"No."

"Well, that seems satisfactory. I like his appearance. He would look well in harness. What is your price?"

"Two hundred and fifty dollars, cash down," said Abner. "That's too cheap. He's worth a cool hundred more, but I got him cheap, and can afford to sell him cheap."

The horse had cost Mr. Holden just a hundred and ten dollars, and at this price he considered himself decidedly taken in; but this he did not particularly care to mention.

"Two hundred and fifty dollars!" mused the stranger. "It is a little more than I intended to pay. Still, if the animal is what you describe, I don't know that I shall object on that score."

"You had better take him," said Abner. "It'll be the best bargain you ever made, I'll warrant. You'll pay cash down, I suppose?"

"Of course."

"Then shall we say it's a bargain?"

"Not quite yet. I'll take till the afternoon to think about it."

"Better decide now. The fact is, Mr. Richmond, I ought not to let the horse go at that figure, and I may change my mind."

"I think I shall take your horse, but I have agreed to look at another, and must see that first."

"Whose?"

"It belongs to a man named Nichols."

"Sam Nichols?"

"I believe so."

"I wouldn't advise you to have anything to do with him."

"Why not?"

"He's a regular sharper. You can't depend on anything he says."

"Thank you for the caution. I will be on my guard. But I promised to take a look at his horse before deciding. If I don't come to terms with him, and I don't think I shall, I will come round some time this afternoon and make a bargain with you."

Mr. Holden thought it was hardly politic to urge him farther. With a renewed caution as to dealing with Sam Nichols, he let him go.

"Well," thought Abner, after he was gone, "it will be a pretty good thing if I get rid of Spitfire"—he had named him thus—"for two hundred and fifty dollars. He's a bad-tempered brute, and blind into the bargain. But I'm not bound to tell Mr. Richmond that, and so spoil my trade. I've put a flea in his ear about Nichols, and I guess he will be back again."

The prospect of making a good bargain caused Abner to be unusually pleasant and good-humored, so much so that Mrs. Bickford regarded him with surprise. He voluntarily asked her if she did not wish something at the store, volunteering to bring home whatever was needed.

"What's come over the man?" thought the housekeeper. "It's too good to last."

She was quite correct there. Mr. Holden was naturally crabbed, and fair weather with him was the exception rather than the rule. On the present occasion it did not last many hours.

Abner Holden went to the store, but made other calls on the way, so that he was three hours absent, and did not return till twelve o'clock, the usual dinner hour in his household.

Meanwhile, Mr. Richmond, his caller of the morning, had been to see Sam Nichols, and inspected the horse he had for sale. He did not altogether like its appearance, and, moreover, he was prejudiced against him by what he had heard from Abner Holden, and came away without effecting a purchase.

"I don't think I can do better," he reflected, "than to take that horse of Holden's. Let me see, it is only half-past ten. I shall have time to go up there this morning. I suppose I might as well settle matters at once."

Accordingly, eleven o'clock found him again in Abner Holden's yard.

Herbert was out in the yard, engaged in splitting wood.

"Is Mr. Holden at home?" inquired the stranger, pausing.

"No, sir."

"Will he be at home soon?"

"Yes, sir, I think so. He only went out to the store. He ought to be home now."

"Then I think I will wait. I was here once before this morning. I was talking with him about buying one of his horses. If you can spare the time, I would like to have you go with me to the pasture, and I will take another look at the one I saw this morning."

"Certainly, sir," said Herbert, driving the ax into the block upon which he had been splitting, prepared to accompany Mr. Richmond to the pasture.

They reached the bars dividing the pasture from the next field. Spitfire was cropping the grass just on the other side.

"There," said the stranger, pointing him out, "that is the horse I was looking at."

"THAT ONE!" repeated Herbert, in a tone of surprise.

"Yes, he is a fine-looking animal."

"Ye-es," said Herbert, hesitatingly.

"However, I don't so much care about that, as for his being gentle. I want him for a family horse, such as my wife may drive, without fear, while I am away."

"Did Mr. Holden say he's gentle?" asked Herbert.

"Yes. He recommended him highly for that, and told me he had no serious defect."

"Are you sure this is the horse?" asked Herbert.

"Certainly. I am not likely to be mistaken in it. I suppose it is all as he says?"

Herbert was in a perplexing position. He knew that if he told the truth he should incur Abner Holden's anger, but his conscience revolted at suffering the stranger to be taken in, and thus, perhaps, exposing his wife to serious danger.

"I am afraid I cannot confirm what Mr. Holden says," he answered, reluctantly. "The horse is very ill-tempered, and is blind of one eye."

"Is it possible? Then I have had a narrow escape. You have done me a good service, my boy, in telling me the truth, for I am, myself, unused to horses, and should have taken the animal on your employer's recommendation. Accept this acknowledgment of my indebtedness."

He would have placed a five-dollar bill in Herbert's hand, but our hero firmly refused to receive it.

"I have only done my duty, sir. I cannot accept money for doing that. Thank you all the same."

"Perhaps you are right, my lad. If I ever have a chance to serve you, don't hesitate to let me know it."

"There'll be a storm if Mr. Holden hears of this," thought Herbert. "But I could not do otherwise."



CHAPTER X

THE CLOUDS GATHER

At twelve o'clock Abner Holden returned home, still in good humor. As he did not anticipate another call from his expected customer until the afternoon, he made no inquiries.

"Perhaps he won't hear about it," thought Herbert, and as he did not wish to have any trouble with Mr. Holden, he hoped it might prove so.

Abner was so elated at the thought of his good bargain in prospect, that he could not keep it to himself.

"I've about sold Spitfire, Mrs. Bickford," he said to the housekeeper.

"Sold Spitfire! Who wants to buy him?"

"A man that called here this morning. What do you think he wants him for?"

"To break his neck," suggested the housekeeper.

"He wants him for a good family horse for his wife to drive," and Abner Holden burst into a laugh.

"Perhaps he's anxious to become a widower," said Mrs. Bickford.

"No; the fact is he thinks the horse is gentle."

"You told him so, I suppose?"

"Of course, I did."

"Knowing it to be false?"

"Shut up, Mrs. Bickford. You know all is fair in trade."

"No, I don't, Mr. Holden. To my mind, a lie's just as much a lie in trade as in anything else. I suppose the man trusted to your recommendation."

"Suppose he did. I got cheated on the horse, and I've got to get rid of it, somehow. As it is, I shall make a handsome profit."

"Well, Mr. Holden, all I've got to say is, I am glad I haven't got as tough a conscience as you have."

"You don't know anything about business, Mrs. Bickford."

"Well, manage things your own way. I ain't responsible, but I pity the poor man if he buys Spitfire."

"So do I," chuckled Abner. "That's where you and I agree, Mrs. Bickford."

Herbert listened in silence. He was disgusted with the utter disregard of fair dealing exhibited by Abner Holden, though he was not surprised at it. He felt glad that he had been the means of saving Mr. Richmond from being overreached, though he know very well that Mr. Holden's rage would be furious when he learned what had interfered with the trade. He did not feel under any obligations to reveal his own agency in the matter, unless direct inquiry was made of him. In that case, he would manfully stand by his acts.

"I'm expecting the man this afternoon, Mrs. Bickford," said Mr. Holden, "and shall stay around home to see him. When he comes, call me at once; and mind, not a word about Spitfire."

"Just as you say. I wash my hands of the whole affair."

"Washing your hands won't do you any harm," said Abner, with a laugh at what he supposed to be a witticism.

Mrs. Bickford took no notice of this remark. It was not quite easy to say why she remained in charge of Mr. Holden's household, for certainly, she had no respect for her employer. However, he did not meddle with her, or, if he did, he got the worst of it, and it was perhaps the independence that she enjoyed which led her to remain in the house. Knowing Abner's character, she was not particularly shocked at this last evidence of it, but went about her work as usual, with scarcely a thought of what had passed.

Abner Holden sat at the window, and looked up the road, awaiting anxiously the appearance of the customer.

"I hope he'll bring the money with him," he thought. "I'd like to have matters all arranged to-day, before he smells a rat. If I get the money once in my hands, he may scold all he pleases about the horse. It won't disturb my rest."

But the old clock in the corner kept ticking—minute after minute passed—and still the stranger did not appear.

"He can't have struck a bargain with Sam Nichols," muttered Abner, apprehensively. "If he has, it'll be sort of a swindle on me. Maybe Nichols has been telling him lies about me."

Abner waxed so angry over this supposition, that although it was merely conjecture, he already began to consider in what way he could "come up with Sam Nichols."

"That money would come very handy," thought Abner. "There's a horse worth two of Spitfire, I can get for a hundred and fifty, and that would leave me a hundred. I wish he would come."

He looked out of the window, and, not content with that, went out of the front door, and, shading his eyes with his hands, looked up the road. But he could see nothing of Mr. Richmond. Abner began to fear that he had lost his bargain.

"I guess I'll put on my hat and go round to the tavern," he said to Mrs. Bickford. "If the gentleman I spoke of should call while I am away, just send the boy around after me as quick as possible."

"Very well."

Abner Holden walked hurriedly to the tavern, determined to bring about a bargain, which would be so desirable for him, if it were a possible thing. He must and would get rid of Spitfire, however many falsehoods he might have to tell. What was truth in comparison to two hundred and fifty dollars! Suppose Spitfire should run away with the stranger's wife and break her limbs, or even her neck, it was everybody's duty to look out for himself in this world.

Thus reasoned Abner Holden. There is no particular need of my commenting upon the fallacy of this reasoning, since it is not likely that any of my young readers will sufficiently admire his character to be in any danger of being led into imitation of it.

At the end of a very few minutes, Abner stood on the piazza, of the tavern, a little out of breath with rapid walking.

"Is Mr. Richmond still here?" he inquired of the landlord, anxiously.

"Yes, but he means to leave in five minutes."

"Where is he?"

"In his room."

"I want to see him on particular business—I wish you would send up and ask him to come down."

"Very well."

