember that his mother had named such a person, and the uncomfortable apprehension dawned upon him that the stranger's claim was well founded, after all. He kept silent, but flared at the stranger in a state of mental disturbance.

"I see you've heard of me," said Dick, with a short laugh. "Is your mother at home?"

"I believe so," said Nicholas, sullenly.

"I've come a long way to see her. Will you go in and tell her I am here?"

Nicholas was not overwilling to obey the person whom he had just called low, but he felt considerable curiosity as to whether the man was really his uncle, and this decided him to comply with his request.

"I will speak to my mother," he said. "She will know whether you are what you claim to be."

"Yes, she will know. I don't believe she has forgotten brother Dick."

Nicholas sought and found his mother.

"What, Nicholas, back so soon?" she said, looking up from her sewing.

"No, mother, I haven't started yet. There's a person down stairs who says he is my Uncle Dick, and he wants to see you."

"Good heavens! is he here?" exclaimed Mrs. Kent, in a tone of vexation. "How in the world did he find me out?"

"Then it is he? He is a very common-looking person."

"He's kept low associates. Where is he?"

"Down on the lawn."

"Tell him to come in. I suppose I shall have to see him."

"It may not be your brother after all," said Nicholas.

"I am afraid it is. I can tell soon as I see him."

Nicholas went down stairs in no very pleasant mood.

"You're to come in," he said, ungraciously. "My mother will see you."

"I thought so," said Dick, smiling complacently.



CHAPTER XXXII.

A COLD RECEPTION.

Richard Varley followed Nicholas into the presence of Mrs. Kent. The latter looked scrutinizingly at him as he approached, hoping that it might be an impostor. But, no! there was no mistaking his appearance. It was, indeed, her brother.

"How d'ye do, Helen," said Dick, with ostentatious cordiality.

"Very well, Richard," she answered coldly, slipping her hand out of his grasp as quickly as she could.

"The old girl ain't very glad to see me," thought Dick. "Just as I thought."

"How did you find me out?" asked Mrs. Kent.

"There was a man from this way told me of your good luck."

"Where were you, then?"

"In Missouri, near St. Louis."

"Indeed? Have you just come from there?"

"Yes."

"Did you have any business this way? I suppose you must, or you wouldn't have come so far."

"I came on purpose to see you, Helen," said Dick, trying to look like an affectionate brother, and signally failing.

"You are certainly very kind," said Mrs. Kent in a cold tone, evincing not the slightest pleasure at his devotion. "I am afraid you must have put yourself to a good deal of inconvenience on my account."

"Why, yes, I have," answered her brother, perceiving at once that he might urge this as a claim upon her; "but what of that? Ain't you my only sister, and hasn't it been years since we met?"

"Really, Richard," said Mrs. Kent, with a little quiet sarcasm, "I was hardly prepared to expect from you so great an interest in me. I wonder you didn't come before. It's a good many years since we met."

"Well, Helen, you see I couldn't afford it before. I wanted to see you, but I couldn't raise the money to come East."

"You've raised it now, it seems."

"Yes; I had a little stroke of luck."

"You're doing well, then?" asked his sister, with a slight show of interest.

If this were so, she was ready to welcome him.

"I said a little show of luck. I got together money enough to come East."

"Oh, indeed!" returned Mrs. Kent, her manner becoming chilly again.

Dick got nettled. He didn't relish his reception.

"It seems to me you ain't very glad to see me," said he, bluntly.

"I never was very demonstrative," said his sister. "Did you expect me to fall on your neck and embrace you?"

"No; but—well, you know what I mean. You are as cold as an icicle."

"It's my way, I suppose. Is your wife living?"

"Yes."

"Is she with you?" asked Mrs. Kent, rather apprehensively.

"No; it was too expensive for me to bring two. I hear you are rich, Helen."

"Is that what brought you on?"

"Don't be so suspicious. It's only natural I should congratulate you."

Before this Nicholas had left the room to go out on his proposed drive.

"I've got enough to live on economically," she answered, with reserve. "I am not rich."

"Your son, Nicholas, acts as if you were."

"How is that?"

Dick laughed.

"He puts on as many heirs as a prince."

"He has considerable spirit," said Mrs. Kent, proudly.

"There's no doubt of that. He ordered me off with the air of a young lord."

"That was before he knew who you were."

"Yes, he didn't know I was his uncle. By the way, you've got a step-son, haven't you?"

"Yes; two-thirds of this property belongs to him."

"Where is he?"

"He is absent just now," answered Mrs. Kent, in a tone of reserve.

Dick laughed.

"Oh, you're good at keeping secrets, Helen," he said; "but you can't deceive me."

"What do you mean?" inquired his sister, with some indignation.

"I know all about his going away, Helen."

"Who told you—the neighbors? Have you been questioning them about my affairs?"

"No, no. You're on the wrong scent this time. He told me himself."

"What! has he got back again?" demanded Mrs. Kent, in surprise and dismay.

"No; I met him in Missouri. He told me there."

"How did he know you were related to me?"

