"I'll do my best," thought Herbert. "'Try and Trust,' that's my motto. I think it will bring me success."

But even while he spoke, an unforeseen danger menaced him.



CHAPTER XXIX

SPARRING

After the concert, Tom Stanton took even a greater dislike to his cousin than before. To say that he was in love with Julia Godfrey would be rather ridiculous, considering his youth. Even if he had been older, Tom cared too much about himself to fall in love with another. But Julia had been a belle among the children of her own age at the dancing school, and there was considerable rivalry among the boys—or, I should, perhaps, say young gentlemen—for the honor of her notice. Tom desired it, because it would give him a kind of distinction among his fellows. So, though he was not in love with Julia, he was jealous when she showed favor to anyone else. But this feeling was mild compared with that he experienced when Julia bestowed her notice upon his penniless cousin. That Herbert should be preferred to himself, he thought, not only showed great lack of taste on the part of the young heiress, but was a grievous wrong to himself.

"I can't understand how girls can be such fools," thought Tom, as that evening, after returning from the concert, he surveyed his rather perturbed face in the mirror surmounting his bureau. "I wouldn't have believed Julia Godfrey would stoop to notice such a pauper."

Then a cheerful thought came to him. Perhaps she was only trying to rouse his jealousy. He had heard of such things. But, if so, why should she choose such a beggar as Herbert to practice her arts upon?

Certainly, to an unprejudiced observer, such a thought would never have suggested itself. The cool indifference with which Julia had treated Tom did not appear to argue any such feeling as would lead to the attempt to rouse his jealousy. But, then, Tom was not an unprejudiced observer, and considered his personal attractions such that any girl might appreciate them.

When he arrived at the counting-room the next morning, he found Herbert already there. Indeed, our hero was very particular to be punctual in his attendance, while Tom was generally at least a quarter of an hour behind time.

"I saw you at the concert last evening, Mason," said Tom, who wanted to get a chance to say something disagreeable.

"Yes, I was there," said Herbert. "You sat in the row just behind us."

"Yes. I suppose you were never at a concert before."

"Not in New York."

"Mr. Godfrey was very kind to take you."

That was what Herbert thought himself. But as Tom expressed it, there was something in his tone which implied a conviction of Herbert's social inferiority, which our hero did not like.

"I have found Mr. Godfrey very kind," he said, briefly.

There are not many employers who would invite a boy in your position to a concert with his family," said Tom.

"I believe my position is the same as yours," said Herbert, nettled.

"I don't see it," said Tom, haughtily. "Will you explain yourself?"

"I believe we are both in Mr. Godfrey's employ," said Herbert.

"Oh, yes, so far as that goes. But I am the son of a rich man," said Tom, pompously.

Herbert might have replied that he was the nephew of a rich man, but he had no disposition to boast of his relationship to his cousin's family.

"I don't see that that makes any difference," said Herbert.

"Don't you? Well, I do."

"We are both boys in Mr. Godfrey's employ."

"That's true, but then, he took you out of pity, you know."

Tom's tone as he said this was very aggravating, and Herbert's face flushed.

"I don't know anything of the sort," he retorted.

"No, I suppose you don't consider it in that light," said Tom, carelessly; "but, of course, it is clear enough to others. Where would you have been, if Mr. Godfrey hadn't given you a place? Blacking boots, probably, among the street ragamuffins."

"Perhaps I might," said Herbert, quietly, "if I couldn't have got anything better to do."

"It's a very genteel occupation," sneered Tom.

"I don't think it is," said Herbert, "but it's an honest one."

"You may have to take it yet."

"Perhaps so. So may you."

"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Tom, haughtily, his face flushing.

"I only said to you the same thing you said to me. If it's an insult on one side, it is on the other."

"You seem to forget that our circumstances are very different," said Tom.

"They are just now, so far as money goes. I get a larger salary than you."

Tom was very much incensed at this remark, being aggrieved by the fact that Herbert received more than he.

"I didn't mean that," said he. "Of course, if Mr. Godfrey chooses to give away money in charity, it is none of my business. I don't need any charity"

"Mr. Godfrey pays me for my services," said Herbert. "If he pays me too liberally now, I hope to make it up to him afterward."

"You seemed to be very intimate with Julia Godfrey last evening," said Tom, unpleasantly.

"I found her very pleasant."

"Yes; she is very kind to take notice of you."

"I suppose the notice you have taken of me this morning is meant in kindness," said Herbert, thinking his cousin very disagreeable.

"Yes, of course, being in the same counting-room, I think it right to take some notice of you," said Tom, condescendingly.

"I am very much obliged to you," said Herbert, sarcastically.

"But there's one piece of advice I should like to give you," proceeded Tom.

"What is that?" inquired Herbert, looking his cousin in the face.

"Don't feel too much set up by Julia Godfrey's notice. She only took notice of you out of pity, and to encourage you. If you had been in her own position in society—"

"Like you, for instance!"

"Yes, like me," said Tom, complacently, "she would have been more ceremonious. I thought I would just mention it to you, Mason, or you might not understand it."

It was only natural that Herbert should be provoked by this elaborate humiliation suggested by Tom, and his cousin's offensive assumption of superiority. This led him to a retort in kind.

"I suppose that is the reason she took so little notice of you," he said.

Tom was nettled at this statement of a fact, but he answered in an off- hand manner, "Oh, Julia and I are old friends. I've danced with her frequently at dancing school."

Herbert happened to remember what Julia had said of his cousin, and was rather amused at this assumption of intimacy.

"I am much obliged to you for your information," said Herbert, "though I am rather surprised that you should take so great an interest in my affairs."

"Oh, you're new in the city, and I know all the ropes," said Tom. "I thought I might as well give you a friendly hint."