"William," said the landlord, summoning his son, "go up and tell Mr. Richmond that Mr. Holden wishes to see him."

"You don't know of his having bought a horse of Sam Nichols, do you?" asked Abner, nervously, of the landlord.

"No, I am sure he has not."

Abner felt somewhat relieved by this. As long as he was still unprovided with a horse, there was still a chance of Spitfire. He resolved, if necessary, to abate something from the rather high price he had demanded in the morning.

Mr. Richmond followed William downstairs.

"You wish to see me?" he asked, glancing toward Mr. Holden.

"Yes, about the horse you were looking at this morning."

"I have concluded not to take him," said the other, coldly.

"You didn't buy of Sam Nichols, did you?"

"No; his horse did not suit me."

"You haven't any other in your eye, have you?" asked Mr. Holden.

"No."

"Then, hadn't you better look at mine again?" he said, persuasively.

"It would be of no use."

"If the price is any objection," said Abner, insinuatingly, "I don't know but I might say a LEETLE less, though the animal's wuth more'n I ask for it."

"It isn't the price that stands in the way, Mr. Holden."

"What is it, then? Sam Nichols hain't been slandering me, I hope. If he has, I'll be even with him."

"Spare your anger against Sam Nichols. He said nothing against you; though I believe you warned me against him."

"Yes, I did. I felt it my duty to caution you, so you might not be overreached by him."

"You prefer to overreach me yourself," said the other, quietly.

Abner started, and changed color.

"What do you mean?" he said. "Who told you I wanted to overreach you?"

"Why, this is the way the matter stands. I asked you for a good family horse, such as my wife might drive with safety. Didn't you understand me so?"

"Of course."

"And you tried to sell me an ill-tempered brute, blind of one eye, for an extortionate price. Can you deny it?"

"Somebody's been telling you a pack of lies," said Abner, hoarsely.

"I don't think they are lies. I have every reason to think they are true. By the way, what is the animal's name?"

"Spitfire," said Abner, rather reluctantly.

"A good name for a family horse," said the stranger, sarcastically.

"Where did you learn all this?" demanded Abner. "Who's been slandering the horse?"

"I got my information at your place, from one who ought to know."

A light dawned upon Abner Holden's mind.

"Herbert told him," muttered Abner to himself. "That cursed boy has spoiled my bargain, and he shall smart for it."

In a furious rage, he retraced his steps homeward, breathing threats of vengeance dire against our hero.



CHAPTER XI

A CRISIS

Abner Holden's disappointment was excessive at the sudden falling through of his horse trade, and his feeling of anger against Herbert for his agency in the matter was in proportion to his disappointment. His chief thought, as he hurried home from the tavern, was that he would make the boy smart for his interference.

"I'll give him a good flogging," muttered Abner to himself, and he felt that this would be some slight compensation for the injury and slight loss which Herbert had caused him to sustain.

"I'll teach him to spoil my bargains," he said, while his face wore an expression decidedly ugly. "I reckon he won't do it a second time."

It was in this frame of mind that he reached home.

Herbert had just entered the kitchen with an armful of wood for the housekeeper, and having thrown down his burden, was about to go back, when, on turning, he confronted the stormy and wrathful face of his employer.

"He's found out," Herbert concluded at once, and he braced his nerves for the storm which he knew must come.

"Well, young man, I've an account to settle with you," said Abner, abruptly.

Herbert did not reply, but waited for Mr. Holden to state the matter. But in Abner's present angry condition, he chose to construe his silence into cause of offense.

"Why don't you speak?" he said. "What do you mean by looking me impudently in the face?"

"I have no intention of being impudent," said Herbert. "I think you are mistaken, Mr. Holden."

"Do you dare to tell me I am mistaken?" roared Holden, lashing himself into a rage.

"I don't mean to do or say anything that is not perfectly respectful," said Herbert, manfully, looking steadily in his employer's face.

"Why did you tell a pack of lies about my horse this morning, and so make me lose my trade?"

"I didn't tell a pack of lies," said Herbert.

"Didn't you tell the man who came here that he was an ill-tempered brute, and blind of one eye?"

Abner Holden glared upon the boy as if he wanted to spring upon him, and give him a thrashing on the spot.

"I told him that Spitfire was not suitable for a family horse."

"What did you tell him that for?"

"Because it was true."

"Supposing it was true, didn't you know that you were spoiling my trade?"

"I am sorry for that, Mr. Holden, but if he had bought the horse, supposing it to be gentle, it might have broken his wife's neck."

"What business was that of yours? That was his lookout."

"I didn't look upon it in that way. I thought he ought to buy the horse with his eyes open."

"You did, did you?" roared Abner. "Then I advise you to open your own eyes, for you're going to get one of the worst lickings you ever had."

Abner Holden's anger now reached an ungovernable pitch. Looking about him for a weapon, he espied the broom resting against the wall. He seized it, and with a scream of rage, made for Herbert, shaking off the grasp of the housekeeper, who tried to stay him.

Herbert, perceiving the peril in which he stood, ran round the table, which stood, with leaves open, in the middle of the floor. Abner pursued him with headlong haste.

"Lord preserve us! The man is mad!" ejaculated the housekeeper, trying to get out of the way. But in this she was not successful. The kitchen was small, and before she could guard against a collision, Abner had stumbled over Mrs. Bickford, and both came down together. She uttered a succession of piercing shrieks, and, with a view of relieving Herbert, pretended that her life was in danger, grasping Abner by the hair and holding him fast.

Herbert saw that this was the favorable moment for escape, and, seizing his hat, dashed out of the house. He ran across the fields as fast as his limbs could carry him, expecting that he would be pursued. Before we follow him, we will describe the scene that took place after his flight.

"Let go my hair, Mrs. Bickford!" exclaimed Abner, tugging vainly to break from the housekeeper's grasp.

"I dare not," she said. "I'm afraid you'll murder me."

"You are making a fool of yourself," retorted Abner. "What should I murder you for? But I will, if you don't let go!"

"Hello, who's talking of murder?" demanded a rough voice.

The speaker was a neighbor, who chanced to be passing, and was led to enter by the uproar, which was plainly audible outside.

"Save me!" exclaimed Mrs. Bickford. "He's threatened to murder me."

"Stop your nonsense, you old fool!" retorted Abner, vexed at the equivocal position in which he was placed.

"What's all this row about? Mr. Holden, you ought to be ashamed of yourself for attacking a defenseless woman."

"I didn't intend to," said Abner, sullenly. "She got in my way, and I stumbled over her; and then she seized me by the hair."

"What were you going to do with that broom?" demanded the other, suspiciously.

"What was I going to do? I was going to thrash that rascally boy of mine, and Mrs. Bickford knew it perfectly well."

"What has he done?"

"He? He's spoiled a trade of mine by his lying, and I was going to flog him for it, when Mrs. Bickford got in my way."

"Well, said the visitor, shrugging his shoulders, "I don't want to interfere in your affairs. I suppose that you've a right to flog the boy. but it strikes me that a broom handle is rather an ugly weapon."

"It isn't half heavy enough," said Abner, savagely; "but where is the boy? Did you see him?"

"Given leg-bail, I reckon, and I don't wonder at it."

"Run away?" ejaculated Abner, disappointed. "Did you see where he went?"

"No, I didn't, and if I had, I'm not sure that I would tell you."

Abner would like to have thrashed the man who showed so little sympathy with his anger, but he felt that it would hardly be prudent. He went to the door and looked out. But there was no trace of Herbert to be discovered.

"He'll get it when he does come back," he said to himself.

The idea that Herbert might not come back at all never once occurred to him. He resolved that the flogging should lose nothing by being deferred.

We must now return to Herbert, whom we left running across the fields.

His departure had been so sudden, that his prominent idea was to get out of the way of his employer's violence. He was at first under the impression that he was pursued, but when, after running perhaps a quarter of a mile, he ventured to look around, he saw, to his great relief, that there was no one on his track. Being out of breath, he stopped, and, throwing himself down on the grass in the shadow of a stone wall, began to consider his plans for the future.

Everything was in doubt except one point. He felt that he had broken, finally, the tie that bound him to Mr. Holden. He would not return to him. He had experienced enough of Abner's ugly and unreasonable temper to feel that there could be no harmony between them, and as to submitting to personal violence from such a man as that, his blood boiled at the thought. He knew that he should resist with all the strength he possessed, and what the result might be he did not dare to think. What lay before him in the future he could not conjecture, but whatever it might be, he felt that it was better than to remain an inmate of Abner Holden's household, and in his power.

But where should he go? That was a question not easily answered. After his experience of his uncle's indifference to him, he did not wish to appeal to him for aid, yet he felt that he should like to go to New York and try his fortune there. Thousands of people lived there, and earned enough to support them comfortably. Why not he? It was a thousand miles off, and he might be some time in getting there. He might have to stop and work on the way. But, sooner or later, he resolved that he would find his way to the great metropolis.

But there was one difficulty which presented itself at the outset. This difficulty related to his clothing. He had on a pair of overalls and a ragged vest which Abner had provided for him, intending that he should save the good suit he brought with him for Sundays. His present suit, which had been worn by half a dozen of his predecessors, Herbert decidedly objected to wearing, as, in addition to being faded and worn, it was by no means a good fit. He must get his other suit.

But this was in Mr. Holden's attic, and it would hardly be prudent to venture back for it, as Abner was on the lookout for him, and there would be a collision, and perhaps he might be forcibly detained. Fortunately, his money he had about him. This amounted, as the reader already knows, to nearly fifteen dollars, and would, no doubt, be of essential service to him in the project which he had undertaken. As to the clothes, he must think of a way of securing them, before setting out on his journey to New York.



CHAPTER XII

RALPH THE RANGER

One thing was certain. There was no chance of obtaining the clothes at present. Probably his best course would be to wait till night, and then come back to the house on the chance of gaining Mrs. Bickford's attention. In the meantime, probably, the best thing to be done was to conceal himself temporarily in a belt of woods lying about a mile back of Abner Holden's house.

