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Title: Brave and Bold

Author: Horatio Alger, Jr.

Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9990]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on November 6, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BRAVE AND BOLD ***




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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.




BRAVE AND BOLD


Or


THE FORTUNES OF ROBERT RUSHTON


By


HORATIO ALGER JR.




CHAPTER I.


THE YOUNG RIVALS.

The main schoolroom in the Millville Academy was brilliantly lighted,
and the various desks were occupied by boys and girls of different ages
from ten to eighteen, all busily writing under the general direction of
Professor George W. Granville, Instructor in Plain and Ornamental
Penmanship.

Professor Granville, as he styled himself, was a traveling teacher, and
generally had two or three evening schools in progress in different
places at the same time. He was really a very good penman, and in a
course of twelve lessons, for which he charged the very moderate price
of a dollar, not, of course, including stationery, he contrived to
impart considerable instruction, and such pupils as chose to learn were
likely to profit by his instructions. His venture in Millville had been
unusually successful. There were a hundred pupils on his list, and there
had been no disturbance during the course of lessons.

At nine precisely, Professor Granville struck a small bell, and said, in
rather a nasal voice:

"You will now stop writing."

There was a little confusion as the books were closed and the pens were
wiped.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said the professor, placing one arm under his
coat tails and extending the other in an oratorical attitude, "this
evening completes the course of lessons which I have had the honor and
pleasure of giving you. I have endeavored to impart to you an easy and
graceful penmanship, such as may be a recommendation to you in after
life. It gives me pleasure to state that many of you have made great
proficiency, and equaled my highest expectations. There are others,
perhaps, who have not been fully sensible of the privileges which they
enjoyed. I would say to you all that perfection is not yet attained. You
will need practice to reap the full benefit of my instructions. Should
my life be spared, I shall hope next winter to give another course of
writing lessons in this place, and I hope I may then have the pleasure
of meeting you again as pupils. Let me say, in conclusion, that I thank
you for your patronage and for your good behavior during this course of
lessons, and at the same time I bid you good-by."

With the closing words, Professor Granville made a low bow, and placed
his hand on his heart, as he had done probably fifty times before, on
delivering the same speech, which was the stereotyped form in which he
closed his evening schools.

There was a thumping of feet, mingled with a clapping of hands, as the
professor closed his speech, and a moment later a boy of sixteen,
occupying one of the front seats, rose, and, advancing with easy
self-possession, drew from his pocket a gold pencil case, containing a
pencil and pen, and spoke as follows:

"Professor Granville, the members of your writing class, desirous of
testifying their appreciation of your services as teacher, have
contributed to buy this gold pencil case, which, in their name, I have
great pleasure in presenting to you. Will you receive it with our best
wishes for your continued success as a teacher of penmanship?"

With these words, he handed the pencil to the professor and returned to
his seat.

The applause that ensued was terriffic, causing the dust to rise from
the floor where it had lain undisturbed till the violent attack of two
hundred feet raised it in clouds, through which the figure of the
professor was still visible, with his right arm again extended.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he commenced, "I cannot give fitting utterance
to the emotions that fill my heart at this most unexpected tribute of
regard and mark of appreciation of my humble services. Believe me, I
shall always cherish it as a most valued possession, and the sight of it
will recall the pleasant, and, I hope, profitable hours which we have
passed together this winter. To you, in particular, Mr. Rushton, I
express my thanks for the touching and eloquent manner in which you have
made the presentation, and, in parting with you all, I echo your own
good wishes, and shall hope that you may be favored with an abundant
measure of health and prosperity."

This speech was also vociferously applauded. It was generally considered
impromptu, but was, in truth, as stereotyped as the other. Professor
Granville had on previous occasions been the recipient of similar
testimonials, and he had found it convenient to have a set form of
acknowledgment. He was wise in this, for it is a hard thing on the spur
of the moment suitably to offer thanks for an unexpected gift.

"The professor made a bully speech," said more than one after the
exercises were over.

"So did Bob Rushton," said Edward Kent.

"I didn't see anything extraordinary in what he said," sneered Halbert
Davis. "It seemed to me very commonplace."

"Perhaps you could do better yourself, Halbert," said Kent.

"Probably I could," said Halbert, haughtily.

"Why didn't you volunteer, then?"

"I didn't care to have anything to do with it," returned Halbert,
scornfully.

"That's lucky," remarked Edward, "as there was no chance of your getting
appointed."