"I am lucky in having such a friend," said Herbert, "and will take the advice as it was given."

Here the bookkeeper entered, and, soon after, Mr. Godfrey made his appearance.

"I hope you had a pleasant evening, Herbert," he said, kindly.

"Very pleasant, sir; thank you," said Herbert, in a very different tone from the one he had used in addressing Tom.

"I believe I saw you, also, at the concert, Thomas," said Mr. Godfrey.

"Yes, sir," said Tom. "I am very fond of music, and attend all the first-class musical entertainments"

"Indeed?" said Mr. Godfrey, but this was all the reply he made.

"My daughter insists that I shall invite you to the house again soon," said Mr. Godfrey, again addressing Herbert.

"I am very much obliged to her, and to you, sir," said Herbert, modestly. "I shall be very glad to come."

Tom's face darkened, as he heard this. He would have given considerable to receive such an invitation himself, but the prospect did not seem very promising.

"Mr. Godfrey must he infatuated," he said to himself, impatiently, "to invite such a beggar to his house. Mason ought to have good sense enough to feel that he is out of place in such a house. I wouldn't accept any invitation given out of pity."

"I wonder why Tom dislikes me so much?" thought Herbert. "He certainly takes pains enough to show his feeling. Would it be different, I wonder, if he knew that I was his cousin?"

Herbert thought of mentioning to Mr. Godfrey that he had recovered three-quarters of the money of which he had been robbed. It would have been well if he had done so, but Mr. Godfrey seemed particularly engaged, and he thought it best not to interrupt him.



CHAPTER XXX

AN UNEXPECTED BLOW

Herbert felt happier than usual. He had recovered the greater part of his money, and thus was relieved from various inconveniences which had resulted from his straitened circumstances, He was the more elated at this, as it had seemed extremely improbable that the lost money would ever have found its way back to the pocket of its rightful owner. Then, he had a good place, and a salary sufficient to defray his modest expenses, and the prospect of promotion, if he should be faithful to the interests of his employer, as he firmly intended to be. It was agreeable, also, to reflect that he was in favor with Mr. Godfrey, who had thus far treated him with as much kindness as if he had been his own son.

There was, to be sure, the drawback of Tom's enmity, but, as there was no good reason for this, he would not allow it to trouble him much, though, of course, it would have been more agreeable if all in the office had been his friends. He determined to take an early opportunity to write to his good friend, Dr. Kent, an account of his present position. He would have done so before, but had hesitated from the fear that in some way the intelligence would reach Abner Holden, whom he preferred to leave in ignorance of all that concerned him.

These thoughts passed through Herbert's mind as he went about his daily work. Meanwhile, a painful experience awaited him, for which he was not in the least prepared.

About one o'clock a gentleman entered the counting-room hastily, and said, "Mr. Godfrey, I wonder whether I happened to leave my pocketbook anywhere about your office when I was here an hour ago?"

"I don't think so. When did you miss it?"

"A few minutes since. I went to a restaurant to get a lunch, and, on finishing it, felt for my pocketbook, and found it gone."

"Was there much in it?"

"No sum of any consequence. Between twenty and thirty dollars, I believe. There were, however, some papers of value, which I shall be sorry to lose."

"I hardly think you could have left it here. However, I will inquire. Mr. Pratt, have you seen anything of Mr. Walton's pocketbook?"

"No, sir," said the bookkeeper, promptly.

"Herbert, have you seen it?"

"No, sir," said our hero.

"Thomas?"

Tom Stanton was assailed by a sudden and dangerous temptation. His dislike to Herbert had been increased in various ways, and especially had been rendered more intense by the independent tone assumed by our hero in the conversation which had taken place between them that very morning. Now, here was an opportunity of getting him into disgrace, and probably cause him to lose his situation. True, he would have to tell a falsehood, but Tom had never been a scrupulous lover of truth, and would violate it for a less object without any particular compunction.

He hesitated when the question was asked him, and thus, as he expected, fixed Mr. Godfrey's attention.

"Why don't you answer, Thomas?" he said, in surprise.

"I don't like to," said Tom, artfully.

"Why not?" demanded his employer, suspiciously.

"Because I don't want to get anybody into trouble."

"Speak out what you mean."

"If you insist upon it," said Tom, with pretended reluctance, "I suppose I must obey you."

"Of course, if any wrong has been done, it is your duty to expose it."

"Then, sir," said Tom. "I saw Mason pick up a wallet from the floor, and put it in his pocket just after the gentleman went out. He did it so quickly that no one probably observed it but myself."

Herbert listened to this accusation as if stunned. It was utterly beyond his conception how anyone could be guilty of such a deliberate falsehood as he had just listened to. So he remained silent, and this operated against him.

"Herbert," said Mr. Godfrey, mildly, for he was unwilling to believe our hero guilty of intentional dishonesty, "you should have mentioned having found the pocketbook."

"So I would, sir," said Herbert, having found his voice at last, "if I had found one."

"Do you mean to say that you have not?" demanded Mr. Godfrey, with a searching look.

"Yes, sir," said Herbert, firmly.

"What, then, does Thomas mean when he asserts that he saw you do so?"

"I don't know, sir. I think he means to injure me, as I have noticed ever since I entered the office that he seems to dislike me."

"How is that, Thomas? Do you again declare that you saw Herbert pick up the wallet?

"I do," said Tom, boldly. "Of course, I expected that he would deny it. I leave it to you, sir, if he does not show his guilt in his face? Just look at him!"

Now it, unfortunately for Herbert, happened that his indignation had brought a flush to his face, and he certainly did look as a guilty person is supposed to do. Mr. Godfrey observed this, and his heart sank within him, for, unable to conceive of such wickedness as Tom's, he saw no other way except to believe in Herbert's guilt.