As soon as his breath was recovered, Herbert got up, and headed for these woods. A few minutes found him in the midst of them. He made his way with some difficulty through the underbrush, parting the thick stems with his hands, until he reached a comparatively open space of perhaps an acre in extent. In the midst of this space a rude hut was visible, constructed of logs, and covered with the branches of trees. In front of it, sitting on the stump of a tree, which perhaps had been spared for that purpose, sat a tall man, with very brown complexion, clad in a rough hunting suit. His form, though spare, was tough and sinewy, and the muscles of his bare arms seemed like whipcords. A short, black pipe was in his mouth. The only covering of his head was the rough, grizzled hair, which looked as if for months it had never felt the touch of a comb or brush.

Herbert, though he had never before seen this singular being, recognized him at once as Ralph the Ranger, as he was properly called in the village. For years he had lived a hermit-like existence in the forest, supporting himself mainly by his rifle. This was not difficult, for his wants were few and simple. What cause led him to shun the habitations of his kind, and make his dwelling in the woods, no one knew, and perhaps no one ever would know, for of himself he was silent, and it was not easy to draw him out.

He looked up as he heard Herbert's step, and said, abruptly: "Well, boy, what do you want?"

His manner was rough, but our hero was not afraid. He answered frankly, "I am hiding."

"Hiding? Who from?"

"From Abner Holden."

"Humph! Why should you hide from him? What has he to do with you?"

"I am bound to him, and he is angry with me because he thinks I interfered in a trade of his. He wanted to beat me, so I ran away."

"Good!" said Ralph, approvingly. "Tell me about it."

Herbert drew near, and told his story.

Ralph listened attentively.

"Boy," said he, "I think you are honest. There are not many that can be said of. As for Abner Holden, I know him. He's a mean skinflint. Pah!" and he spit, contemptuously. "You'd better not go back to him."

"I don't mean to," said Herbert, promptly.

"What are your plans? Have you formed any?"

"I want to go to New York."

"To New York," repeated Ralph, thoughtfully. "You wish to get into the crowd, while I seek to avoid it. But it is natural to youth. At your age, it was so with me. I hope, my boy, the time will not come when you, like me, will wish to shun the sight of men."

Herbert listened in sympathy, not unmingled with surprise, to the speech of this man, which was quite superior to what might have been expected from one of his appearance.

"When do you wish to start?" asked Ralph, after a pause.

"First, I want to get my clothes."

"Where are they?"

"In my room, at Mr. Holden's house."

"How do you expect to get them?"

"Mrs. Bickford, the housekeeper, is a friend of mine. I thought I might go there to-night, and attract her attention without rousing Mr. Holden. She would get them for me."

"Good! I will go with you."

"Will you?" asked Herbert, gladly.

He had felt a little doubt as to the result of his expedition, as, if Mr. Holden should be awake and start in pursuit, he would stand a good chance of being captured, which, above all things, he most dreaded. But with so able an auxiliary as Ralph, he knew he could bid easy defiance to Abner, however much the latter might desire to molest him.

"Yes, I will stand by you, and you shall share my cabin with me as long as you like. You are not afraid of me?"

"No," said Herbert, quickly.

Ralph looked kindly at him.

"Some of the children run from me," he said. "It is not strange, perhaps, for I look savage, I suppose, but you do well to trust me. I will be your friend, and that is something I have not said to any living being for years. I like your face. It is brave and true."

"Thank you for your favorable opinion, Mr.—" Here Herbert paused in uncertainty, for he had never heard Ralph's surname.

"Call me Ralph. I have done with the title of civilization. Call me Ralph. That will suit me best."

"Thank you for your kindness, then, Ralph."

"What is your name?"

"Herbert—Herbert Mason."

"Then, Herbert, I think you must be hungry. Have you eaten your dinner?"

"No," said Herbert.

"Then you shall share mine. My food is of the plainest, but such as it is, you are welcome. Come in."

Herbert entered the cabin. The only table was a plank supported at each end by a barrel. From a box in the corner Ralph drew out some corn-bread and some cold meat. He took a tin measure, and, going out of the cabin, filled it with water from a brook near by. This he placed on the rude table.

"All is ready," he said. "Take and eat, if my food is not too rude."

Herbert did eat, and with appetite. He was a growing boy, whose appetite seldom failed him, and he had been working hard since breakfast, which he had taken at six, while it was now one o'clock. No wonder he was hungry.

Ralph looked on with approval.

"You are the first that has shared my meal for many a long day," he said. "Day after day, and year after year, I have broken my fast alone, but it seems pleasant, after all," he said, musingly. "Men are treacherous and deceitful, but you," he said, resting his glance on the frank, ingenuous face of his youthful guest, "you must be honest and true, or I am greatly deceived."

"I hope you will find me so," said Herbert, interested more and more in the rough-looking recluse, about whose life he suspected there must be some sad secret, of which the world knew nothing.

After dispatching the meal provided by his hospitable entertainer, Herbert sat down on the grass just outside the cabin, and watched lazily the smoke which issued from Ralph's pipe, as it rose in many a fantastic curl.

"How long have you lived here, Ralph?" asked our hero at length.

"Ten years," said the recluse, removing his pipe from his lips.

"It is a long time."

"Yes, boy, a long time in the life of one as young as you, but to me it seems but yesterday that I built this cabin and established myself here."

"Are you not often lonely?"

"Lonely? Yes, but not more so than I should be in the haunts of men. I have company, too. There are the squirrels that leap from bough to bough of the tall trees. Then there are the birds that wake me with their singing. They are company for me. They are better company than men. They, at least, will not deceive me."

He paused, and bent his eyes upon the ground. He was thinking, not of the boy beside him, but of some time in the past, and the recollection apparently was not pleasant.

The afternoon wore away at length, and the shadows deepened in the woods. Herbert wandered about, and succeeded in gathering some nuts, which he carried to Ralph's cabin. When eight o'clock came, the Ranger said: "You had better lie down and rest, my boy; I will wake you up at twelve, and we will go together to Holden's place, and see if we can get your clothes."

To this proposal Herbert willingly assented, as he began to feel tired.

He slept, he knew not how long, when he was gently shaken by Ralph.

"Where am I?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

The sight of the Ranger bending over him soon brought back the recollection of his position, and he sprang up promptly. Ralph showed him an easier way out of the woods than that by which he had entered, and less embarrassed by the growth of underbrush.

In half an hour they were standing by Abner Holden's house. It was perfectly dark, the inmates probably being fast asleep.

"I know where the housekeeper sleeps," said Herbert. "I'll throw up a pebble at her window, and perhaps it will wake her up."

He did as proposed. Mrs. Bickford, who was a light sleeper, heard, and went to the window.

"Who's there?" she asked.

"It is I, Mrs. Bickford," said Herbert.

"What, Herbert? Shall I let you in?"

"No; I don't want to come in. All I want is my clothes. They are up in my trunk."

"I'll go up and get them for you."

She went upstairs and quickly returned with the clothes, which she let down from the window.

"Are you hungry, Herbert?" she asked. "Let me bring you something to eat."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Bickford; I am stopping with Ralph the Ranger. He has kindly given me all the food I want."

"What are you going to do? Are you going to stop with him?"

"No, I am going East in a day or two. I am going to New York. I will write to you from there."

"I am sorry to have you go, Herbert. I wish things could have been pleasanter, so that you might have stayed. But I think I hear Mr. Holden stirring. Good-by, and may God be with you!"

She closed the window hastily, and Herbert, not wishing to get into a collision with Abner Holden, who he suspected might have heard something, withdrew swiftly. Ralph, who was standing near by, joined him, and both together went back to the woods.



CHAPTER XIII

A MOMENT OF PERIL

Abner Holden did not suspect that Herbert actually intended to leave him permanently; but when evening came, and he did not return, he became apprehensive that such was the case. Now, for more than one reason, he objected to our hero's leaving. First, because he was a strong, capable boy, and his services were worth considerable, and, secondly, because he disliked Herbert, and it was a satisfaction to tyrannize over him, as his position enabled him to do. There are some men in whom the instinct of petty tyranny exists to such an extent that they cannot feel happy without someone to exercise their authority over. Such a man was Abner Holden. He was a bully and a tyrant by nature, and decidedly objected to losing one so completely in his power as Herbert was.

When night came and Herbert did not return, he decided to search for him, and bring him back, if found, the very next day. He did not impart his purpose to Mrs. Bickford, for he was at no loss to discover that the sympathies of the kind-hearted housekeeper were not with him, but with the boy whom he wished to abuse. When breakfast was over, therefore, he merely said: "Mrs. Bickford, I am going out for a short time. If Herbert should return while I am absent, you may tell him to finish hoeing those potatoes in the garden."

"Do you think he will come back, Mr. Holden?" asked the housekeeper.

"Yes; he will soon be tired of wandering about. He will learn to prize a good home after he has slept out of doors one night."

Mrs. Bickford did not reply; but she did not feel quite so much confidence as her employer appeared to do in the excellence of the home which Herbert had enjoyed under Abner Holden's roof.

"It's just as well he doesn't suspect Herbert's plan," she thought, and without further words, began to clear away the breakfast dishes.

Abner was not long in deciding that Herbert was hidden in the woods. That, indeed, seemed the most natural place of refuge for one placed in his circumstances. He determined, therefore, to seek there first.

We must now return to Herbert.

"If you will wait till nightfall," said Ralph, "you will be more safe from pursuit, and I will accompany you for a few miles."

This seemed plausible, and our hero consented.

Ralph went off on a hunting expedition, but Herbert remained behind, fearing that he might tear or stain his clothes, of which it was necessary, now, to be careful. How to pass the time was the question. To tell the truth, the hunter's cabin contained little that would help him. There were no books visible, for Ralph seemed to have discarded everything that would remind him of that civilization which he had forsaken in disgust.

Herbert went outside, and watched the squirrels that occasionally made their appearance flitting from branch to branch of the tall trees. After a while his attention was drawn to a bird, which flew with something in its beak nearly to the top of a tall tree not far off.