"He heard me and my wife talking about you, and then he told me."

"What did he tell you?"

"That you and he couldn't agree, and so he left home."

"He was insubordinate. He disobeyed me, and I wouldn't stand it."

"Oh, well, you two can settle your own affairs. I don't care to interfere, only I thought you would like to hear from him."

"What's he doing?" asked Mrs. Kent.

"He was in St. Louis when I left, looking out for a situation."

"I wash my hands of him. He might live easily enough if he would submit to me. If not, he will probably have to submit to a great many privations."

"He is a pretty smart boy; he'll get along."

"I consider my Nicholas smarter," said Mrs. Kent, coldly.

"Perhaps so," answered her brother, dubiously. "I don't know much about Nicholas."

"Where are you staying?" asked his sister.

"Why," said Dick, rather taken aback, "I calculated you would invite me to stay here awhile, seeing I've come so far to see you."

Mrs. Kent bit her lips in vexation.

"You can stay a day or two, if you like," she said, "but we live very quietly, Nicholas and I. I don't think it will suit one so active as you are."

"I'll take the risk, sister Helen. It seems good to be in my own sister's house after so many years. Besides, I should like to ride out with my nephew behind that gay horse of his."

"You can speak to him about it," said

Mrs. Kent. "I believe he prefers to be alone."

"Oh, he'll be willing to treat his uncle to a ride. I'll give him a few hints about driving."

Mrs. Kent winced. She was proud, and she did not fancy exhibiting Dick to the village people as her brother. But there seemed no way of avoiding it. She privately determined to get rid of him as soon as possible.

"I must leave you now," she said, gathering up her work. "I will ask the servant to show you your room."

"All right, Helen. Don't trouble yourself about me. I'll make myself at home."

"I'm afraid you will," thought his sister.



CHAPTER XXXIII.

DICK PUNISHES NICHOLAS.

"Is that man going to stay here?" asked Nicholas, in a tone of dissatisfaction.

"Yes."

"What made you invite him?"

"I couldn't help it, Nicholas. He is my brother."

"I'm ashamed of the relationship."

"I am not proud of it myself, but I can't help paying him a little attention."

"How long is he going to stay?"

"A day or two."

"He'll stay a week or two if you let him."

"I can prevent that."

"How?"

"You'll see."

The manner of Nicholas toward his uncle was far from agreeable. In fact, it was almost insolent. Dick retained his temper out of policy, but he said to himself:

"Some time or other, my fine nephew, I'll pay off old scores. See if I don't."

"Are you going to ride this morning?" he asked the next day.

"I may," answered Nicholas.

"I should like to ride with you."

"I prefer riding by myself."

"Oh, come, nephew. I shan't stay here long. Don't refuse such a small favor."

In consequence probably of the first part of this answer, Mrs. Kent said:

"Nicholas, you'd better take your uncle out this morning and show him a little of the village."

Nicholas grumblingly assented.

So about ten o'clock they started out.

"You've got a good horse here," said Dick.

"He ought to be. Mother paid four hundred dollars for him."

"Did she, though? You ought to have got me to send you one from the West. For half the money I'd have sent you a better one."

"I don't believe it."

"Because you don't know. I do."

"It takes a good driver to drive this horse," said Nicholas.

"Does it? I could drive this horse blindfolded."

He spoke contemptuously, and Nicholas was nettled. He prided himself upon his driving ability, and now his uncle underestimated it.

"The horse is not as easy to drive as you think," he said. "If you don't believe it, take the reins and see."

"All right."

This was what Dick wanted, for he had a plan for revenging himself on his upstart nephew. He drove on till he got to a place where there was a muddy and miry puddle beside the road. Then by a dexterous manoeuver, for he understood driving thoroughly, he managed to overturn the wagon, and Nicholas was thrown headlong into the puddle. Dick leaped out just at the right time, retaining his hold on the reins.

Bespattered with mud and drenched with mire, Nicholas arose from the puddle a sorry figure.

"What did you do that for?" he demanded, wrathfully, surveying himself with disgust.

"I'm afraid I can't manage your horse," said Dick, with hypocritical meekness. "He was too much for me."

"Didn't I tell you so?" said Nicholas, triumphing in spite of his woful condition.

"I'm sorry you fell into the puddle. Why didn't you jump, as I did?"

"I didn't have time," said Nicholas, ruefully. "What a figure I am!"

"I suppose we may as well go home."

"Yes," said Nicholas, sullenly. "That comes of giving you the reins."

"You are right," said Dick. "You'd better drive home yourself."

Nicholas took the reins, but it mortified him not a little to see the looks of wonder and amusement which he attracted as he passed through the village.

Dick laughed to himself.

"I rather think, my proud nephew, we're about even," he said to himself.

In the course of the next day Dick ventured to suggest to his sister that a temporary loan would be very acceptable.

"A loan!" she repeated, curling her lip. "Why not say 'gift' at once?"

"I'm willing to put it on that ground," said Dick, unabashed. "Still, I'll give you my note for the amount, if you say so."