"Have you nothing to say, Herbert?" he asked, more in sorrow than in anger.

"No, sir," said Herbert, in a low voice; "nothing, except what I have already said. Tom has uttered a wicked falsehood, and he knows it."

"Of course, I expected you would say that," said Tom, with effrontery.

"This is a serious charge, Herbert," proceeded Mr. Godfrey. "I shall have to ask you to produce whatever you have in your pockets."

"Certainly, sir," said our hero, calmly.

But, as he spoke, it flashed upon him that he had in his pocket twenty- six dollars, and the discovery of this sum would be likely to involve him in suspicion. He could, indeed, explain where he got it; but would his explanation be believed? Under present circumstances, he feared that it would not. So it was with a sinking heart that he drew out the contents of his pockets, and among them his own pocketbook.

"Is that yours?" asked Mr. Godfrey, turning to Mr. Walton.

"No, it is not; but he may have transferred my money to it."

Upon this hint, Mr. Godfrey opened the pocketbook, and drew out the small roll of bills, which he proceeded to count.

"Twenty-six dollars," he said. "How much did you lose?"

"Between twenty and thirty dollars. I cannot be sure how much."

"Here are two tens and three twos."

"I had two tens. I don't remember the denomination of the other bills."

Even Tom was struck with astonishment at this discovery. He knew that his charge was groundless, yet here it was substantiated in a very remarkable manner. Was it possible that he had, after all, struck upon the truth of the matter? He did not know what to think.

"Herbert," said his employer, sorrowfully, "this discovery gives me more pain than I can express. I had a very high idea of you. I could not have believed you capable of so mean a thing as deliberate dishonesty."

"I am not guilty," said Herbert, proudly.

"How can you say this in the face of all this evidence? Do you mean to say that this money is yours?"

"I do," said Herbert, firmly.

"Where could you have got it?" said his employer, incredulously. "Did you not tell me when you entered my employ that you were almost penniless? You have been with me three weeks only, and half your wages have been paid for board."

"Yes, sir; you are right."

"What explanation, then, can you offer? Your case looks bad."

"The six dollars I saved from my wages, at the rate of two dollars a week. The twenty dollars is a part of the money I was robbed of. I succeeded in recovering forty dollars of it yesterday."

Here, Herbert related the circumstances already known to the reader.

"A likely story," said Tom, scornfully.

"Be silent, Thomas," said Mr. Godfrey. "Your story does not seem probable," he proceeded, speaking to Herbert.

"It is true, sir," said our hero, firmly.

"What could he have done with your wallet, however?" said the merchant, turning to Mr. Walton.

"He has been out to the post office since," said Tom. "He might have thrown it away."

This unfortunately for Herbert, was true. He had been out, and, of course, could have disposed of the wallet in the way mentioned.

"I don't know what to think, Mr. Walton," said Mr. Godfrey. "I'm afraid the boy's guilty."

"I'm afraid so. I don't care so much for the money, if he will give me back the papers."

"I can't do it, sir," said Herbert, "for I never had them."

"What shall we do?"

"The other boy declares that he saw this one take the wallet from the floor, where I probably dropped it. It seems to me that settles the matter."

"I am afraid it does."

"Once more, Herbert, will you confess?" asked Mr. Godfrey.

"I can only say, sir, that I am innocent."

"Mr. Walton, what shall we do?"

"Let the boy go. I will leave it to his honor to return me the papers, and he may keep the money. I think he will make up his mind to do so by tomorrow."

"You hear, Herbert," said Mr. Godfrey. "While this matter remains in doubt, you cannot retain your situation."

"Thank you, Mr. Walton, for your indulgence," said Herbert; "but I am sorry you think me guilty. The truth will some time appear. I shall TRY to do my duty, and TRUST to God to clear me."

He took his hat and left the counting-room with a heavy heart, feeling himself in disgrace.

"I had great confidence in that boy, Walton," said Mr. Godfrey. "Even now, I can hardly believe him guilty."



CHAPTER XXXI

MR. STANTON IS SURPRISED

While the events recorded in the last chapter were taking place in Mr. Godfrey's counting-room another and a different scene took place at the office of Mr. Stanton.

He had just finished reading the morning paper, and, as it slipped from his hand, his thoughts turned, transiently, to the nephew whose persistent failure to claim relationship puzzled him not a little. He was glad not to be called upon for money, of course; still, he felt a little annoyed at Herbert's reticence, especially as it left him unable to decide whether our hero knew of the tie which connected them. It was scarcely possible to suppose that he did not. But in that case, why did he not make some sign? The truth did suggest itself to Mr. Stanton's mind that the boy resented his cold and indifferent letter, and this thought made him feel a little uncomfortable.

While he was thinking over this subject, one of his clerks entered the office.

"A gentleman to see you, Mr. Stanton," he said, briefly.

Mr. Stanton raised his head, and his glance rested on a tall, vigorous man of perhaps thirty-five years of age, who closely followed the clerk. The stranger's face was brown from exposure, and there was a certain appearance of unconventionality about his movements which seemed to indicate that he was not a dweller in cities or a frequenter of drawing- rooms, but accustomed to make his home in the wilder haunts of nature.

In brief, for there is no occasion for mystery, Mr. Stanton's visitor was Ralph the Ranger, who had assisted Herbert from the clutches of Abner Holden.

Mr. Stanton gazed at the stranger with some curiosity, but was unable to recognize him.

"Have you any business with me?" he asked.

"Yes," said the visitor, in a voice whose depth carried with it an assurance of strength.