"I shouldn't wonder," thought Herbert, interested, "if she's got a nest, and some young ones up there. I have a great mind to climb up and see whether she has or not."

He measured the tree with his eye. It was very tall, exceeding in its height most of its forest neighbors.

"I don't know as I can climb it," he said to himself, a little doubtfully; "but anyway, I am going to try. There's nothing like trying."

This was a lucky determination for Herbert, as will speedily appear.

It was twenty feet to the first branching off, and this was, of course, the most difficult part of the ascent, since it was necessary to "shin up," and the body of the tree was rather too large to clasp comfortably. However, it was not the first time that Herbert had climbed a tree, and he was not deficient in courage as well as skill. So he pushed on his way, and though once or twice in danger of falling, he at length succeeded in reaching the first bough. From this point the ascent was comparatively easy.

In a short time our hero was elated to find himself probably fifty feet from the ground, so high it made him feel a little dizzy to look down. He reached the nest, and found the young birds—three in number. The parent bird hovered near by, evidently quite alarmed for the safety of her brood. But Herbert had no intention of harming them. He only climbed up to gratify his curiosity, and because he had nothing more important to do. Though he did not know it, his own danger was greater than that which threatened the birds. For, just at that moment, Mr. Holden, in his wanderings, had reached Ralph's cabin, and Herbert, looking down, beheld, with some anxiety, the figure of the unwelcome visitor. He saw Abner enter the cabin, and, after a few moments' interval, issue from it with an air of disappointment and dissatisfaction.

"How lucky," thought our hero, "that he did not find me inside!"

Abner Holden looked about him in every direction but the right one. He little dreamed that the object of his pursuit was looking down upon him, securely, from above.

"I don't think he'll find me," thought Herbert. "Wouldn't he give something, though, to know where I am?"

But our young hero was doomed to disappointment. Just at that moment— the unluckiest that could have been selected—he was seized with a strong inclination to sneeze.

Alarmed lest the sound should betray him, he made desperate efforts to suppress it but Nature would have its way, and probably did so with greater violence than if no resistance had been made.

"Ker-chew!" sneezed Herbert, violently.

As he anticipated, Abner's attention was attracted by the loud noise, which he rightly concluded could hardly proceed from a bird or squirrel. He had just been on the point of leaving the cabin for some other part of the woods, but at this sound he stood still. Looking up to discover whence it proceeded, his keen eyes detected Herbert in his lofty perch. His eyes sparkled with joy.

"Ha, you young rascal!" he exclaimed. "So you are there, are you? You were going to run away, were you?"

Now that Herbert was actually discovered, his fear left him, and he became perfectly self-possessed and confident.

"Yes, Mr. Holden," he answered, quietly; "such is my intention."

"Boldly spoken," said Abner, provoked by our hero's coolness, for he had hoped to find him terrified and pleading for forgiveness. "I admire your frankness, and will try to equal it. I suppose you'll give it up as a bad job now."

"No, sir," said Herbert, firmly.

"Take care, sir," said Abner, in anger and astonishment. "Take care how you defy me. Come down here at once."

"What for?" inquired Herbert, without stirring.

"What for?" repeated Abner Holden. "That I may flog you within an inch of your life."

"That's no inducement," said our hero, coolly.

"Do you refuse to obey me?" shouted Abner, stamping angrily.

"I refuse to be flogged. You don't get me down for any such purpose, Mr. Holden."

"Then, by Heaven, if you won't come otherwise, I'll come up and help you down."

The angry man at once commenced the ascent. Anger gave him strength, and, though he was unaccustomed to climbing, he continued to mount up about halfway to the first branching off, somewhat to Herbert's uneasiness, for he felt there was a chance that he might fall into Abner's clutches.

But Abner's success was only temporary. At the height of a dozen feet he began to slip, and, despite his frantic struggles, he slid gradually to the ground, tearing his coat, which he had not taken the precaution to remove, and blistering his hands.

What was to be done?

In his anger and excitement, he drew a pistol from his breast pocket, and pointed upward, saying menacingly, "Come down at once, you young rascal, or I will fire!"

Herbert was startled. He did not believe the pistol to be loaded. Still it might be.

"Will you come down?" repeated Abner, fiercely. "Quick, or I fire."

Herbert's cheek was pale, but in a resolute voice he answered, "I will not."

Abner Holder, laid his finger upon the trigger, and would, in his anger, have carried his threat into execution; but at the critical moment he was conscious of a violent blow, and the pistol was wrenched from his hand.

Turning quickly, he met the stern glance of Ralph the Ranger.



CHAPTER XIV

TAKEN PRISONER

"What does all this mean?" demanded Ralph, in a tone of command.

"What right have you to interfere?" said Abner Holden, sulkily.

"The right that any man has to prevent murder," said Ralph, briefly.

"I wasn't going to murder him."

"What were you going to do?" asked Ralph, looking keenly at Abner. "Why were you pointing the pistol at him?"

"I wanted to frighten him."

"You meant to have him think you were going to fire. I believe you were."

"Why didn't he come down when I bade him?"

"I'll answer that question," said Herbert, from the top of the tree. "Mr. Holden promised to beat me if I would come down, but I didn't think that a sufficient inducement."

"I have a right to beat you," said Abner, doggedly. "Ain't you bound to me; tell me that?"

"I was," said Herbert, "and if you had treated me well, I would have stayed with you; but I don't mean to remain to be abused."

"You hear the lad's answer," said Ralph. "I like his spirit, and I'll stand by him. He won't return with you."

While this conversation had been going on, Abner had been slowly edging himself toward the spot upon which Ralph had thrown the pistol, which he had wrenched from him. While Ralph was speaking, he suddenly darted forward, seized the weapon, and, facing about, said, with malicious triumph, "Now, you're in my power, both of you. We'll see whether he'll go back with me or not."

As he spoke he pointed the pistol toward Ralph.

The latter laughed contemptuously.

This irritated Abner Holden.

"I will count ten," he said. "Unless the boy begins to come down before I stop, I fire at you. One—two——"

"Hold!" said Ralph, and, drawing his revolver from beneath his hunting- jacket, he pointed it at Abner. "Two can play at that game, Abner Holden. This revolver is fully loaded. It gives me six chances of hitting you. You have but one chance with your pistol. The moment your finger touches the trigger, your doom is sealed. I never miss my aim."

A sickly hue overspread the face of Abner Holden. He had counted on Ralph's being unarmed. He saw that he had made an important and most unlucky mistake.

"Put down your revolver," he said, in a very different tone. "I wasn't in earnest, you know."

"I know nothing of the kind," retorted Ralph. "You looked to me as if you were very much in earnest."

Still with his revolver he covered Abner.

"Put down your weapon," said Abner, nervously. "It might go off."

"Yes, it might," returned Ralph. "I will lower it, on one condition."

"What is that?"

"That you lay down your pistol on the ground."

Abner demurred, but finally felt compelled to do as he was commanded.

"That is well," said Ralph, quietly. "Now, I will take care that you are not tempted by it again."

He walked toward the pistol, lifted it, and, pointing it in the reverse direction, fired it off among the trees.

"So much for that," he said. "Now, Herbert, you may come down."

Herbert complied promptly. He felt the utmost confidence in the prowess and good faith of his new friend, and did not fear to descend, though his bitterest enemy awaited him beneath.

Meanwhile an idea struck Abner Holden. He saw that he was no match for Herbert as long as Ralph chose to befriend him. He resolved to enlist the latter on his side.

"Hark you, Ralph," he said, "come aside with me. I wish to speak to you a moment."

Ralph followed him a few paces in silence.

"Now what is it you have to say to me?" he demanded.

"About this boy," said Abner, insinuatingly. "He is bound to me."

"Well?"

"And the law gives me authority over him."

"Well?"

"I want him to go back with me."

"Well?"

"Will you promise not to interfere between us?"

"I can't promise that," said Ralph, briefly.

"Stay a moment," said Abner, seeing that he was on the point of leaving him; "of course, I am willing to make it worth your while. I'll give you—well, three dollars, to help me secure him, and carry him back to my house."

"What do you take me for?" asked Ralph, looking at the other, steadily.

"For a poor man," said Abner. "Think a moment. Three dollars will buy you provisions for a week. They couldn't be more easily earned. In fact, you needn't do anything. Only promise not to interfere between the boy and myself."

Ralph turned upon him scornfully.

"I have promised the boy my protection," he said, "and you would have me forfeit my word for a paltry three dollars?"

"I'll give you five," said Abner, supposing that the sum he had offered was not sufficient.

"Not for five dollars, nor five thousand," returned Ralph, shortly. "I thought you meant to insult me, but I see you only judge me by yourself. The boy shall not return with you. Make up your mind to that."

"I can have you arrested," said Abner, angrily.

Ralph laughed.

"Let that comfort you for the loss of the boy," he said.

"I'll have the boy, too," muttered Abner, turning to leave them.

"Where are you going?" demanded Ralph.

"I am going home."

"Not yet."

"Why not?" demanded Abner, facing about.

"Because I can't spare you yet."

"What right have you to interfere with my movements?" said Abner.

"None, perhaps; but I will inquire into that afterward. It is enough that, for the present, you must stay here."

"I shall do no such thing," said Abner, and he again turned to go.

Ralph deliberately lifted his weapon, and took aim.

"What do you say now?" he asked.

"Surely, you will not fire at me," said Abner, turning pale.

"Not if you remain where you are."

"How long do you mean to keep me?" demanded Abner, sullenly.

"As long as may be necessary. That is all. Herbert, go into the cabin and look in one corner for a cord."

Herbert soon returned with a stout cord, tough and strong.

"What are you going to do with that?" asked Abner suspiciously.

I'm going to bind you," said Ralph, coolly.

"I'll have the law on you for this," said Abner, hoarsely.

"All in good time," said Ralph. "But I advise you to consider whether the law has nothing to say against attempted murder."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you attempted to murder this boy, and would have done so, in all probability, if I had not interfered. When I am arrested, I shall feel it my duty to make this known to the authorities."