"What good would that do?"

"Why, I've got some plans in view which, if successful, will enable me to repay you the money, with interest."

"I have small faith in the success of your plans, Richard."

"I haven't been as lucky as you, sister Helen, I admit; but where would you have been but for your lucky marriage?"

"As to that, I have always taken care of myself," said his sister, coldly.

"May be so. There are some born to good luck."

"How much money do you expect me to give you?" asked Mrs. Kent.

Dick looked at his sister's face attentively. He wished to judge how much there was a chance of getting out of her. His survey was not particularly encouraging. She didn't appear to be a woman easily wheedled out of her money. Still, he spoke up boldly, and said:

"A loan of five hundred dollars, Helen, would be a great lift to me."

"I have no doubt it would," said Mrs. Kent, quietly; "but if you have any expectation of getting that sum from me you know very little of me. I should be a fool to throw away such a sum of money."

"You would be generous."

"I have no ambition to be considered generous," she answered, coldly. "A fool and his money are soon parted. You appear to take me for a fool, but I beg to assure you that you are entirely mistaken."

"How much will you lend me, then?" asked Dick, rather sullenly.

"Don't use that ridiculous word 'lend,' when you know there's no probability of your ever repaying it, even if you should be able."

"Have your own way, Helen."

"I will give you fifty dollars, though in justice to my boy I ought not to do so."

"Fifty dollars!" repeated Dick, chagrined. "Why, that don't pay me for coming East."

"You are right. You would have done better to stay where you were."

"You don't seem to consider, Helen, that we hadn't met for years, and I wanted to see my only sister."

"Suppose I had had no money, would you have come then?" asked Mrs. Kent, with contemptuous incredulity.

"No; I couldn't have afforded it. But, Helen, fifty dollars is nothing at all. You might say a hundred."

"I might say a hundred, but there is no chance that I shall. Are you not ashamed—a great, strong man, as you are—not to be able to support yourself and wife without help from me?"

"Luck's been agin me," said Dick, sullenly. "I could have got ahead but for that."

"How has it been against you?"

"I owned a mining claim in California—it didn't pay anything—and I sold it for ten dollars. The man I sold it to kept working till he struck a vein. He cleared ten thousand dollars."

"As you might have done if you hadn't despaired too quickly."

"Oh, well, it's easy enough to criticise, Helen. You've struck a vein, and you're in luck. No more hard work for you."

"There would be if I gave away my money, five hundred dollars at a time. You needn't complain of my good fortune. I have had my share of work to do. Now I am comfortable, and I mean to keep so."

"No matter what becomes of your poor brother?" whined Dick.

"My poor brother must work as I have done, and he won't starve. Do you think, if I were a man," she said, disdainfully, "that I would stoop to ask help of a woman!"

"Well, let me have the money, then," said Dick, gloomily.

Mrs. Kent drew from her pocket-book five ten-dollar bills and placed them in his hand.

"Don't expect any further help," she said. "In justice to my son I must refuse it."

Dick left the house with an execration.

"Was there ever a more selfish, cold-hearted woman?" he muttered. "It's all for her son, is it? I'd like to choke the whelp!"

With this sentiment the affectionate uncle left his sister's house.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

AN IMPORTANT COMMISSION.

It was nearly a year later, and Jasper Kent still remained in St. Louis, and in the employ of Herman Fitch. He had won his way to the favor of his employer, not alone on account of his personal good qualities, but because in the way of business he manifested an unusual aptitude. For this reason he had already had his pay raised to fifteen dollars a week and was thoroughly trusted, even in matters of importance.

Of this he was about to receive an additional proof.

"Jasper," said Mr. Fitch one day, as our hero entered his counting-room, "how would you like a little journey?"

Jasper's eyes brightened.

"I would like nothing better," he answered, promptly.

"So I supposed. Young men of your age generally like to travel."

"To what place do you wish me to go, may I ask, sir?"

"To Kansas—a small town named Plattville."

"Very well, sir, I will go."

"The business is this: A firm in that town, Watts & Duncan, are considerably indebted to me, and I have doubts as their solvency. In the event of their failure I want to realize as much as possible of my claim. I don't want the other creditors to forestall me."

"Yes, sir; I see."

"It is rather a delicate commission, you perceive. You are to go there and quietly find out what you can of their affairs, and report to me by mail. Then I shall send you instructions how to proceed."

"Very well, sir."

"Some might blame me for sending so young a messenger, but I have two objects in view. A boy of your age will not excite suspicion, and again, I repose great confidence in you."

Jasper was not a little gratified by this assurance.

"I will try not to disappoint your expectations," he said, earnestly.

"I don't think you will."

"When do you want me to start?"

"To-morrow."

"I'll be ready," said Jasper, briskly.

"You can go a part of the way by rail, but only a part. It is a frontier town, and you may have to ride horseback a part of the way. That I must leave to your judgment."

"All the better," said Jasper.

"I see you don't mind roughing it," said Mr. Fitch.

"No; that's the best part of it."