"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Halbert, angrily.

"No, I was only telling the truth."

Halbert turned away, too disgusted to make any reply. He was a boy of
sixteen, of slender form and sallow complexion, dressed with more
pretension than taste. Probably there was no boy present whose suit was
of such fine material as his. But something more than fine clothes is
needed to give a fine appearance, and Halbert's mean and insignificant
features were far from rendering him attractive, and despite the
testimony of his glass, Halbert considered himself a young man of
distinguished appearance, and was utterly blind to his personal defects.

What contributed to feed his vanity was his position as the son of the
richest man in Millville. Indeed, his father was superintendent, and
part owner, of the great brick factory on the banks of the river, in
which hundreds found employment. Halbert found plenty to fawn upon him,
and was in the habit of strutting about the village, swinging a light
cane, neither a useful nor an ornamental member of the community.

After his brief altercation with Edward Kent, he drew on a pair of kid
gloves, and looked about the room for Hester Paine, the lawyer's
daughter, the reigning belle among the girls of her age in Millville.
The fact was, that Halbert was rather smitten with Hester, and had made
up his mind to escort her home on this particular evening, never
doubting that his escort would be thankfully accepted.

But he was not quick enough, Robert Rushton had already approached
Hester, and said, "Miss Hester, will you allow me to see you home?"

"I shall be very glad to have your company, Robert," said Hester.

Robert was a general favorite. He had a bright, attractive face, strong
and resolute, when there was occasion, frank and earnest at all times.
His clothes were neat and clean, but of a coarse, mixed cloth, evidently
of low price, suiting his circumstances, for he was poor, and his mother
and himself depended mainly upon his earnings in the factory for the
necessaries of life. Hester Paine, being the daughter of a well-to-do
lawyer, belonged to the village aristocracy, and so far as worldly
wealth was concerned, was far above Robert Rushton. But such
considerations never entered her mind, as she frankly, and with real
pleasure, accepted the escort of the poor factory boy.

Scarcely had she done so when Halbert Davis approached, smoothing his
kid gloves, and pulling at his necktie.

"Miss Hester," he said, consequentially, "I shall have great pleasure in
escorting you home."

"Thank you," said Hester, "but I am engaged."

"Engaged!" repeated Halbert, "and to whom?"

"Robert Rushton has kindly offered to take me home."

"Robert Rushton!" said Halbert, disdainfully. "Never mind. I will
relieve him of his duty."

"Thank you, Halbert," said Robert, who was standing by, "I won't trouble
you. I will see Miss Paine home."

"Your escort was accepted because you were the first to offer it," said
Halbert.

"Miss Hester," said Robert, "I will resign in favor of Halbert, if you
desire it."

"I don't desire it," said the young girl, promptly. "Come, Robert, I am
ready if you are."

With a careless nod to Halbert, she took Robert's arm, and left the
schoolhouse. Mortified and angry, Halbert looked after them, muttering,
"I'll teach the factory boy a lesson. He'll be sorry for his impudence
yet."




CHAPTER II.


PUNISHING A COWARD

Mrs. Rushton and her son occupied a little cottage, not far from the
factory. Behind it were a few square rods of garden, in which Robert
raised a few vegetables, working generally before or after his labor in
the factory. They lived in a very plain way, but Mrs. Rushton was an
excellent manager, and they had never lacked the common comforts of
life. The husband and father had followed the sea. Two years before, he
left the port of Boston as captain of the ship _Norman_, bound for
Calcutta. Not a word had reached his wife and son since then, and it was
generally believed that it had gone to the bottom of the sea. Mrs.
Rushton regarded herself as a widow, and Robert, entering the factory,
took upon himself the support of the family. He was now able to earn six
dollars a week, and this, with his mother's earnings in braiding straw
for a hat manufacturer in a neighboring town, supported them, though
they were unable to lay up anything. The price of a term at the writing
school was so small that Robert thought he could indulge himself in it,
feeling that a good handwriting was a valuable acquisition, and might
hereafter procure him employment in some business house. For the
present, he could not do better than to retain his place in the factory.

Robert was up at six the next morning. He spent half an hour in sawing
and splitting wood enough to last his mother through the day, and then
entered the kitchen, where breakfast was ready.

"I am a little late this morning, mother," he said. "I must hurry down
my breakfast, or I shall be late at the factory, and that will bring
twenty-five cents fine."

"It would be a pity to get fined, but you mustn't eat too fast. It is
not healthful."