Abner was silent. He felt that Ralph's testimony would have an ugly look.

"Let me go," he said, after a pause. "You needn't be afraid of my troubling either of you. Don't tie me."

"Abner Holden," said Ralph, "I know you, and I know you are not to be trusted. I have resolved to help this boy to escape from you, and I mean to do it effectually. For this purpose, I must subject you to temporary inconvenience. I advise you not to resist."

He had already tied the hands of Abner Holden, who, as he looked into the fearless, resolute face of the Ranger, felt that it would not do to resist. It chafed him most to think that Herbert, his bound boy, should be a witness of his humiliation, and he scowled savagely at our hero. But Herbert showed no triumph. His was a brave and generous nature, and had it rested with him, he would have let Mr. Holden go, but he did not think it best to interfere.

Ralph quickly tied both hands and feet, and then took the helpless body of Abner into the cabin, where he placed him in one corner.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked.

"Yes," said Abner, sullenly.

Ralph placed a cup of water to his lips. He also placed a loaf of bread beside him, which, though his hands were tied at the wrist, he would still be able to reach, and then beckoned to Herbert.

"Come," he said, "it is time that we were going."

Abner gnashed his teeth with anger, as he watched them issue from the cabin together, and felt how utterly helpless he was to prevent them.



CHAPTER XV

A FOUR-FOOTED FOE

Abner Holden's reflections, when he found himself left alone in Ralph's cabin, bound hand and foot, were not of the most agreeable nature. It was humiliating to find himself baffled at every point, and, for once, completely defeated in his attempt to exercise his authority over the boy who had been bound to him.

That Herbert should escape from him beyond the chance of recovery seemed now almost certain. If he were free, something might be done. But he was so securely bound that it was impossible to get free without help, and the lonely situation of the cabin made it very doubtful whether anyone would come within hearing until the return of Ralph himself. When that would be was uncertain.

Three hours passed, and still no prospect of release. The bonds chafed his wrists, and his situation was far from comfortable. He tried to loosen the cords, but without success.

"Must I stay here all night?" he thought, in alarm.

But deliverance was at hand, though its first approach was disagreeable.

A large dog entered the cabin through the open door, drawn thither, probably, by curiosity. When he saw Abner he appeared to take a dislike to him, and barked vehemently.

"Go away, you brute!" said Abner, wrathfully.

The dog, however, appeared instinctively to understand that Abner Holden was able only to threaten him, and barked more furiously than before; sometimes approaching within a foot of the helpless prisoner, and showing a formidable row of teeth, which Abner feared every moment might fasten upon his arm or leg.

Abner Holden was not a man of courage. Though his disposition was that of a bully, he was easily frightened, and the fierce look of the dog alarmed him not a little. In fact, it might have tested the courage of a much braver man than Mr. Holden.

"Go away!" he shrieked, shrinking back as far as he could from the open mouth of his persecutor.

A hoarse bark was the only reply, and the dog made an artful spring, which was only a feint, but had too much the appearance of earnest to suit his enemy.

"Oh, will nobody save me from the brute?" groaned Abner, in an ecstasy of terror. "If I could only get my hands loose!" and he tugged frantically at the cord.

Feeling how utterly he was at a disadvantage, he condescended to coax his fierce antagonist.

"Be quiet, that's a good dog," he said, with hypocritical softness.

The dog noticed a change in his tone, and evidently viewed it with some suspicion. Still his bark became less fierce and his looks less threatening.

"Good dog!" repeated Abner, in wheedling tones. "There's some dinner."

And he pushed over the provisions which Ralph had left.

While the dog was apparently taking his offer into consideration, a boy's voice was heard outside, calling "Carlo, Carlo!"

The dog pricked up his ears and ran out of the cabin.

"So you are here, you truant," said the boy. "Why did you run away? What have you to say for yourself, sir?"

The dog answered by a wag of his tail.

"Oh, yes, you may wag your tail, but I've a great mind to punish you for running away, and putting me to the trouble of finding you."

"Hello!" cried Abner, in a loud voice.

"Who's that?" thought the boy, surprised.

As the voice evidently came from within the cabin, he ventured to the door, and looked in. He was considerably surprised to see Abner Holden, whom he knew well by sight, lying bound hand and foot in the corner.

"Is that you, Mr. Holden?" he asked, in a tone of surprise.

"Of course it is," said Abner, who was not in a very pleasant frame of mind.

"Are you tied?"

"Don't you see I am?" snarled Abner.

"Who tied you?"

"That rascal Ralph. I mean to have him hung, if I live."

"Ralph! Why, I thought he was quiet and peaceable."

"He tried to murder me, but changed his mind, and tied me, as you see."

"I can't understand it."

"There is no need of understanding it. Come and unfasten these cords. I feel stiff and cramped."

The boy tried to unfasten the cord, but it was too securely tied.

"Where is your knife?"

"I haven't got any."

"Then take the axe."

There was an axe standing at the corner of the room. This the boy got, and, with the keen edge, severed the string.

Abner stretched himself to relieve his cramped limbs. Then he bethought himself of his late persecutor.

"Is that your dog?" he asked, surveying his four-legged enemy with no friendly expression.

"Yes, that's Carlo. Come here, Carlo."

"He's been in here barking at me, and threatening to bite me, and now I'll have my revenge."

"What do you mean?" inquired the boy, in alarm, as Abner seized the axe and swung it over his head.

"Stand aside, boy!"

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to kill that brute."

"No, no, he's a good dog. He won't do any harm," said the boy, in alarm.

"I'll kill him," said Abner, fiercely.

The dog surveyed his enemy with suspicion. He seemed to understand that danger menaced him. He growled in a low, hoarse, ominous tone, which showed that he was on his guard, and meant to do his part of the fighting, if necessary.

His owner had retreated to the door, and now tried to call him away.

"Carlo, Carlo, come out here, sir."

But Carlo would not come. He had no intention of shrinking from the danger that threatened him, but was bent on defending himself, as became a brave and dauntless dog, whose courage was above suspicion.

If Abner had not been so exasperated, he might have been terrified, but anger re-enforced his courage, and, moreover, he had a great deal of confidence that the axe which he held in his hand would make him more than a match for the dog.

"I'll kill him!" he exclaimed, and once more he swung the axe over his head, and brought it down with a tremendous force in the direction of the dog.

Alas for poor Carlo, if the axe had struck him! But he was wary, and knew something of warlike tactics, and with watchful eye carefully noted Abner's movements. The boy uttered a cry of alarm at the peril of his favorite, but Carlo sprang to one side just as the axe descended, and it was buried in the earthen floor of the cabin so deeply that Abner could not immediately recover it.

The advantage was thus transferred to the other side, and the dog was not slow in perceiving it.

With a bound he sprang upon his adversary, and bore him to the floor, seizing his coat between his strong teeth. He pulled and tugged at this with a strength which no ordinary cloth could possibly withstand.

"Take him off! take him off!" shrieked Abner in terror.

The boy sprang to the rescue.

"Come away, Carlo," he said, grasping him by the collar; "come away, that's a good dog."

But, habitually obedient as Carlo was, his young master found it difficult to get him away. He felt that he had received a grievous injury—that his life had been attempted—and he wanted to have satisfaction. Finally his master succeeded in drawing him away, but not till Mr. Holden's coat was badly torn.

The latter was crestfallen and angry, and not so grateful as he ought to have been to his young defender.

"I'll make your father pay for this coat, you young rascal!" he said.

"It isn't my fault, Mr. Holden," said the boy.

"Yes, it is. It was your dog that tore my coat."

"Carlo wouldn't have torn it, if you hadn't attacked him."

"He attacked me first."

"You had better go away, Mr. Holden, or he may go at you again."

A low growl from the dog whom he held by the collar re-enforced this suggestion, and Abner, uttering threats both against the dog and his master, strode out of the cabin and bent his steps homeward.

As he entered the kitchen, the housekeeper turned, and, noticing his torn coat, exclaimed, "Good gracious, Mr. Holden, what's happened to you? How came your coat so badly torn?"

"It was a dog," muttered Abner, who did not care to be questioned.

Mrs. Bickford supposed he must have taken off the coat, and the dog had torn it as it lay upon the ground.

"What a pity!" she exclaimed. "Whose dog was it?"

"Alfred Martin's. I'll make Martin pay for the coat. He has no right to keep such a brute."

"You must be hungry, Mr. Holden."

"Yes, get me something as quick as possible."

"Have you seen anything of Herbert?" asked the housekeeper.

"No," snapped Abner.

This was a falsehood, of course, but he felt rather ashamed to confess that he had seen Herbert, and that the latter had got the better of him. Mrs. Bickford perceived that he was out of humor, and did not press the question. She concluded that he was angry because his quest had been unsuccessful.



CHAPTER XVI

JUST TOO LATE

Leaving Abner Holden bound in his cabin, Ralph led Herbert, by a short path, out of the woods.

"Your best course," he said, "will be to take the cars for Columbus at Vernon. At Columbus you will go to Wheeling, and from there, over the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad to Baltimore, and thence to New York. But all this will cost money."

"I have money," said Herbert.

"How much?"

"About fifteen dollars."

"Is that all?"

"Is it not enough to carry me to New York?"

"Hardly. Besides, when you get there, how will you get along? Have you any relations in the city?"

"Yes, an uncle."

"Then you will go to him?"

"No," said Herbert, hastily.

"Why not?"

"He does not care to see me. Shall I tell you what sort of a letter he wrote to Dr. Kent about me?"

"Yes, tell me."

Herbert, in indignant language, which correctly represented his feelings, gave the substance of the letter, which is already known to us.

"I shall not feel easy," he said, "until I am able to return the ten dollars which my uncle sent me. I am not willing to remain under obligations to one who cares so little for me."

"I think you are proud," said Ralph, bending his eyes upon the lad's glowing countenance.

"Perhaps I am," said Herbert; "but is it not a proper pride?"

"I cannot say no," answered Ralph; "but would you feel the same about incurring obligations to a friend?"