"Well, you may go home now and make preparations. To-morrow morning come to the office for instructions and money. One thing only I suggest now—take as little baggage as possible. It would only be in your way."

"All right, sir. I've got a small knapsack that will hold all I want to carry."

"Good! Be here to-morrow at nine o'clock."

At the appointed hour Jasper received his instructions and a certain sum of money. He had provided himself with a belt, into which he put the money to guard against possible robbery, carrying only a few dollars in a pocket-book for outward show.

In explanation of these precautions it must be stated that the events which I am describing took place some years since, when Kansas was more sparsely settled and life less secure than at present.

He received his instructions, and set out on his journey, secretly envied by other clerks who had been longer in the office than himself, but who had not been complimented by having a similar trust reposed in them.

We will follow him and see how he fares.



CHAPTER XXXV.

AN INDIAN MAIDEN.

From the information afforded by his employer Jasper was led to expect a somewhat adventurous journey. He was not to be disappointed. As long as he was in the well-settled part of the country he encountered no difficulties nor adventures worth recording. Plattville, as already stated, was a frontier town, and there was a large tract of almost uninhabited country between it and the nearest settlement.

Late in the afternoon of the fourth day Jasper found himself standing on the bank of a river which must be crossed. There was no boat in sight, and he was puzzled what to do. While he was considering, a young Indian girl glided by in a canoe. She handled the paddle dexterously and as one who had been long accustomed to the exercise, though she did not look more than twelve years of age.

"I wonder if she understands English?" thought Jasper. "Perhaps I could get her to ferry me across."

Acting upon this thought he called out:

"Halloo, there!"

The young girl turned quickly, and discovered Jasper, whom she had not before seen.

She stopped paddling, and asked, in a musical voice:

"White boy speak?"

"Yes," said Jasper. "Do you speak English?"

"A little."

"I want to go across the river. Will you take me in your canoe?"

The girl hesitated a moment, perhaps from uncertainty as to whether she could trust our hero, for she surveyed him attentively. It appeared that her impressions were favorable, for she turned her canoe to the shore and said, simply:

"Yes."

"Thank you," said Jasper, and he promptly took his place in the frail craft.

The Indian girl pushed off and began to paddle rapidly.

"It seems odd to be ferried by a girl," thought Jasper. "I think I ought to offer to take her place." "Shall I paddle instead of you?" he asked.

The girl laughed and shook her head.

"White boy not know how to paddle a canoe—tip it over," and she laughed again.

"I don't know but I should," thought Jasper, as he noticed how light and frail the little canoe was, and how a slight motion would agitate it.

"Do you live around here?" he asked, in some curiosity.

"Up the river," said the girl, indicating with her head, for her hands were occupied.

"Have you a father?"

"Monima's father great chief," said the girl, proudly.

"Monima! Is that your name?"

"Yes."

"It is a pretty name."

The girl laughed and appeared to be pleased with the compliment, though it was only to her name. She seemed in turn to be possessed by curiosity, for she asked:

"What white boy's name?"

"Jasper."

"Jasper," she repeated, with difficulty.

"Isn't it a pretty name?"

"No," said Monima, laughing.

"I am sorry you don't like it, Monima."

"I like white boy. He will be big warrior some day."

"I don't know about that, Monima. So your father is a chief?"

"Yes," said Monima, proudly. "Great chief."

"Did he give you this canoe?"

"Yes."

"Have you any brothers and sisters?"

"One brother, young man; no sister."

By this time they had reached the other side. Monima skilfully drew up the canoe alongside, and Jasper jumped out. He stood on the bank, and drew from his vest-pocket a silver half-dollar, which he handed to Monima.

"Monima no want money," said the girl, proudly.

"Keep it to remember white boy," said Jasper.

"Monima will remember white boy without money."

Jasper reluctantly put the money in his pocket, but he did not like to accept the favor from Monima without rendering her some return. He was in doubt at first, but finally an idea occurred to him. He had half a dozen photographs of himself, which he had recently had taken in St. Louis. He drew out one of these and extended it to Monima.

"Take that, Monima," he said. "Keep that and remember me."

Monima's face lighted up with wonder and admiration when she saw the photograph, for she had never seen one before. She looked from the picture to Jasper, and from Jasper back again to the picture, and laughed softly.

"White boy's picture?" she said.

"Yes, Monima. Do you think it looks like me?"

She nodded emphatically.

"Two white boy—here and there," she said, pointing first to the picture, then to Jasper.

"Good-bye, Monima," he said.

But the Indian girl was evidently tired of the river, for she fastened the canoe and walked by his side. He kept up a conversation for some time, till she turned aside and entered a path which led into the woods.

"Does your father live there?" he asked.

"Yes," said Monima.

"Good-bye," he said.

She didn't say good-bye, but uttered a word which was probably the Indian equivalent for it, and was soon lost to his sight.

"Well, that's romantic, to begin with," thought Jasper. "The daughter of a great chief has ferried me across the river, and I have given her my photograph. The next romantic thing that happens to me may be my losing my way, but I hope not."