"State it, then, as briefly as possible," said the merchant, with a little asperity, for there was not as much deference in the manner of the other as he thought there should have been. Like most new men, he was jealous of his position, and solicitous lest he should not be treated with due respect.

"I will do so," said the stranger, "but as it cannot be summed up in a sentence, I will take the liberty of seating myself."

As he spoke he sat down in an office chair, which was placed not far from that in which Mr. Stanton was sitting.

"My time is valuable," said the merchant, coldly. "I cannot listen to a long story."

As the visitor was plainly, if not roughly, dressed, he suspected that he desired pecuniary assistance on some pretext or other, and that his story was one of misfortune, intended to appeal to his sympathies. Had such been the case, there was very little prospect of help from Mr. Stanton, and that gentleman already enjoyed in anticipation the pleasure of refusing him.

"Don't you know me?" demanded Ralph, abruptly.

Mr. Stanton did not anticipate such a commencement. It had never occurred to him to suppose that his rough visitor was one whom he had ever before met.

"No," he said, "I never saw you before."

Ralph smiled a little bitterly.

"So I have passed entirely out of your remembrance, have I?" he said. "Well, it is twelve years since we met."

"Twelve years," repeated Mr. Stanton. He scanned the stranger's face with curiosity, but not a glimmer of recollection came to him.

"I dare say I met many persons at that distance of time, whom I cannot remember in the least now, even by name."

"I think you will remember my name," said Ralph, quietly. "Your memory of Ralph Pendleton cannot be wholly obliterated."

Mr. Stanton started, and it was evident from the expression of his face that the memory was not a welcome one.

"Are you Ralph Pendleton?" he asked, in an undecided voice.

"Yes, but not the Ralph Pendleton you once knew. Then I was an inexperienced boy; now I am a man."

"Yes, you have changed considerably," said Mr. Stanton, uncomfortably, "Where have you kept yourself all these years? Why have you not made yourself known before?"

"Before I answer these questions, I must refer to some circumstances well known to both of us. I hope I shall not be tiresome; I will, at least, be brief. You were my father's friend. At least, he so considered you."

"I was so."

"When he died, as I had not yet attained my majority, he left you my guardian."

"Yes."

"I was in rather an idle frame, and being possessed, as I supposed, of fifty thousand dollars, I felt no necessity impelling me to work. You gave me no advice, but rather encouraged me in my idle propensities. When I was of age, I took a fancy to travel, and left my property in your hands, with full power to manage it for me. This trust you accepted."

"Well, this is an old story."

"An old one, but it shall not be a long one. My income being sufficient to defray my expenses abroad, I traveled leisurely, with no thought for the future. In your integrity I had the utmost confidence. Imagine, then, my dismay when, while resident in Paris, I received a letter from you stating that, owing to a series of unlucky investments, nearly all my money had been sunk, and in place of fifty thousand dollars, my property was reduced to a few hundreds.'

"It was unlucky, I admit," said Mr. Stanton, moving uneasily in his chair. "My investments were unlucky, as it turned out, but the best and most judicious cannot always foresee how an investment will turn out. Besides, I lost largely, myself."

"So you wrote me," said Ralph, quietly. "However, that did not make it any the easier for me to bear."

"Perhaps not, but it shows, at any rate, that I took the same risk for my own money that I did for others."

Ralph proceeded without noticing this remark. "What made matters worse for me was that I had fallen in love with a young American lady who, with her parents, was then traveling in Europe. My circumstances, as I supposed them to be, justified me in proposing marriage. I was accepted by the young lady, and my choice was approved by the parents. When, however, I learned of my loss of fortune, I at once made it known, and that approval was withdrawn. The father told me that, under the altered circumstances, the engagement must be considered broken. Still, he held out the prospect that, should I ever again obtain a property as large as that I had lost, I might marry his daughter. She, on her part, promised to wait for me."

"Well?"

"I came to New York, received from you the remnant of my lost fortune, and sailed the next week for California, then just open to American enterprise. The most glowing stories were told of fortunes won in an incredibly short time, Having no regular occupation, and having a strong motive for acquiring money, it is not surprising that I should have been dazzled with the rest, and persuaded to make the journey to the land of gold."

"A Quixotic scheme, as I thought at the time," said Mr. Stanton, coldly. "For one that succeeded, there were fifty who failed. You had better have taken the clerkship I offered you."

"You are wrong," said Ralph, composedly. "There were many who were disappointed, but I was not among the number."

"Did you succeed?" asked Mr. Stanton, surprised.

"So well," answered the other, "that at the end of two years' residence, I found myself as rich as I had ever been."

"Had you made fifty thousand dollars?" demanded the merchant, in amazement.

"I had."

"What did you do? Why did you not let me know of your success?"

"When I once more found myself possessed of a fortune, I took the next vessel home with my money. I had but one thought, and that was to claim the hand of my promised bride, who had promised to wait for me ten years, if necessary."

"Well?"

"I found her married," said Ralph, bitterly. "She had forgotten her promise, or had been over-persuaded by her parents—I do not know which —and had proved false to me."

"That was unfortunate. But do you still possess the money?"

"I do."

"Indeed! I congratulate you," said Mr. Stanton, with suavity, and he held out his hand, which Ralph did not appear to see. Ralph Pendleton rich was a very different person from Ralph Pendleton poor, and it occurred to him that he might so far ingratiate himself into the favor of his former ward as to obtain the charge of his second fortune. He saw that it would be safe, as well as politic, to exchange his coldness for a warm and cordial welcome.

"Proceed with your story," he said; "I am quite interested in it."



CHAPTER XXXII

RISEN FROM THE DEAD

Ralph Pendleton proceeded.

"This blow overwhelmed me. All that I had been laboring for seemed suddenly snatched from me."