"No," said Herbert; "that would be different."

"I am glad to hear you say so, for I am going to ask you to accept help from me."

To Herbert's surprise, Ralph drew out a small bag, originally intended for shot, and drew therefrom five golden coins, of five dollars each.

"Take them," he said, simply.

Herbert hesitated, while his face indicated extreme surprise.

"I thought—" he commenced, and then paused.

"You thought me poor," said Ralph, finishing the sentence for him. "Is it not so?"

"Yes," said Herbert.

"Most people think so," said Ralph. "But it was not poverty that drove me from the busy world to this solitude. Rich or poor, I had money enough for my wants. Here I have little use for money. To me it is a useless and valueless thing. You need have no hesitation in taking this. But on second thoughts, I had better give you more." And he was about to draw forth more.

"No, no," said Herbert, hastily. "It is quite sufficient. You are very, very kind. Some time I hope to repay you."

"No," said Ralph. "Do not talk of repayment. Let me have the pleasure of giving you this small sum."

"How kind you are," said Herbert, impulsively, "and to a stranger."

"Yet my obligation to you is greater than yours to me," said Ralph.

"How can that be?" asked the boy, raising his eyes to Ralph's grave face.

"You are the first human being in whose society I have taken pleasure for years. Deeply injured by man, I conceived a hatred for the whole race. But in your frank face I see much to like. I think I could trust you."

"I hope so," said Herbert.

"You have inspired in me a new feeling, for which I cannot account. Yesterday the world had no attractions for me. To-day I feel an interest in your welfare, at least."

"Why do you bury yourself in this lonely place?" said Herbert. "You cannot be happy in it. Come with me to New York. It must be a beautiful place."

Ralph smiled gravely.

"To the young the world seems bright," he said. "It is after years have swept away one illusion after another, after faith in one's fellowmen has been sorely tried, and the hollowness of the world's friendship has been proved, that the brightness fades."

"You have seen more of life than I," said Herbert, "and perhaps it is presumption in me to question what you say; but I cannot help feeling that you are mistaken. I am sure that there is such a thing as true friendship."

"How many true friends are you blessed with?" asked Ralph, a little sarcasm in his tone.

"Not many, perhaps, but some. There is good Dr. Kent and his family. I am sure of their friendship. Then," he added, his color slightly rising, "I think I have found another friend," and he looked in the face of his guide.

The grave face softened.

"Thank you, my lad," said Ralph. "You are right there, at least. You can rely upon my friendship being sincere."

"Then I am right, am I not?" said Herbert, smiling brightly.

"I believe you are," said the guide, after a pause, "and I thank you for teaching me a lesson."

"Man was made in the image of God," said Herbert. "If we doubt man, I think it is the same as doubting God."

Ralph did not reply, but walked on in thoughtful silence.

"How far is it to Vernon?" asked Herbert, when they had emerged from the woods.

"It is five miles farther. Can you walk so far?"

"Oh, yes; I have good stout legs. But suppose Mr. Holden should escape. He might pursue us."

Ralph smiled.

"I think I shall find him in the same place when I return," he said.

"He will be very angry with you."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Ralph, indifferently.

"Are you not afraid he will have you arrested?"

"No, I care little. If I am fined, I will pay the fine, and that will be the end of it."

"But you might be imprisoned?"

"If I see any danger of that, I shall be tempted to charge Abner Holden with his attempt upon your life. Don't make yourself anxious about me, my lad. I have little fear of what the law may do as far as my agency in this affair is concerned."

Ralph seemed so entirely unconcerned that something of his confidence was imparted to Herbert. Noting the erect mien and fearless glance of his guide, every movement betokening strength, he could not help feeling that Abner Holden would be rash to make such a man his enemy. He felt safe in his protection, and his apprehensions of capture passed away. So with lightened heart he walked the five dusty miles to the village of Vernon, accompanied by Ralph.

It was a thrifty village, with neat and tasteful dwellings lining the principal street. The railroad and manufactories had built it up rapidly and given it an air of prosperity which was pleasant to see.

"We will go at once to the railway station," said Ralph. "You may catch the next train, and it will be as well to leave this neighborhood as soon as possible."

They were fortunate enough to reach the station fifteen minutes before the eastern train departed.

Herbert bought a ticket for Columbus, fifty miles distant, and entered the train.

"Good-by, Herbert," said Ralph, from the platform.

"Good-by," said Herbert. "Thank you for all your kindness to me. Shall I not see you again?"

"I do not know," said Ralph, musing. "I have no wish nor intention of going to New York at present, yet I have a feeling that we shall meet again."

"I hope it may be so," said Herbert. "I shall be glad to see you again."

While he spoke the shrill sound of the railway whistle was heard, the train started, and Herbert was fairly off on his journey.

Just as he was leaving the depot, a wagon drove hastily up to the station, and Abner Holden jumped out. Herbert saw him as he looked from the window, and for a moment he was apprehensive, but the train was fairly on the way.

"Stop! stop!" vociferated Abner. "Stop, I say!" for he had also caught sight of his bound boy on the way to freedom.

"You don't think they will stop the train for you, you fool!" said a man standing by. "You ought to have come sooner if you wanted to go by this train."

"I don't want to go by it," said Abner.

"What do you want, then?"

"My boy's run away, and I have just seen him aboard the train."

"Oh, that's it, is it? Your son?"

"No, I hope not. It's a young rascal that's bound to me."

"If he's a young rascal, I shouldn't think you'd want him back."

Turning away, for he saw that he had failed, his glance rested on Ralph.

Instantly his anger rose.

"It's your doings," said he, shaking his fist in impotent wrath at the sturdy hunter, whom he would have attacked had he dared. "It's your fault, and you shall pay for it if there's law in the land."

"What will the law say to your attempt to shoot the boy?" demanded Ralph, coolly.

Abner turned pale, and realized that his best course was to keep quiet about an affair which might seriously compromise himself.



CHAPTER XVII

NEW ACQUAINTANCES

Herbert stopped overnight at Columbus.

The first train eastward left Columbus at seven o'clock in the morning. It was Herbert's intention to take this train, but unfortunately, as he thought at the time, the clock at the hotel by which his movements were guided was ten minutes too slow. The consequence was, that before he had quite reached the depot he saw the cars going out at the other end. He ran as fast as possible, hoping still to make up for lost time, but it was in vain.

"You're too late, youngster," said a porter, who had been assisting to stow away baggage. "You'll have to wait till the next train."

"When does the next train start?" asked our hero.

"Twelve o'clock."

"Then I shall have to wait till that time," Herbert concluded, with regret.

Yet, as he directly afterwards thought, it could make no particular difference, since he had no stated engagement to meet, and this consideration enabled him to bear the inevitable delay with a better grace.

"I suppose," he reflected, "I might as well go back to the hotel."

He turned to leave the building when a carriage drove hastily up to the station. It was drawn by two horses, and driven by a negro in livery. A lady put her head out of the window and inquired anxiously if the train had started. She addressed this question to Herbert, who happened to be nearest.

"Yes, madam," he answered, respectfully.

"I am so sorry," said the lady, in a tone of vexation and perplexity. "It was very important that my father should take that train."

"There is another train that starts at twelve," said Herbert. "It will make a difference of a few hours only."

"Yes," said the lady, "but you do not understand my difficulty. The few hours' difference in time would be of small importance, but my father is blind, and is, of course, for that reason, dependent upon the kindness of others. A gentleman of our acquaintance was going by this train, who would have taken charge of him and seen him safe to his destination. By losing the train we lose his services."

"My dear," said an elderly gentleman, sitting on the opposite seat, "if I can get somebody to see me on board, I think I can manage very well."

"On no account, father," was the hasty reply, "particularly under present circumstances."

"Where is the gentleman going?" asked Herbert, with interest.

"To Philadelphia."

"I am going on to New York," said our hero. "I have been disappointed like you. I expected to take the early train."

"Do you intend to go by the next train, then?" asked the lady.

"Yes, madam."

"Then, perhaps—I have a great mind to ask you to take charge of my father."

"I shall be very glad to be of service to you," said Herbert. "There is only one objection," he added, with some embarrassment.

"What is that?"

"Why," said Herbert, frankly, "I am obliged to be economical, and I was thinking of buying a second-class ticket."

"Oh," said the lady, promptly, "there need be no difficulty about that. If you will take the trouble to look after my father, we will gladly pay for your ticket."

"I am afraid my services will not be worth so much," said Herbert, modestly.

"You must leave us to estimate them. If you do what you have undertaken, we shall consider the expense well incurred."

Herbert made no further objection. He felt, indeed, that it would be quite a lift to him, in the present state of his finances, and besides would be a very easy way of earning the money. He therefore signified his thanks and his acceptance of the offer.

"When did you say the train starts?" asked the lady.

"At twelve."

"Nearly five hours. That will be too long to wait. I think, father, we will go home."

"Yes, my dear, I think that will be best."

"Are you obliged to go home before starting?" the lady inquired, addressing Herbert.

"No, madam, I have no home in Columbus. I passed last night at a hotel."

"Have you any particular plan for spending the next few hours?"

Herbert answered in the negative.

"Then will you not ride home with us? You will then be ready to start with my father."

"I shall be happy to do so."

"I think that will be much the best plan. Pompey, open the carriage door for the young gentleman."

Our hero was about to say that he could just as well open the door for himself, but he reflected that it was best to adapt himself to the customs of those he was with. He bowed, therefore, and waited till the coachman had opened the door for him, and stepped into the carriage. The lady signed to him to take a seat beside her, and the door was closed.

"Home, Pompey," said she, briefly.

The coachman ascended to his seat, and the spirited grays were soon whirling the party rapidly homeward.

It was a new position for our hero, and he felt it to be so. His parents had never been rich, and latterly had been very poor. Living in a small country village, he had never even seen so elegant a carriage as that in which he was now riding He sank back upon the luxuriously cushioned seat, and he could not help thinking how pleasant it would be if he could command so comfortable a conveyance whenever he wanted to ride out. But another thought succeeded this. If he were blind, like the gentleman whom he was to take charge of, it would be a very poor compensation to ride in a luxurious carriage. After all, things were not so unequal as they seemed at first sight.