He had a general idea of the way he wanted to go, but after awhile he became perplexed, and was led to doubt whether he had not gone astray.

"I wish I could find somebody to guide me," he thought.

He had his wish. A few rods farther on he came upon a man stretched upon the grass under a tree.

"I have lost my way," he began, but before he could finish the sentence the man sprang to his feet, and, to his dismay, he recognized Jack, the man who had had him locked up in St. Louis.



CHAPTER XXXVI.

IN DIFFICULTIES.

Jack looked at first surprised, then smiled with malicious joy as he recognized the boy who accosted him.

"Ha! my chicken, it's you, is it?" he said. "You remember me, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember you," said Jasper.

"I thought I'd get hold of you again some time," said Jack, "but hang me if I expected to find you out here. What brings you here?"

"I came here on business," said Jasper.

"So you are a man of business, are you?" sneered the burglar.

"I am in the employ of Herman Fitch, of St. Louis."

"The father of the boy that Dick kidnapped?"

"Yes."

"Did he send you out here?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"On a little matter of business," said Jasper, with reserve.

"Oh, that's it. Well, you didn't expect the pleasure of seeing me, did you?"

"I don't consider it a pleasure," said Jasper, boldly.

"Ha! you are a bold boy."

"I speak the truth."

"Well, it isn't always best to speak the truth," said Jack, frowning.

"Shall I lie to you, then?"

"Don't be impudent."

"I shan't say I am glad to see you when I am not."

"Perhaps you are right, boy. You will have no reason to be glad to see me. Follow me."

"I would rather not."

"Follow me, or I will drive this knife into you!" said Jack, savagely, displaying a murderous-looking weapon which he carried in his girdle.

Resistance would have been unavailing and dangerous, and Jasper obeyed, resolved, however, to escape at the first opportunity.

Jack led the way into the woods, not far, however, and finally paused under a large tree.

"Sit down," he said, imperiously.

He threw himself down on the green sward, and Jasper, not very comfortable in mind, sat down near him.

"Now, young fellow," said Jack, "I've got some questions to ask you."

"I suppose he is going to ask me about my escape," thought Jasper, and he was right.

"How did you get away from that room where you were locked up?"

"I got out of the sliding-door," said Jasper.

"How did you get out of the house? Did the old man help you?"

"No," said Jasper.

"Did you go out through the front door?"

"No."

"Don't keep me asking questions," said Jack, harshly. "How did you get out, then?"

"Through the door in the roof. From there I got in through the window into a room in the next house."

"Ha!" said Jack. "I never thought of that. Did you have any trouble with the people there?"

"No; I got into the room of a German, who let me spend the night with him and take breakfast."

"So, that's the way you managed it?"

"Yes."

Jasper felt relieved that no question had been asked him as to Nancy's agency in effecting his release. He would not have betrayed her, at any rate, but his refusal to speak might have incensed Jack.

"Well," he said, "so much for that. Now, how much money have you got with you?"

This was a question which Jasper had expected and dreaded to hear, for nearly all the money in his possession belonged to his employer, and not to himself.

"Well, boy, I want an answer," said Jack, impatiently.

Jasper reluctantly drew out his pocket-book, containing, as we know, but a small portion of his money.

Jack took it, and, opening it, counted the money.

"Only twelve dollars!" he exclaimed, in disgust and disappointment.

"Don't take it," said Jasper, affecting to be very much disturbed.

"What business have you out here with such a paltry sum as twelve dollars?" demanded Jack, angrily.

"That's my business!" said Jasper.

"What do you mean, boy?"

"It certainly isn't your business how much money my employer gave me for expenses."

"Did he expect you to make the whole journey on this contemptible sum?"

"No."

"Where's the rest, then?"

"I am to collect some money before I return," answered Jasper, with a lucky thought.

Jack felt disappointed. The money Jasper was about to collect would do him no good, as, doubtless, the boy would take good care, if once released, not to be caught again.

"That's a miserable way of doing business," said Jack. "Suppose you shouldn't collect it?"

"Then I must write to the firm to send some money."

This gave Jack an idea, on which he afterward acted.

"But," continued Jasper, desirous of getting back some of the money in the pocket-book, "if you take away all my money I can't get to Plattville to make collections."

"Is that where you are to collect money?"

"Yes."

"Will you promise me the money after you have collected it?"

"No," answered Jasper.

"You won't, eh?"

"No; I have no right to. The money won't belong to me."

"That makes no difference."

"It makes a great deal of difference to me."

"Look here, boy," said Jack, frowning, "you evidently don't know the man you're talking to. You ain't going to bluff me off in that way," and he reinforced this declaration with an oath.

"I am trying to be faithful to my employer," said Jasper.

"You've got to be faithful to me."

"What claim have you on me?" asked Jasper.

"You're in my power—that's the claim I have. Do you understand that?"

"I understand what you mean," said Jasper.

"Then I've only to say that it'll be best for you to remember it."

"Tell me again what you want."

"What I did want was, that you should collect this money and bring it to me."

"I refuse."