"I've got a pretty good digestion, mother," said Robert, laughing.
"Nothing troubles me."

"Still, you mustn't trifle with it. Do you remember, Robert," added his
mother, soberly, "it is just two years to-day since your poor father
left us for Boston to take command of his ship?"

"So it is, mother; I had forgotten it."

"I little thought then that I should never see him again!" and Mrs.
Rushton sighed.

"It is strange we have never heard anything of the ship."

"Not so strange, Robert. It must have gone down when no other vessel was
in sight."

"I wish we knew the particulars, mother. Sometimes I think father may
have escaped from the ship in a boat, and may be still alive."

"I used to think it possible, Robert; but I have given up all hopes of
it. Two years have passed, and if your father were alive, we should have
seen him or heard from him ere this."

"I am afraid you are right. There's one thing I can't help thinking of,
mother," said Robert, thoughtfully. "How is it that father left no
property? He received a good salary, did he not?"

"Yes; he had received a good salary for several years."

"He did not spend the whole of it, did he?"

"No, I am sure he did not. Your father was never extravagant."

"Didn't he ever speak to you on the subject?"

"He was not in the habit of speaking of his business; but just before he
went away, I remember him telling me that he had some money invested,
and hoped to add more to it during the voyage which proved so fatal to
him."

"He didn't tell you how much it was, nor how it was invested?"

"No; that was all he said. Since his death, I have looked everywhere in
the house for some papers which would throw light upon it; but I have
been able to find nothing. I do not care so much for myself, but I
should be glad if you did not have to work so hard."

"Never mind me, mother; I'm young and strong, I can stand work--but it's
hard on you."

"I am rich in having a good son, Robert."

"And I in a good mother," said Robert, affectionately. "And, now, to
change the subject. I suspect I have incurred the enmity of Halbert
Davis."

"How is that?" asked Mrs. Rushton.

"I went home with Hester Paine, last evening, from writing school. Just
as she had accepted my escort, Halbert came up, and in a condescending
way, informed her that he would see her home."

"What did she say?"

"She told him she was engaged to me. He said, coolly, that he would
relieve me of the duty, but I declined his obliging offer. He looked mad
enough, I can tell you. He's full of self-conceit, and I suppose he
wondered how any one could prefer me to him."

"I am sorry you have incurred his enmity."

"I didn't lose any sleep by it."

"You know his father is the superintendent of the factory."

"Halbert isn't."

"But he may prejudice his father against you, and get you discharged."

"I don't think he would be quite so mean as that. We won't borrow
trouble, mother. But time's up, and I must go."

Robert seized his hat and hurried to the mill. He was in his place when
the great factory bell stopped ringing on the stroke of seven, and so
escaped the fine, which would have cut off one-quarter of a day's pay.

Meanwhile, Halbert Davis had passed an uncomfortable and restless night.
He had taken a fancy to Hester Paine, and he had fully determined to
escort her home on the previous evening. As she was much sought after
among her young companions, it would have gratified his pride to have it
known that she had accepted his company. But he had been cut out, and by
Robert Rushton--one of his father's factory hands. This made his
jealousy more intolerable, and humiliated his pride, and set him to work
devising schemes for punishing Robert's presumption. He felt that it was
Robert's duty, even though he had been accepted, to retire from the
field as soon as his, Halbert's, desire was known. This Robert had
expressly declined to do, and Halbert felt very indignant. He made up
his mind that he would give Robert a chance to apologize, and if he
declined to do so he would do what he could to get him turned out of the
factory.

At twelve o'clock the factory bell pealed forth a welcome sound to the
hundreds who were busily at work within the great building. It was the
dinner hour, and a throng of men, women and children poured out of the
great portals and hastened to their homes or boarding houses to dine.
Among them was Robert Rushton. As he was walking homeward with his usual
quick, alert step, he came upon Halbert Davis, at the corner of the
street.

Halbert was dressed carefully, and, as usual, was swinging his cane in
his gloved hand. Robert would have passed him with a nod, but Halbert,
who was waiting for him, called out:

"I say, you fellow, stop a minute. I want to speak to you."

"Are you addressing me?" asked Robert, with a pride as great as his own.

"Yes."

"Then you had better mend your manners."

"What do you mean?" demanded Halbert, his sallow face slightly flushing.

"My name is Robert Rushton. Call me by either of these names when you
speak to me, and don't say 'you fellow.'"