"Since you are to be my father's traveling companion," said the lady, "perhaps you will not object to telling us your name."

"Certainly," said our hero, "my name is Herbert Mason."

"Are you going from home for the first time?" inquired the lady.

"I have no home," said Herbert. "My father and mother are both dead."

"Excuse me," said the lady, gently. "I am sorry to have touched upon a subject which must awaken sorrowful recollections. My father's name is Carroll. Father, you have heard that your young escort is Mr. Herbert Mason."

The old gentleman extended his hand, which Herbert took respectfully.

"I am afraid you will find me a troublesome charge," he said. "Since I have become blind I have been compelled to tax the kindness of others."

"The journey will be pleasanter to me," said Herbert, politely, "than if I were alone."

Mr. Carroll was evidently pleased with this remark, for he turned toward Herbert with increased interest.

"You can imagine how much more so it will be to me," he said. "I have not your resources for beguiling the tedium of the way. I would give all my possessions gladly, for your young eyes. All journeys are alike to me now, since, however interesting the scenery, it is a blank to me."

"That is indeed a privation, sir."

"Especially in the journey we are about to take. The Baltimore & Ohio Railroad, as it is called, runs through a romantic and charming country, and affords views at once bold and beautiful. Have you ever traveled over the road?"

"No, sir."

"Then you will have all the pleasure of a first discovery. Before I became blind, before, indeed, the railway was located, I became, as a young man, familiar with this whole section of country, so that I have, at least, the remembrance of it. I am obliged now to live upon my memory."

"You say you have never been over this railroad," said the lady. "Have you ever been to the East?"

"No, madam, I have always lived in the State of Ohio."

"And you are now going to Philadelphia?" she inquired.

"I am going to New York," said Herbert.

"Indeed! Is it on a visit?"

"No, madam, I am expecting to live there; that is, if I can make a living."

"Are you dependent, then, upon your own exertions for support?"

"Yes, madam."

"You seem very young for such a responsibility."

"I am fourteen."

"I thought you a year older. My Oscar is fourteen, and I am afraid he would make a poor hand at supporting himself. What do you think, father?"

"I think you are right, my dear. Oscar has not been placed in circumstances to develop his self-reliance."

"No; that probably has something to do with it. But, Herbert, if you will permit me to call you so, do you not look forward to the future with apprehension?"

"No, madam," said Herbert. "I am not afraid but that I shall be able to get along somehow. I think I shall find friends, and I am willing to work."

"That is the spirit that leads to success," said the old gentleman, approvingly. "Work comes to willing hands. I think you will succeed."

"I hope so, sir."

Our hero was gratified to meet with so much sympathy from those whose wealth placed them far above him in the social scale. But it was not surprising, for Herbert had a fine appearance and gentlemanly manners, marked, too, by a natural politeness which enabled him to appear better than most boys of his age.



CHAPTER XVIII

A YOUNG ARISTOCRAT

After a drive of three miles, which was accomplished in a short time by the spirited horses, the carriage entered, through an ornamental gate, upon a smooth driveway, which led up to a handsome mansion, of large size, with a veranda stretching along the entire front.

A boy, a little smaller than Herbert, ran out of the front door, and opened the door of the carriage before Pompey had time to descend from the box.

"What, grandpa, come back?" he said, in surprise.

"Yes, Oscar, we were too late for the train," said his mother. "I brought you back a companion for a, few hours. This is Herbert Mason, whom I intrust to your care, depending upon you to see that he passes his time pleasantly."

Oscar looked at Herbert inquisitively.

Herbert offered his hand, saying, "I am glad to make your acquaintance, Oscar."

"How long are you going to stay?" asked Oscar, as his mother and grandfather went into the house.

"I must return in time to take the twelve o'clock train."

"Is grandpa going, too?"

"Yes."

"And are you going to take care of him?"

"I believe so."

"I wouldn't want to.'

"Why not?"

"Oh, it's an awful bore to be tied to a blind man."

"You'd find it more of a bore to be blind yourself," said Herbert.

"Yes, I suppose I should. Grandpa wants me to go to walk with him sometimes, but I don't like it."

"If I had a grandfather who was blind, I think I should be willing."

"Wait till you have one, and you'll see how it is then."

"I suppose he needs somebody."

"Oh, well, he can take one of the servants, then. It's their business to work."

"Where do you live?" he asked, after a pause.

"I am going to live in New York."

"Are you? I should like to go there."

"Perhaps you wouldn't want to go as I am going."

"What, alone? Yes, I should rather go that way. Then I could do as I pleased. Now it's 'Oscar, do this,' and 'You mustn't do that,' all the time."

"That isn't what I mean exactly. I've got to earn my own living after I get there, and I don't know anybody in the city."

"You haven't run away from home, have you?"

"I haven't got any home."

"Where's your father and mother?"

"They are both dead."

"What are you going to do?"

"I hope to get into a store or counting-room and learn to be a merchant."

"I shan't have to work for a living," said Oscar, in a tone of importance.

"Because your family is rich, I suppose," said Herbert.

"Yes, we've got a large estate, ever so many acres. That's what mother's got. Then grandpa is rich besides, and I expect he will leave me a good deal of his money. He's pretty old, and I don't believe he'll live very long."

Oscar said this with such evident satisfaction that Herbert was disgusted, thinking it not very creditable to him to speculate so complacently upon his grandfather's speedy death.

"You seem to be well off, then," said he, at last, to the boy.

"Yes," said Oscar, "our family is one of the first in the State. My father is a Peyton."

"Is he?" asked Herbert, not appearing as much awestruck as Oscar expected.

"We've got a plantation in Virginia. We live there part of the year. My father's there now. I hope we shall go there soon."

"Do you like it better than here?"

"Yes, a good deal."

"This is a handsome place."

"Yes, this is mother's estate. The other belongs to father."

"Have you any brothers and sisters, Oscar?"

"I've got one sister. She's about twelve. But, I say, I thought you were a gentleman's son when I first saw you."

"So I am," said Herbert, emphatically.

"Was your father rich?"

"No."

"Did he have to work for a living?"

"Yes."

"Then he wasn't a gentleman," said Oscar, decidedly.

"Isn't anybody a gentleman that has to work for a living?" asked Herbert, his indignation excited by his companion's assumption of superiority.

"Of course not," said Oscar, coolly. "It isn't respectable to work. Niggers and servants work."

"That is where I don't agree with you," said Herbert, his face flushing.

"You don't pretend to be a gentleman, do you?" demanded Oscar, insolently.

"Yes, I do," said Herbert, firmly.

"But you're not one, you know."

"I don't know anything of the kind," said Herbert, angrily. "I suppose you call yourself one."

"Of course, I am a gentleman," said Oscar, complacently.

"You don't talk like one, at any rate," retorted Herbert.

This was new language for Oscar to hear. He had been accustomed to have his own way pretty much, and had been used to order round his father's servants and slaves like a little despot. The idea of being told by a boy who had to work for a living that he did not talk like a gentleman, did not suit him at all. His black eyes flashed and he clenched his fists.

"Do you mean to insult me?" he demanded.

"I never insult anybody," said Herbert, not feeling particularly alarmed by this hostile demonstration. "It is you that have insulted me."

"Didn't you tell me I was not a gentleman?" said Oscar, hotly.

"I said you did not talk like one."

"That's about the same thing," said Oscar.

"Just as you like. Even if I did say so, you said the same of me,"

"Well, suppose I did."

"I am as much a gentleman as you, to say the least," asserted Herbert.

"If you say that again, I'll knock you down," said Oscar, furiously.

"I'll say it all day, if I like," said Herbert, defiantly.

Perhaps it would have been better for Herbert to stop disputing, and to have taken no notice of Oscar's words. But Herbert was not perfect. He had plenty of spirit, and he was provoked by the airs Oscar chose to assume, and by no means inclined to allow him to arrogate a superiority over himself, merely on account of his wealth. Though manly and generous, he was quick to resent an insult, and accordingly, when Oscar dared to repeat what he had said, he instantly accepted the challenge as recorded above.

Had Oscar been prudent, he would have hesitated before endeavoring to carry his threat into execution. A moment's glance at the two boys would have satisfied anyone that the chances, in a personal contest, were decidedly in our hero's favor. Herbert was not only a little taller than Oscar, perhaps an inch and a half, but his shoulders were broader and his frame more muscular. Oscar had never done any work to strengthen his arms, while Herbert had been forced by circumstances to do so.

Oscar flung himself upon Herbert, and endeavored to bear him to the ground. But the latter, without an effort, repelled the charge, and flung himself free from his antagonist's grasp.

This naturally made Oscar more determined to overcome his foe. His face red with passion, he showered blows upon Herbert, which the latter parried with ease. At first he acted wholly upon the defensive, but, finding that Oscar's impetuosity did not abate, suddenly closed with him and threw him down.

Oscar rose but little hurt, for Herbert used no unnecessary force, and recommenced the assault. But the result was the same as before. Oscar was almost beside himself with mingled rage and mortification, and it is hard to tell how long the contest would have lasted, had not a servant come up and informed the boys that Mrs. Peyton wished to see them immediately. She had witnessed the whole scene from a window and felt called upon to interfere.

"How is this, young gentleman?" she asked, gravely. "You have scarcely been together twenty minutes, and I find you fighting."

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Peyton," said Herbert, in a manly tone. "I feel ashamed of myself, but Oscar attacked me for claiming to be a gentleman, and I am afraid that my blood was up, and so we got into a fight."

"How is this, Oscar?" said his mother. "Did you so wholly lose your politeness as to attack your guest for asserting his claims to be a gentleman? I am annoyed with you."

"He says he has to work for a living," said Oscar, sullenly.

"So may you, some time."

"I am rich."

"You may not always be. At any rate, being rich doesn't insure gentlemanly behavior, as your conduct to-day clearly shows. Herbert, I hope you will excuse my son's rudeness."