"You needn't, for I don't intend to let you go out of my sight. I can't trust you. No; I have another plan in view."

Jasper did not ask what it was. He felt sure that it was nothing that he would be willing to do.

"What is the name of your employer?"

"Herman Fitch."

"Very good."

Jack drew from his pocket a small pocket-inkstand, a pen, and some paper.

"Now," said he, "I want you to write a letter."

"Write a letter! To whom?" inquired Jasper, in surprise.

"To this man Fitch, telling him that you have had your pocket picked and need some money. Tell him you will need at least seventy-five dollars, as you haven't been able to collect anything."

"I can't do it," said Jasper.

"Can't do it! What do you mean?"

"I mean that by such a letter I should deceive my employer and be obtaining money from him by false pretenses. I can't do it."

"Look here, boy," said Jack, sternly, "you don't know the man you are trifling with. I am a desperate man, and will stick at nothing. I have taken life before, and I am ready to do so again. Write this letter or I will kill you!"

Jasper listened with horror to this terrible confession and his equally terrible threat.

"Would you take my life for seventy-five dollars?" he said.

"Yes; your life is nothing to me, and I need the money. Quick, your answer!"

As he spoke he drew out a long, murderous-looking knife, and approached Jasper menacingly.

It was a terrible moment. Jack looked as if he fully intended to carry out his threat At any rate, there was danger of it. On the one side was death, on the other breach of trust.

Finally he decided.

"You may kill me if you will," he said at length, "but I won't write the letter."

Jack uttered an execration and raised the knife, but suddenly he uttered a stifled cry and fell to the ground, with blood spurting from a wound in his breast.

Jasper bounded to his feet in astonishment. He had shut his eyes, expecting death. His first glance was at the prostrate brigand. He saw that the wound was made by an arrow, which had penetrated the region of the heart. But who had sped the shaft? And was he also in danger? The question was soon answered.

Out from the underbrush emerged three figures. The foremost was the Indian maiden, Monima. Following her were two men of the same tribe. It was one of these who had shot at Jack.

"Is white boy hurt?" asked Monima, running to Jasper and surveying him anxiously.

"No," said Jasper. "Thank you, Monima."

"Monima is glad," said the Indian girl, joyfully.

Jack groaned, and Jasper came to his side and addressed him compassionately, though but a minute before Jack had been about to take his life. He saw that the blood was gushing forth from his wound.

"Is he badly wounded?" asked Jasper, turning to Monima.

She said something in her native language to the two men.

They spoke briefly, shaking their heads.

"White man will die," she said, interpreting to Jasper.

Our hero was shocked. It was the first time he had ever witnessed a violent death, and it struck him with horror.

He kneeled by Jack's side. Just then the wounded man opened his eyes.

"Who shot me?" he asked, with difficulty.

"The Indians."

Jack's glance fell upon the two men, and he tried to lift himself up, but the effort caused his wound to bleed more copiously. He burst into a volley of oaths, which in his state shocked Jasper.

"Don't swear," he said. "Would you go into the presence of God with an oath in your mouth?"

Jack's face grew livid with terror.

"Who says I am going to die?" he asked, wildly.

"The Indians say you cannot live," said Jasper, gravely.

"It's a lie!" exclaimed Jack, violently. "I'll live to kill you all!"

As he spoke he plucked the arrow from his breast; but this only hastened his death. He fell back exhausted, and in five minutes breathed his last.

Jasper looked so shocked that the Indian girl said, in a tone of surprise:

"Is white boy sorry?"

"Yes," said Jasper.

"What for? He try to kill white boy."

"Yes; but it seems awful to see him killed so suddenly. I wish he could have lived long enough to repent."

Monima could not understand this.

"He bad man!" she said, emphatically. "He try to kill white boy. Monima white boy's friend."

Jasper took the hand of Monima gratefully and said:

"You have saved me, Monima. But for you he would have killed me."

The Indian girl's eyes lighted up, but she only said:

"Monima is glad."

"How fortunate that I fell in with her," thought Jasper, "and that I made a friend of her!"

"Where white boy go to-night?" asked Monima.

"I don't know," said Jasper, doubtfully.

"Come to my father's lodge. In the morning Monima will show the way."

"Thank you, Monima," said our hero. "I will go."

He felt that he could not refuse such an offer from one who had rendered him such a service. Moreover, it relieved him from embarrassment, as he would not have known otherwise where to pass the night, which was now close at hand.



CHAPTER XXXVII.

A STARTLING SUMMONS.

The Indian encampment was only half a mile away. There were assembled about fifty persons, men, women, and children, lying on the grass about the tents. Monima's favor was sufficient to insure a cordial reception to Jasper, who was pressed to partake of supper, an offer he was glad to accept, for it was now seven hours since he had eaten food. After the repast a pipe was offered him, but this he declined, explaining that he never had learned to smoke. On the whole, he enjoyed the adventure, except that he could not help thinking from time to time of his late companion, cut off so suddenly. He learned from Monima that her two attendants had remained behind and buried Jack under the tree where he had been killed.