"It seems to me," sneered Halbert, "that you are putting on airs for a
factory boy."

"I am a factory boy, I acknowledge, and am not ashamed to acknowledge
it. Is this all you have to say to me? If so, I will pass on, as I am in
haste."

"I have something else to say to you. You were impudent to me last
evening."

"Was I? Tell me how."

"Did you not insist on going home with Hester Paine, when I had offered
my escort?"

"What of that?"

"You forget your place."

"My place was at Hester Paine's side, since she had accepted my escort."

"It was very presumptuous in a factory boy like you offering your escort
to a young lady like Miss Paine."

"I don't see it," said Robert, independently; "and I don't think it
struck Hester in that light. We had a very agreeable walk."

Halbert was provoked and inflamed with jealousy, and the look with which
he regarded our hero was by no means friendly.

"You mustn't regard yourself as Miss Paine's equal because she
condescended to walk with you," he said. "You had better associate with
those of your own class hereafter, and not push yourself in where your
company is not agreeable."

"Keep your advice to yourself, Halbert Davis," said Robert, hotly, for
he felt the insult conveyed in these words. "If I am a factory boy I
don't intend to submit to your impertinence; and I advise you to be
careful what you say. As to Miss Hester Paine, I shall not ask your
permission to walk with her, but shall do so whenever she chooses to
accept my escort. Has she authorized you to speak for her?"

"No; but----"

"Then wait till she does."

Halbert was so incensed that, forgetting Robert's superior strength,
evident enough to any one who saw the two, one with his well-knit,
vigorous figure, the other slender and small of frame, he raised his
cane and struck our hero smartly upon the arm.

In a moment the cane was wrested from his grasp and applied to his own
person with a sharp, stinging blow which broke the fragile stick in two.

Casting the pieces upon the ground at his feet, Robert said, coolly:

"Two can play at that game, Halbert Davis. When you want another lesson
come to me."

He passed his discomfited antagonist and hastened to the little cottage,
where his mother was wondering what made him so much behind time.




CHAPTER III.


THE SPECIAL DEPOSIT.

Stung with mortification and more incensed against Robert than ever,
Halbert hastened home. The house in which he lived was the largest and
most pretentious in Millville--a large, square house, built in modern
style, and with modern improvements, accessible from the street by a
semi-circular driveway terminating in two gates, one at each end of the
spacious lawn that lay in front. The house had been built only three
years, and was the show-place of the village.

Halbert entered the house, and throwing his hat down on a chair in the
hall, entered the dining-room, his face still betraying his angry
feelings.

"What's the matter, Halbert?" asked his mother, looking up as he
entered.

"Do you see this?" said Halbert, displaying the pieces of his cane.

"How did you break it?"

"I didn't break it."

"How came it broken, then?"

"Robert Rushton broke it."

"The widow Rushton's son?"

"Yes; he's a low scoundrel," said Halbert bitterly.

"What made him break it?"

"He struck me with it hard enough to break it, and then threw the pieces
on the ground. I wouldn't mind it so much if he were not a low factory
boy, unworthy of a gentleman's attention."

"How dared he touch you?" asked Mrs. Davis, angrily.

"Oh, he's impudent enough for anything. He walked home with Hester Paine
last evening from the writing school. I suppose she didn't know how to
refuse him. I met him just now and told him he ought to know his place
better than to offer his escort to a young lady like Hester. He got mad
and struck me."

"It was very proper advice," said Mrs. Davis, who resembled her son in
character and disposition, and usually sided with him in his quarrels.
"I should think Hester would have more sense than to encourage a boy in
his position."

"I have no doubt she was bored by his company," said Halbert, who feared
on the contrary that Hester was only too well pleased with his rival,
and hated him accordingly; "only she was too good-natured to say so."

"The boy must be a young brute to turn upon you so violently."

"That's just what he is."

"He ought to be punished for it."

"I'll tell you how it can be done," said Halbert. "Just you speak to
father about it, and get him dismissed from the factory."

"Then he is employed in the factory?"

"Yes. He and his mother are as poor as poverty, and that's about all
they have to live upon; yet he goes round with his head up as if he were
a prince, and thinks himself good enough to walk home with Hester
Paine."

"I never heard of anything so ridiculous."

"Then you'll speak to father about it, won't you?"

"Yes; I'll speak to him to-night. He's gone away for the day."