"You had your money," suggested Mr. Stanton.

"Yes, I had my money; but for money itself I cared little."

Mr. Stanton shrugged his shoulders a little contemptuously. He could not understand how anyone could think slightingly of money, and he decided in his own mind that Ralph was an unpractical enthusiast.

"I valued money only as a means to an end, and that end was to make Margaret Lindsay my wife. She failed me, and my money lost its charm."

"There were plenty who could have consoled you in her place."

"No doubt, I might have been successful in other quarters, but I did not care to try. I left New York in disgust, and, going West, I buried myself in the forest, where I built a rude cabin, and there I have lived since, an unsocial, solitary life. Years have passed since I visited New York."

"What did you do with your money all this while?"

"I left it in the hands of men whom I could trust. It has been accumulating all these years, and I find that the fifty thousand dollars have swelled to ninety thousand."

"Indeed!" ejaculated Mr. Stanton, his respect for Ralph considerably raised. "And now you have come here to enjoy it, I suppose?"

"A different motive has led to my coming—a motive connected with you," said Ralph, fixing his eyes steadily upon Mr. Stanton.

"Connected with me!" repeated the merchant, uneasily.

"Yes."

"May I ask in what manner?"

"I expected the question, and am come to answer it. When I returned from Europe impoverished, you gave me a brief statement of the manner in which you had invested my fortune, and showed me how it had melted away like snow before the sun."

"You remember rightly. I bought, on your account, shares in Lake Superior Mining Company, which promised excellently, and bade fair to make handsome returns. But it proved to be under the management of knaves, and ran quickly down from par to two per cent., at which price I thought best to sell out, considering that a little saved from the wreck was better than nothing."

"This is according to the statement you made me," said Ralph, quietly.

"I am sure," said Mr. Stanton, "that no one regretted more than I do the disastrous result. Indeed, I had reason to do so, for I was myself involved, and suffered considerable loss."

"I am aware now that you were concerned in the matter," said Ralph, significantly.

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Stanton, quickly, detecting something peculiar in his tone.

"I will tell you. You were right in denouncing the management as knavish. The company was got up by knaves, on a basis of fraud, and was from the first intended as a trap for the unwary. But there is one important circumstance which you have neglected to mention."

"What is that?" asked Mr. Stanton, in a voice which strove to be composed.

"I mean this," said Ralph, firmly, "that you yourself were the prime originator of the company—that you engineered it through to the end— that you invested my money with the express intention of converting it to your own profit. I charge you with this, that all, or nearly all the property I lost, went into your pocket."

The color came and went in Mr. Stanton's face. He seemed staggered by this sudden and unexpected accusation, and did not at first make reply.

Feeling forced to speak at last, he said: "This is very strange language, Mr. Pendleton."

"It is unexpected, no doubt, for after all these years you probably thought it would remain forever unknown; but in what respect is it strange? I have given you a statement of facts as directly as I could."

"They are not facts. Your charge is wholly false," said the merchant, but his tone was not that of a man. who speaks the truth boldly.

"I wish I could believe it," said Ralph. "I wish I could believe that I was not deliberately swindled by one who professed to be my father's friend."

"On what authority do you bring this monstrous charge?" demanded Mr. Stanton, more boldly. "How happens it that you have not made it before?"

"For the simple reason that I myself did not suspect any fraud. I presumed that it was as you stated to me, and that your only fault was your injudicious investment."

"Well, I admit that, as it turned out, the investment was injudicious. Everything else I deny."

"Your denial is vain."

"You cannot prove the truth of what you say."

"So you fall back on that? But you are mistaken. I can prove the truth of what I say," said Ralph firmly.

"How?"

"Do you remember a man named David Marston?"

"He is dead," said Mr. Stanton, hastily.

"So you have supposed," said Ralph; "but you were deceived. He is not dead. I only encountered him a week since, quite by accident, in my Western home. He was your confidential clerk, you remember, and fully acquainted with all your business transactions at the time of which I am speaking. From him I learned how basely I had been deceived, and with what deliberate cruelty you conspired to rob the son of your dead friend."

"I don't believe David Marston is alive," said Mr. Stanton, hoarsely, with a certain terror in his face. "Indeed, I have proof that he is dead."

"I know the character of your proof. A paper was forwarded to you from Australia, whither you had sent him, containing the record of his death."

"Yes? What have you to say against this?"

"That the publication was a mistake. He was dangerously sick, and it was falsely announced that he was dead. That notice was sent to you, and you believed it to be true."

"I believe it now," said Mr. Stanton, doggedly. "Why should I not?"

"If you wish to be convinced, proof is at hand. Wait a moment."

Ralph Pendleton rose from his seat and left the counting-room. Two minutes had not passed when he returned with an elderly man, thin of face and wasted in figure, looking twenty years older than Mr. Stanton, though really of about the same age.

"This is David Marston," said Ralph—"the living proof that I have told you the truth."

Mr. Stanton gazed at him wildly, for to him it was as the face of one risen from the dead.

"How do you do, Mr. Stanton?" said David Marston, humbly. "It is many, many years since we met, sir."

"Are you really David Marston?" demanded Mr. Stanton, never taking his eyes off the shrunken figure of his old clerk.

"I am, sir; greatly changed indeed, but still the David Marston who was formerly in your employ. Time hasn't treated me as well as it has you, sir. I've been unlucky, and aged fast."

"I am afraid your mind is also affected. You have been telling strange stories to Mr. Pendleton here."

"True stories, sir," said David, firmly.

"Come, come, how much is he going to give you for this evidence of yours?"