At night he slept on skins in one of the tents, and in the morning he was guided on his way by Monima as far as the road.

The Indian maiden looked sad when they were about to part.

"When will white boy come back?" she said.

"I don't know, Monima. I hope to see you again, some time, but perhaps you won't remember me."

"Monima never forgets," she answered.

"And I shall not forget."

Attached to his watch was a silver chain which he had bought in St. Louis three months before. He had noticed Momma's look of admiration directed toward it, and he determined to give it to her. Detaching his watch from it, he held it out to the Indian girl.

"Take it, Monima," he said. "It is a gift of friendship."

She uttered a cry of pleasure.

"You give it to Monima?" she said, half incredulous.

"Yes," he said.

"And I have nothing to give white boy," she said, sadly.

"You have given me my life. Is that nothing, Monima? Keep the chain, and whenever you look at it remember Jasper."

So they parted, and Jasper pursued his journey to Plattville. He reached the town without further adventure, and conducted satisfactorily the business with which he was intrusted. He succeeded in obtaining half the money due his employer, and in making arrangements for the speedy payment of the rest. So it was with a mind well satisfied that he returned to St. Louis.

When he told Mr. Fitch the particulars of his encounter with Jack, and his escape, the latter said, earnestly:

"Jasper, you are the bravest boy I know."

"I am afraid you overrate my services," said Jasper, modestly.

"And you really refused to write the letter, though you knew your life was in danger?"

"I was not willing to betray my trust."

"I honor your courage and fidelity, but you carried them too far. We would far rather have lost ten times seventy-five dollars than risked your life."

"I didn't think of that, I only thought it would be wrong to defraud you."

"We shall not forget your fidelity. You may consider your wages raised to twenty dollars a week."

"Thank you, sir," said Jasper, gratified.

"It is not merely on account of your courage and fidelity, but partly because of the business ability you have shown in carrying on this affair."

Again Jasper thanked his employer, and went about his duties with fresh courage, feeling that his services were appreciated.

"I am glad I came to St. Louis," he thought. "How much better I am situated than I should have been at home, tyrannized over by a step-mother by whom I was disliked."

Three months more passed, when one day a boy entered the store.

"Is Jasper Kent here?" he asked.

"Yes," said Jasper, coming forward, "that is my name."

"I have a telegram for you," said the boy. Jasper tore it open, and read these words:

"Come home at once. Your step-mother is dying.

"Otis Miller."

Shocked at this startling intelligence, Jasper at once sought his employer, obtained leave of absence, and took the next train bound east.

We must precede him and explain what had happened, and what occasioned Mrs. Kent's critical condition.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

DICK COMES BACK.

When Mrs. Kent's brother left her house with fifty dollars in his pocket she warned him that it was the last money he could expect to receive from her. He did not reply, but he had no intention of remaining satisfied with so little.

"What is fifty dollars?" he thought, "to my sister's fortune? She needn't think she has got rid of me so easily."

At that time he expected to make her another visit in the course of a month or two, but circumstances prevented. The fact is, he was imprudent enough to commit theft and incautious enough to be detected, not long afterward, and the consequence was a term of imprisonment.

When he was released from confinement he at once made his way to his sister's house.

As before, Nicholas was standing on the lawn. His countenance changed when he recognized his uncle, though he didn't know that he had just come from a prison.

"How are you, Nicholas?" said his uncle.

"I'm well," said his nephew, coldly.

"Really, you have grown a good deal since I saw you."

Even this compliment did not soften Nicholas, who turned his back and did not invite his uncle into the house.

Dick scowled in an ugly manner but controlled his voice.

"How is your mother?"

"She's got the headache."

"I am sorry. I have been sick, too."

Nicholas did not exhibit the slightest curiosity on the subject.

"I have just come from the hospital," a slight fiction, as we know.

This aroused Nicholas, who retreated a little as he asked:

"Did you have anything catching?"

"No; besides, I'm well now. I should like to see your mother."

"I don't think she feels well enough to see you."

"Will you go up and see? I want to see her on important business."

Nicholas went up stairs grumbling.

"Well, mother," he said, "that disreputable brother of yours has come again."

Mrs. Kent's brow contracted.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"Down stairs. He wants to see you, he says."

"How does he look?"

"Worse than ever. He says he has just come from a hospital."

"From a hospital? He has a good deal of assurance to come here," said Mrs. Kent, with a hard look.

"So he has."

"I will tell you why," said his mother, in a lower tone. "He has not told you the truth. He has not come from a hospital, as he represents."

"Why should he say so, then?" asked Nicholas, surprised.

"Because he didn't like to say prison."

"Has he been in prison? How do you know?"

"I saw an account in the papers of his arrest and conviction. I suppose he has just come out of prison."

"Why didn't you tell me of this before, mother?"

"I wanted to keep the disgrace secret, on account of the relationship. When he finds I know it, I shall soon be rid of him."

"Will you see him, then?"

"Yes; I will go down stairs, and you may tell him to come in."