"That'll pay me for my broken cane," said Halbert, adding, in a tone of
satisfaction: "I shall be glad to see him walking round the streets in
rags. Perhaps he'll be a little more respectful then."

Meanwhile Robert decided not to mention to his mother his encounter with
the young aristocrat. He knew that it would do no good, and would only
make her feel troubled. He caught the malignant glance of Halbert on
parting, and he knew him well enough to suspect that he would do what
he could to have him turned out of the factory. This would certainly be
a serious misfortune.

Probably the entire income upon which his mother and himself had to
depend did not exceed eight dollars a week, and of this he himself
earned six. They had not more than ten dollars laid by for
contingencies, and if he were deprived of work, that would soon melt
away. The factory furnished about the only avenue of employment open in
Millville, and if he were discharged it would be hard to find any other
remunerative labor.

At one o'clock Robert went back to the factory rather thoughtful. He
thought it possible that he might hear something before evening of the
dismission which probably awaited him, but the afternoon passed and he
heard nothing.

On leaving the factory, he chanced to see Halbert again on the sidewalk
a little distance in front and advancing toward him. This time, however,
the young aristocrat did not desire a meeting, for, with a dark scowl,
he crossed the street in time to avoid it.

"Is he going to pass it over, I wonder?" thought Robert. "Well, I won't
borrow trouble. If I am discharged I think I can manage to pick up a
living somehow. I've got two strong arms, and if I don't find something
to do, it won't be for the want of trying."

Two years before, Captain Rushton, on the eve of sailing upon what
proved to be his last voyage, called in the evening at the house of Mr.
Davis, the superintendent of the Millville factory. He found the
superintendent alone, his wife and Halbert having gone out for the
evening. He was seated at a table with a variety of papers spread out
before him. These papers gave him considerable annoyance. He was
preparing his semi-annual statement of account, and found himself
indebted to the corporation in a sum three thousand dollars in excess of
the funds at his command. He had been drawn into the whirlpool of
speculation, and, through a New York broker, had invested considerable
amounts in stocks, which had depreciated in value. In doing this he had
made use, to some extent, of the funds of the corporation, which he was
now at a loss how to replace. He was considering where he could apply
for a temporary loan of three thousand dollars when the captain entered.
Under the circumstances he was sorry for the intrusion.

"Good-evening, Captain Rushton," he said, with a forced smile. "Sit
down. I am glad to see you."

"Thank you, Mr. Davis. It will be the last call I shall make upon you
for a considerable time."

"Indeed--how is that?"

"I sail to-morrow for Calcutta."

"Indeed--that is a long voyage."

"Yes, it takes considerable time. I don't like to leave my wife and boy
for so long, but we sailors have to suffer a good many privations."

"True; I hardly think I should enjoy such a life."

"Still," said the captain, "it has its compensations. I like the free,
wild life of the sea. The ocean, even in its stormiest aspects, has a
charm for me."

"It hasn't much for me," said the superintendent, shrugging his
shoulders. "Seasickness takes away all the romance that poets have
invested it with."

Captain Rushton laughed.

"Seasickness!" he repeated. "Yes, that is truly a disagreeable malady. I
remember once having a lady of rank as passenger on board my ship--a
Lady Alice Graham. She was prostrated by seasickness, which is no
respecter of persons, and a more forlorn, unhappy mortal I never expect
to see. She would have been glad, I am convinced, to exchange places
with her maid, who seemed to thrive upon the sea air."

"I wish you a prosperous voyage, captain."

"Thank you. If things go well, I expect to come home with quite an
addition to my little savings. And that brings me to the object of my
visit this evening. You must know, Mr. Davis, I have saved up in the
last ten years a matter of five thousand dollars."

"Five thousand dollars!" repeated the superintendent, pricking up his
ears.

"Yes, it has been saved by economy and self-denial. Wouldn't my wife be
surprised if she knew her husband were so rich?"

"Your wife doesn't know of it?" asked the superintendent, surprised.

"Not at all. I have told her I have something, and she may suppose I
have a few hundred dollars, but I have never told her how much. I want
to surprise her some day."

"Just so."

"Now, Mr. Davis, for the object of my errand. I am no financier, and
know nothing of investments. I suppose you do. I want you to take this
money, and take care of it, while I am gone on my present voyage. I
meant to make inquiries myself for a suitable investment, but I have
been summoned by my owners to leave at a day's notice, and have no time
for it. Can you oblige me by taking care of the money?"