"Stop, Mr. Stanton! You insult us both," said Ralph Pendleton, sternly. "I am not the man to buy false evidence, nor is David Marston the man to perjure himself for pay. David, I want you, in Mr. Stanton's presence, to make a clear statement of his connection with the mining company by which I lost my fortune."

David Marston obeyed, and in a few words as possible unfolded the story. It is not necessary to repeat it here. Enough that it fully substantiated the charge which Ralph had brought against his early guardian,

When he had finished, Ralph said, "You can judge what weight Marston's testimony would have before a court of justice, and whether it would help your commercial standing to have his story made public."

"What is it you want of me?" said Mr. Stanton, sullenly.

"I want restitution, dollar for dollar, of my lost money. I will waive interest, though I might justly claim it. But, were it all paid, interest and principal, the wrong would not be redressed. You cannot restore the bride who would have been mine but for your villainy."

How much time will you give me to pay this money?" asked the merchant, moodily.

"Ten days."

"It is a short time."

"It must suffice. Do you agree?"

"I must."

"Bind yourself to that, and for ten days I leave you free."

Satisfactory security was given that the engagement would be met, and Ralph Pendleton left the counting-room. But his countenance was scarcely more cheerful than that of the man he had conquered.

"I am rich," he said to himself; "but of what avail is it? Whom can I benefit with my wealth?"

This thought had scarcely crossed his mind when he came face to face with Herbert, walking with a sad and downcast face in the opposite direction.



CHAPTER XXXIII

A FRIEND IN NEED

Herbert left Mr. Godfrey's counting-room very much depressed in spirits. But an hour before he had rejoiced in his excellent prospects, and, depending on the favor of his employer and his own fidelity, had looked forward to a bright future. Now all was changed. He was dismissed from his situation in disgrace, suspected of a mean theft. He had, to be sure, the consciousness of innocence, and that was a great deal. He was not weighed down by the feeling of guilt, at least. Still his prospects were dark. Suppose the matter should not be cleared up, and he should still remain under suspicion? How could he hope to obtain another place without a recommendation from his late employer? No; he must resign all hope of a position and adopt some street occupation, such as selling papers or vending small articles in a basket, as he had seen boys of his own age doing. He did not doubt but that in some way he could get a living, but still he would be under suspicion, and that was hard to bear.

While these things were passing through his mind he walked down Broadway, with his eyes fixed upon the sidewalk. All at once he started to hear his name called, and, looking up, to his unbounded astonishment he saw before him Ralph the Ranger, whom he had supposed a thousand miles away in his cabin in the Ohio woods.

The sight of a friendly face was most welcome to him at such a time, and Ralph's face was friendly.

"Ralph!" he exclaimed, seizing the Ranger's hand. "How did you come here? When did you arrive? You are the last person I expected to see."

"And you are the one I most wanted to see," said Ralph, his tone unconsciously softened by his friendly interest in the boy before him.

"I can say the same, Ralph," said Herbert, soberly, "for I am in trouble."

"In trouble, boy? I am sorry for that. Is it money? I can get you out of that trouble."

"It is not that exactly, Ralph. If you will come into the City Hall Park and sit down on a bench with me I will tell you all about it."

"Instead of that, let us go into the Astor House," said Ralph. "It is where I am stopping."

"You are stopping at the Astor House?" said Herbert, in momentary surprise. "Perhaps you do not know that there are cheaper hotels. Shall I direct you to one?"

"No, Herbert, I am not poor, as you perhaps think. I suppose I should be called rich; but that I can explain afterwards. For the present your affairs require attention. Come in."

They went up the steps of the Astor House, and Ralph led the way to his room, an apartment of good size and handsomely furnished.

"Now, Herbert, take a chair and tell me all," he said.

To repeat Herbert's story here is unnecessary. Ralph listened with attention, and when it was concluded he said: "The main thing is to account for the money in your possession. Do you think you should remember the policeman who aided you in recovering your money?"

"I am sure I should."

"Did he know how much money you recovered?"

"Yes, for he saw me count the bills."

"Then we must seek him out and induce him to go with us to Mr. Godfrey's counting-room and give his testimony."

"I never thought of that," said Herbert, his face brightening. "When shall we go?"

"Now. I have nothing else to occupy me, and the sooner you are righted the better."

They went out together, and made their way at once to the spot where Herbert had encountered Greenleaf. They had to wait but a brief time when the policeman came up.

"Do you remember me?" asked Herbert, going up to him.

"Yes," he replied; "you are the boy that overhauled a thief the other day, and got back his money."

"You see, he remembers," said Herbert, with satisfaction.

"My friend," said Ralph, "when will you be off duty?"

"In half an hour," said the policeman, in surprise.

"In half an hour, then, I want you to go with me to this boys employer and repeat your story. The possession of the money has caused him to be suspected, and your evidence, confirming his own, will clear him of having obtained it improperly."

"I will go," said the officer, "and shall be glad to get him out of a scrape. It was all fair and above-board, and I'll say so cheerfully."

At the end of the half hour the three made their way to Mr. Godfrey's place of business and entered together.

Mr. Godfrey marked their entrance with surprise, and looked inquiringly at Herbert.

"Mr. Godfrey," said Herbert, respectfully, "I have come to prove to you that the money I have in my pocketbook is my own."

"I shall be very glad if you can do so," said Mr. Godfrey; and it was evident from his manner that he spoke sincerely.

"This officer knows all the circumstances, and will tell you what he knows."

The policeman made his statement, partly in answer to questions from Mr. Godfrey.

"The explanation is satisfactory," said Mr. Godfrey, "and convinces me. It does not, however, absolutely clear you, since between the time of the money being lost and your being searched you went out to the post office, and you might have disposed of the pocketbook and its contents on the way."

Herbert's countenance fell, but Mr. Godfrey hastened to add. "Although your vindication is not complete, I will say that I believe you fully, and will receive you back into my employ."