"Here is my hand, Oscar," said Herbert, cordially. "Let us be friends."

Oscar hardly knew how to receive this overture, but he was finally thawed by Herbert's manner, and they were soon sauntering about on the lawn on the best of terms.

At half-past eleven, after an inviting lunch, the carriage was ordered, and Herbert and Mr. Carroll were driven to the depot, accompanied by Oscar, who went in his mother's place.

Herbert purchased tickets for both, being intrusted with Mr. Carrol's pocketbook for that purpose. He found a comfortable seat for the old gentleman, and sat down beside him.



CHAPTER XIX

A SUSPICIOUS CHARACTER

I pass over the route pursued by the travelers from Columbus to Wheeling, in West Virginia, as it possesses no special interest.

But after leaving Wheeling there is quite a change. Those of my readers who are familiar with the Baltimore & Ohio Railway will be able to understand the enjoyment which Herbert derived from the bold and romantic scenery visible from the car windows. Mr. Carroll made him take the seat nearest the window, that he might have a better view, and from time to time Herbert described what he saw to his sightless fellow- traveler.

Northwestern Virginia is very mountainous and the construction of a railway through such a region was a triumph of engineering skill. At times the road makes bold curves, so that the traveler, looking from the car window, can see opposite him, across an intervening gulf, the track over which the train was passing five minutes before. At some places the track is laid on a narrow shelf, midway of the mountain, a steep and rugged ascent on one side, a deep ravine on the other, somewhat like the old diligence road over the Alpine Mt. Cenis. Here and there appear small hamlets, consisting of one-story cabins, with the chimney built alongside, instead of rising from the roof in the usual manner.

How long shall we be in reaching Baltimore, Mr. Carroll? "asked Herbert.

"I believe it takes about twenty-six hours," said the old gentleman. "But I do not mean to go through without stopping."

"I didn't know what your plan was," said Herbert.

"I have been meaning to tell you. Our tickets will allow us to stop anywhere, and resume our journey the next morning, or even stop two or three days, if we like."

"That is convenient."

"Yes. If it had been otherwise, I should have purchased the ticket piecemeal. I cannot endure to travel all night. It fatigues me too much."

"Where shall we stop, then?"

"I have not yet quite made up my mind. We will ride till about eight o'clock, and then stop over at whatever place we chance to have reached."

This arrangement struck Herbert favorably. He was in no particular hurry, and the scenery was so fine, that he feared that he should lose a great deal by traveling at night, when, of course, he could not see anything.

They sat for a while in silence. Then Mr. Carroll inquired, suddenly, "Did you ever fire a pistol, Herbert?"

"Yes, sir," was the surprised reply.

"Then you understand how to use one?"

"Oh, yes, sir. There was a young man in Waverley, the town where I used to live, who owned one, and I sometimes borrowed it to fire at a mark."

"Then I think I will intrust this weapon to your charge," said the old gentleman, drawing from his pocket a handsome pistol, and placing it in Herbert's hand.

"Is it loaded, sir?"

"No, not at present. We will have it loaded before going to bed. I will tell you," he added, in a lower tone, "my reason for going armed. It so happens that I have a large amount of money with me, and, of course, I feel a little concerned about its safety."

"Perhaps it will be well not to say anything more about it at present, sir," suggested Herbert, in a low voice. "You may be heard by someone who would like to take advantage of his discovery."

"No doubt you are right. I will follow your advice."

Herbert would not have thought to give this caution, but, just as Mr. Carroll uttered the words, "I have a large sum of money with me," a man dressed in a rough frieze coat, with black whiskers, and a general appearance, which, to say the least, did not prepossess Herbert in his favor, chanced to walk through the car. Whether he caught the words Herbert could not tell, but he paused a moment, and fixed an unpleasant eye upon the two, as if determined to know them when he should meet them again. There was another suspicious circumstance. It had evidently been his intention to pass through the car, but he paused abruptly, and, turning back, sank into an unoccupied seat a few feet back of that occupied by Mr. Carroll and his young companion.

His attention naturally drawn by this suspicious conduct, Herbert was impelled to glance back once or twice. Each time he met the watchful look of the man fixed upon them, instead of being directed at the scenery outside, as was the case with the other passengers. When he saw that the boy was watching him, he turned his head carelessly, and commenced whistling. But this apparent indifference did not deceive Herbert for a moment.

"I will watch him," thought our hero. "I do not like his looks. If he means mischief, as I think very probable, it is necessary that I should be on my guard against him."

At half-past seven o'clock Mr. Carroll signified his intention of getting out at the next station. "I am beginning to feel tired," he said, "and shall feel the better for a good supper and a night's rest."

"Very well, sir," said Herbert.

It occurred to him that now they would get rid of the man who was watching them so closely.

"If he gets out of the train with us," he thought, "I shall know what it means."

The train slackened its speed, the sound of the whistle was heard, the brakes were applied, and soon the conductor, putting his head in at the door, called out "Oakland!"

"Here we are," said Herbert. "Give me your hand, Mr. Carroll, and I will lead you out."

The old gentleman rose from his seat, and, guided by Herbert, walked to the car door. At the door Herbert turned and looked back.

The man with the black whiskers, who a moment before seemed absorbed in a newspaper, had left his seat, and was but a few feet behind him.

Herbert did not believe that this was an accident. He felt sure that it meant mischief. But he did not on that account feel nervous, or regret that he had assumed a charge which seemed likely to expose him to peril. He had the pistol in his pocket, and that he knew would make him even with the rascal who was following them.

There was a covered carriage waiting outside to convey passengers to the only hotel which the village afforded.

"Shall we take the carriage, Mr. Carroll?" asked Herbert.

"Yes," was the reply.

Herbert assisted him in, and placed himself in a seat opposite.

There were two or three other passengers, but the man with the black whiskers was not to be seen among them.

"I may be mistaken," thought Herbert, who had rather expected to see him. "Perhaps he lives here, and I have been alarming myself without reason. Still, it is always best to be on one's guard."

A ride of half a mile brought them to a small but comfortable-looking inn. Herbert assisted Mr. Carroll to descend, and together they entered the house of entertainment.

"We shall want some supper. Herbert," said Mr. Carroll. "You may order some."

"What shall I order, sir?"

"I should like some tea and toast and some beef-steak. If there is anything that you would prefer, you may order that also."

"No, sir, I should not wish anything better than you have ordered."

"Tell them to get it ready as soon as possible. I feel weary with my day's ride, and shall retire early."

"I feel tired, too." thought Herbert, "but it won't do for me to sleep. I must keep my eyes open, if possible."

Supper was soon served. The toast was well browned, and spread with excellent butter. The steak was juicy and tender, contrary to the usual custom of country inns, and the tea was fragrant and strong. Both the travelers partook heartily, having eaten nothing since noon, with the exception of a little fruit purchased from the car window at one of the stations. Herbert was not usually in the habit of drinking tea at night, but on this particular occasion he wanted to keep awake, and therefore drank two cups, of undiminished strength.

"Now, Herbert," said Mr. Carroll, when they had finished supper, "you may ask the clerk to assign me to a large room with a couple of beds in it. I should prefer to have you in the same room with me."

"Very well, sir."

He rose from the table, and went to the public room, one portion of which was occupied by the office. As he made his way to the desk, he observed the man with black whiskers on a settee at one end of the room. He was smoking a clay pipe. Herbert caught a stealthy glance directed towards himself, but that was all. The man continued smoking, fixing his eyes with apparent interest on a large yellow handbill pasted on the opposite wall, announcing a performance by "The Great American Circus Company" the succeeding evening.

Herbert succeeded in obtaining such a room as he sought, and accompanied by a servant bearing a lamp, went back to the dining-room to accompany Mr. Carroll to it.



CHAPTER XX

FACING A BURGLAR

Herbert deliberated as to whether it would be best to inform his aged traveling companion of the suspicious-looking man, who appeared to have followed them for no good purpose. He finally decided not to do so, since it would only alarm Mr. Carroll, and prevent his sleeping off his fatigue, while there would be no advantage gained, since a blind and feeble man could be of little use in repelling the burglar, should the stranger prove to be such.

The bedroom was large and square, and contained two beds. The larger of these was placed in the corner, and this was assigned to the old gentleman. The smaller was situated between the two side windows, and was, of course, the more exposed of the two. This Herbert was to occupy.

"Do you know how to load the pistol, Herbert?" asked Mr. Carroll.

"Yes, sir," said Herbert, confidently.

"I don't anticipate any occasion for using it," continued the old gentleman. "Still, it will be best to be prepared."

"So I think, sir."

"You won't be afraid to use it, if it should be necessary?"

"No, sir."

Mr. Carroll took a package from his carpet-bag and showed it to Herbert.

"This package," he said, "contains five thousand dollars in bank bills. If it were known that I had it, I should be in danger. I suppose it will be best to put it back in the carpet-bag."

"If it were mine," said Herbert, "I would not do that."

"Where, then, would you put it?"

"I would put it between the mattresses. If anyone should get into the room, they would seize the carpet-bag first, and, perhaps, make off before they could be stopped."

"I don't know but you are right," said Mr. Carroll. "Perhaps it will be well to put my watch in the same place."

"Yes, sir; I think it would be well."

"You see, Herbert," continued the old gentleman, "how much confidence I repose in you. Knowing where my watch and money are, it would be very easy for you to secure both, and leave me here, destitute and helpless."

"But you don't think there is any danger of my doing so?"

"No," said the old gentleman. "Though our acquaintance is so recent, I feel great confidence in you. As I cannot see the face, I have learned to judge of the character by the tone of the voice, and I am very much mistaken if you are not thoroughly honest and trustworthy."

"Thank you, sir," said Herbert, his face flushed with pleasure at this evidently sincere commendation. "You shall not repent your confidence."

"I am sure of that, Herbert," said Mr. Carroll, kindly. "But I must bid you good-night. This has been a fatiguing day, and I shall lose no time in getting to sleep."