Two minutes later the ex-convict entered his sister's presence. He read no welcome in her face.

"Hang it!" he said, "you don't seem very glad to see your only brother."

"You are right," she said; "I do not seem glad, and I do not feel glad."

His face darkened as he sank heavily into an arm-chair.

"I suppose I'm a poor relation," he said, bitterly. "That's the reason, isn't it?"

"No."

"You'd treat me better if I came here rich and prosperous."

"Probably I would."

"Didn't I say so? You haven't any feelings for the poor."

"I haven't any feeling for criminals," said Mrs. Kent, in a sharp voice.

He uttered a stifled oath and his face flushed.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean that you came here straight from a prison; deny it if you can," she said, sternly.

He hesitated. Then he said:

"I'm not the only innocent man that's been locked up."

"You can't deceive me," she answered, "though you protest your innocence all day. I shall not believe you. I feel sure that you were guilty of the crime for which you were punished."

"It's rather hard that my own flesh and blood should turn against me."

"You have disgraced the family," said Mrs. Kent. "I discard you. I no longer look upon you as my brother."

"If you had not turned me off with such a pittance it wouldn't have happened," he said, sullenly. "Out of your abundance you only gave me fifty dollars."

"And you a stout, broad-shouldered man, must accept charity or steal!" she said, sarcastically.

"Luck has always been against me."

"Your own bad habits have always been against you."

"Look here," said he, doggedly, "I won't stand any more of that, even from my own sister."

"Very well. What have you come here for?"

"I'm out of money."

"And you expect me to supply you?"

"I think you might give me a little, just to get along."

"I shall not give you a cent. You have no claim upon me. I have already said that I no longer look upon you as a brother."

"Is that all you've got to say?" demanded Dick, his face growing dark with anger.

"It is my final determination."

"Then all I've got to say is, you'll repent it to the last day of your life!" he burst out, furiously. "I'll go away"—here he arose—"but I'll never forget your cruelty and harshness."

He strode out of the room, and she looked after him coldly.

"It is as well," she said to herself. "Now he understands that there is no more to be got out of me, I hope I shall never lay eyes upon him again."

"Well," said Nicholas, entering directly afterward, "what have you said to him? He dashed out of the yard, looking as black as a thunder-cloud."

"I told him that he had disgraced the family and I should never more acknowledge him as a brother."

"I'm glad you sent him off with a flea in his ear. I don't want to see him around here again."

"I don't think we shall."

There was one thing Mrs. Kent forgot—her brother's brutal temper and appetite for revenge. Had she thought of this she would, perhaps, have been more cautious about provoking him.

* * * * * * * * *

In the middle of the night Mrs. Kent awoke with a strange sense of oppression, the cause of which she did not immediately understand. As soon as she recovered her senses she comprehended the occasion—the crackling flames—and the fearful thought burst upon her:

"The house is on fire!"

She threw on her dress and dashed hastily from the room. She was about to seek the quickest mode of exit when she thought of Nicholas. He might be asleep, unconscious of his peril. She was a cold and selfish woman, but her one redeeming trait was her affection for her son. She rushed frantically to his chamber, screaming:

"Nicholas! Wake up! The house is on fire!"

She entered his chamber, but he was not in it. He had already escaped, and, full of selfish thoughts of his own safety, had fled without giving heed to his mother, though there would have been time for him to save her.

"He is safe!" thought Mrs. Kent, and, relieved of this anxiety, she sought to escape.

But the flames had gained too much headway. Her dress caught fire, and she ran frantically about, ignorant that in so doing she increased the peril. She was barely conscious of being seized and borne out by friendly hands. But though the flames were extinguished, she had already received fatal injuries. She lingered till the afternoon of the following day, and then died. Meanwhile Mr. Miller sent Jasper the telegram already referred to.

Nicholas looked serious when he was informed of his mother's death, but his was not a temperament to be seriously affected by the misfortune of another. His own interests were uppermost in his mind.

"Will I get mother's property?" he asked Mr. Miller, while that mother lay dead and disfigured in his presence.

"This is no time to speak of property," said Mr. Miller, coldly. "You ought to think of your poor mother's fate."

"Of course I do," said Nicholas, trying to look sorrowful; "but I want to know how I'm going to be situated."

"Wait till after the funeral, at any rate," said the other, disgusted.



CHAPTER XXXIX.

HOW IT ALL ENDED.

Jasper did not reach home till after the funeral had taken place and his step-mother was buried. Though he had little reason to like her, he was shocked and distressed by her sad and untimely fate.

"How could the house catch fire, Mr. Miller?" he asked.

"It is supposed to have been set on fire."

"Who would do it?"

"From what Nicholas tells me I suspect that the fire was the work of Mrs. Kent's brother."

"Her brother!" exclaimed Jasper. "I met him in the West."

"Then you probably know that he was not a very respectable character."

"I know that he was concerned in kidnapping a child."

"Nicholas tells me that he had just got out of prison, and applied to Mrs. Kent for help, which she refused. Incensed at this, he probably set the house on fire."