"You have forgotten one thing, sir," said Herbert. "Thomas declares that he saw me pick up the wallet and put it in my pocket."

"So I did," said Tom, boldly.

Mr. Godfrey looked perplexed, and was hesitating what to say when Mr. Walton, the owner of the lost pocketbook, hurriedly entered.

"Mr. Godfrey," he said, "I have to beg your pardon, and, most of all, the pardon of this boy," indicating Herbert. "I have found my pocketbook. I didn't lose it here, but my pocket was picked in the street. The pickpocket was arrested, and the wallet has been returned to me. This boy is innocent."

"I am very glad to hear it," said Mr. Godfrey, with emphasis. "Herbert, I will try to make amends to you for my transient suspicions of your honesty. As for you," he continued, turning to Thomas and speaking sternly, "I despise you for your mean attempt to injure your fellow- clerk. You must leave my employment to-day. I shall write to your father the reasons for dismissing you."

"I can get along without your paltry four dollars a week," said Tom, with bravado. "I am not a beggar."

"You may be something worse, if you do not amend, "said Mr. Godfrey." Mr. Pratt, you may pay him for the entire week, and he can go at once."

Although Tom professed so much disdain for the four dollars a week, he did not decline the week's pay directed to be paid to him, but placed the money in his vest pocket and went out with assumed nonchalance, though, in reality, deeply mortified at the unexpected discovery of his meanness.

"As for you, Herbert," said Mr. Godfrey, "you can come back at once, and I will raise your pay to eight dollars a week. I owe you some reparation for the injury you came so near suffering. I will never again doubt your integrity."

"Thank you, sir," said Herbert; "I shall be glad to come back."

"Before this matter is decided," said Ralph, "I have a proposition to make to Herbert. I am rich, and have no one to share or inherit my wealth. I propose to adopt him—to give him an opportunity to complete his education in Europe, whither I propose going, and if some years hence you shall be willing to receive him, he can then enter your counting-room to learn business. The amount of compensation will be unimportant, as I shall provide for him amply."

Herbert stared at Ralph in amazement. He could hardly realize that the offer was indeed a genuine one.

"Do you mean that I am to go to Europe with you, Ralph?" he said.

"Yes, if you like."

"I shall like it VERY MUCH," said Herbert, enthusiastically. "How can I thank you for so much generous kindness!"

"Your companionship will cheer me, and give me something to live for, Herbert," said Ralph. "Through you I hope some day to enjoy life again."

Herbert's clasped the Ranger's hand in impulsive gratitude, while his face beamed with pleasure.

"I congratulate you, Herbert," said Mr. Godfrey, kindly, "though I am sorry to lose you. Whenever your guardian is ready to have you enter on a business career, a place in my counting-room shall be open to you."

"Ralph," said Herbert, seriously, as they went from the counting-room in company, "all that has happened seems so wonderful that I am a little afraid I shall wake up to find it all a dream."

"It is a change to me also," said Ralph, "to have a new interest in life. The past is a sealed book. Let us look forward to a bright and pleasant future. Whatever pleasures and advantages money can obtain for you shall be yours."

"Thank you," said Herbert, gratefully.



CHAPTER XXXIV

CONCLUSION

"Where are you boarding, Herbert?" asked Ralph.

"In Stanton Street."

"I shall wish you at once to remove to the Astor House, in order that we may be together until we sail for Europe."

To this pleasant arrangement Herbert made no opposition. He found it a great change from the dirty and slipshod boarding-house to the elegant arrangements of a first-class hotel. It is needless to say that he enjoyed that change not a little. He often had the feeling, of which he had spoken to Ralph, that it was a dream from which he would some time awake. But the dream was destined to be a pretty long one.

Within a week, much against his will, Mr. Stanton paid over to Ralph Pendleton the fifty thousand dollars of which he had years ago defrauded him, and thus the Ranger found himself master of a fortune of nearly one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. He settled without delay a comfortable annuity on David Marston, the old clerk, through whose evidence he had been able to ferret out the treachery of Mr. Stanton. Marston needed it, for his health was broken down and he was an invalid, prematurely old. He is now settled in a comfortable boarding-house in Clinton Street, and usually spends his mornings at the Mercantile Library Reading-Room, in Astor Place, reading the morning papers. Sometimes he ventures downtown, and takes a slow walk through the streets, crowded with busy, bustling men, and recalls the years when he, too, was one of them.

Before sailing for Europe, Herbert expressed a desire to repay his uncle the sum of ten dollars, which the latter had sent to him. Ralph was surprised when he learned that this uncle, of whom Herbert spoke, was the same man who had been his former guardian. He approved our hero's determination, and one morning Herbert entered for the first time his uncle's place of business.

"Is Mr. Stanton in?" he asked of a clerk.

The clerk, in reply, pointed to the office.

Herbert entered.

His uncle looked up, but although he had seen our hero at a concert at the Academy of Music, he did not recognize him in the new and fashionable suit which Ralph had purchased for him.

"Mr. Stanton, I suppose?" said Herbert, with quiet self-possession.

"Yes. Do you wish to speak with me?"

"I must introduce myself," said Herbert. "I am Herbert Mason, your nephew."

"Indeed!" said Mr. Stanton, surprised. "When did you come to the city?"

"Some weeks since."

"What brought you here?"

"I had my living to make. I preferred to make it in the city."

"The city is crowded. You had better have remained in the country."

"I do not think so," said Herbert.

"You could have got a place on a farm, and in time perhaps might have bought a little land for yourself."

Herbert smiled.

"I did get a place on a farm," he said; "but I did not like it."

"What are you doing in the city? Have you got a place?"

"Not at present."

"So I supposed," said his uncle, frowning. "I told you the city was overcrowded. You should not have come here. I suppose you relied on me to help you to something. But I have my own family to take care of, and my first duty is to them, as you must be aware."

"I don't think you quite understand my object in calling," said Herbert, quietly. "I have not come for assistance of any kind."

"Indeed!" returned Mr. Stanton, appearing to be puzzled.

"You sent me ten dollars in a letter to Dr. Kent some months since?"

"Yes. I felt that it was best for you to depend on yourself, and that more would only encourage you to idleness."

"I have come to thank you for the LOAN," said Herbert, emphasizing the last word, "and to return the money."

"What!" exclaimed Mr. Stanton, now thoroughly amazed.

Herbert repeated his former words.

"But I don't understand this. You are out of a place; yet you do not need this money."

"No, I do not need it."

This was certainly astonishing, and Mr. Stanton gazed at his nephew as if he did not know what to make of it.

"What are your plans?" he asked. "What are you going to do?"

"I sail for Europe next week," said Herbert, enjoying his uncle's surprise.

"Sail for Europe!" ejaculated Mr. Stanton, scarcely believing his ears.

"Yes, I am to go to school there, and shall probably remain three or four years."

"You are trifling with me," said his uncle, irritably. "How can you go to Europe without money?"

Herbert felt that the time had come for an explanation.

"A friend," he said, "kindly undertakes to pay all my expenses. I go with him."

"Who is your friend?"

"Mr. Ralph Pendleton. I believe you know him."

"Ralph Pendleton!" repeated Mr. Stanton, in renewed surprise. "How did you become acquainted with him?"

"The farmer with whom I was placed in Ohio ill-treated me. Ralph lived near by, and helped me to run away."

Mr. Stanton made no comment. Indeed, his surprise was such that he knew not what to say. His friendless and penniless nephew, as he had regarded him, was about to share advantages which he would gladly have obtained for his own son. When, that evening, at home, he told his family of Herbert's good fortune, Tom was filled with bitter envy. If it had been any other boy he would have cared less, but for "that begger Herbert" to go to Europe in charge of a man of wealth was very mortifying to his pride.

Mr. Stanton made a faint protest against receiving the ten dollars tendered by his nephew, but Herbert was determined to repay it. He placed it on the desk and eventually Mr. Stanton placed it in his pocketbook.

After some reflection, finding his nephew very differently situated from what he had supposed, Mr. Stanton, with the concurrence of his wife, whose opinion also had been changed, sent an invitation to Ralph and Herbert to dine with them previous to their sailing for Europe. Herbert, by his new guardian's direction, returned a polite reply, to the effect that they were too busy in making preparations for their departure to accept the invitation. Ralph did not feel like sitting as the guest of a man who had cruelly defrauded him, and had only done him justice when he was actually compelled to do so.

In due time our hero sailed for Europe with Mr. Ralph Pendleton. They divided their time between Paris and Berlin, Herbert studying at both places. With his natural good abilities, he made rapid progress, and at the end of four years was an accomplished scholar, able to speak both French and German with facility. In watching his progress, Ralph Pendleton found a new and fresh interest in life. He recovered from his old, morbid feeling, and became cheerful and happy. On returning to New York, Herbert, who felt that he should enjoy a life of business better than a professional career, entered the counting-room of Mr. Godfrey. At twenty-one, the junior partner retiring, he was received as partner in his place, his guardian, Ralph Pendleton, purchasing an interest for him at a cost of fifty thousand dollars. He developed good business abilities, and bid fair to swell this sum, in time, to a large fortune. There is a prospect that he will, in time, sustain a closer relation to his senior partner, as it is rumored that Julia Godfrey, now a brilliant young belle, prefers her father's young partner to any of the crowd of young men who pay her court.

The other characters in our story demand a few closing words. First, for Mr. Stanton. It might have been the sudden withdrawal of the fifty thousand dollars from his business that embarrassed him. At any rate, from that time nothing prospered with him. He met with loss after loss, until, in a time of financial panic he failed. He saved but a little from the wreck of his fortune, That little started him in a modest business, yielding him, perhaps, one-tenth his former income. The brownstone house was sold. He moved into a shabby house in an obscure street, where Mrs. Stanton spends her time mostly in bewailing the loss of her former splendor.

Tom developed habits of extravagance, and seemed indisposed to work steadily. Finally, when his reverses came, his father was compelled to refuse further assistance, and now Tom, in an inferior clerkship, on a small salary, gazes with envy at his once-despised cousin, with whom he has completely changed places. How he will come out eventually is doubtful. Unless he changes considerably, it is not likely that his circumstances will ever be much better than at present.

Abner Holden died suddenly last year in a fit of delirium tremens. His habits of intemperance grew upon him until they led to this sad result. His death did not excite any very prolonged grief in the community, as his temper and uncertain honesty had made him very far from popular. To the housekeeper who had been kind to him, Herbert sent a valuable silk dress, of the richest fabric, of which Mrs. Bickford is very proud. She only wears it on great occasions, and then is particular to mention that it was presented to her by Herbert Mason, of the great New York firm of Godfrey & Mason, who was once Abner Holden's bound boy.

Nor was Herbert forgetful of his good friends, the Kents. He paid off the mortgage on the doctor's place, and insisted on putting the house in thorough repair, and newly furnishing it, so that now the town of Waverley does not contain a handsomer house, inside and out, than that of Dr. Kent.

So we bid farewell to our young hero, fairly launched on a prosperous career, trusting that his life-path may be bright to the end, and that he may leave behind him, at the end of his career, the reputation of a noble and honorable merchant, and a life filled with good deeds.

THE END