"Certainly, captain," said the superintendent, briskly. "I shall have
great pleasure in obliging an old friend."

"I am much obliged to you."

"Don't mention it. I have large sums of my own to invest, and it is no
extra trouble to look after your money. Am I to pay the interest to your
wife?"

"No. I have left a separate fund in a savings bank for her to draw upon.
As I told you, I want to surprise her by and by. So not a word, if you
please, about this deposit."

"Your wishes shall be regarded," said the superintendent. "Have you
brought the money with you?"

"Yes," said the captain, drawing from his pocket a large wallet. "I have
got the whole amount here in large bills. Count it, if you please, and
see that it is all right."

The superintendent took the roll of bills from the hands of his
neighbor, and counted them over twice.

"It is quite right," he said. "Here are five thousand dollars. Now let
me write you a receipt for them."

He drew before him a sheet of paper, and dipping his pen in the
inkstand, wrote a receipt in the usual form, which he handed back to the
captain, who received it and put it back in his wallet.

"Now," said the captain, in a tone of satisfaction, "my most important
business is transacted. You will keep this money, investing it according
to your best judgment. If anything should happen to me," he added, his
voice faltering a little, "you will pay it over to my wife and child."

"Assuredly," said the superintendent; "but don't let us think of such a
sad contingency. I fully expect to pay it back into your own hands with
handsome interest."

"Let us hope so," said the captain, recovering his cheerfulness. "Our
destinies are in the hands of a kind Providence. And now good-by! I
leave early to-morrow morning, and I must pass the rest of the evening
with my own family."

"Good-night, captain," said the superintendent, accompanying him to the
door. "I renew my wish that you have a prosperous and profitable voyage,
and be restored in good time to your family and friends."

"Amen!" said the captain.

The superintendent went back to his study, his heart lightened of its
anxiety.

"Could anything be more fortunate?" he ejaculated, "This help comes to
me just when it is most needed. Thanks to my special deposit, I can make
my semi-annual settlement, and have two thousand dollars over. It's
lucky the captain knows nothing of my Wall Street speculations. He
might not have been quite so ready to leave his money in my hands. It's
not a bad thing to be a banker," and he rubbed his hands together with
hilarity.




CHAPTER IV.


THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE.

When the superintendent accepted Captain Rushton's money, he did not
intend to act dishonestly. He hailed it as a present relief, though he
supposed he should have to repay it some time. His accounts being found
correct, he went on with his speculations. In these he met with varying
success. But on the whole he found himself no richer, while he was kept
in a constant fever of anxiety.

After some months, he met Mrs. Rushton in the street one day.

"Have you heard from your husband, Mrs. Rushton?" he inquired.

"No, Mr. Davis, not yet. I am beginning to feel anxious."

"How long has he been gone?"

"Between seven and eight months."

"The voyage is a long one. There are many ways of accounting for his
silence."

"He would send by some passing ship. He has been to Calcutta before,
but I have never had to wait so long for a letter."

The superintendent uttered some commonplace phrases of assurance, but in
his own heart there sprang up a wicked hope that the _Norman_ would
never reach port, and that he might never set eyes on Captain Rushton
again. For in that case, he reflected, it would be perfectly safe for
him to retain possession of the money with which he had been intrusted.
The captain had assured him that neither his wife nor son knew aught of
his savings. Who then could detect his crime? However, it was not yet
certain that the _Norman_ was lost. He might yet have to repay the
money.

Six months more passed, and still no tidings of the ship or its
commander. Even the most sanguine now gave her up for lost, including
the owners. The superintendent called upon them, ostensibly in behalf of
Mrs. Rushton, and learned that they had but slender hopes of her safety.
It was a wicked thing to rejoice over such a calamity, but his affairs
were now so entangled that a sudden demand for the five thousand dollars
would have ruined him. He made up his mind to say nothing of the special
deposit, though he knew the loss of it would leave the captain's family
in the deepest poverty. To soothe his conscience--for he was wholly
destitute of one--he received Robert into the factory, and the boy's
wages, as we already know, constituted their main support.

Such was the state of things at the commencement of our story.

When the superintendent reached home in the evening, he was at once
assailed by his wife and son, who gave a highly colored account of the
insult which Halbert had received from Robert Rushton.

"Did he have any reason for striking you, Halbert?" asked the
superintendent.

"No," answered Halbert, unblushingly. "He's an impudent young scoundrel,
and puts on as many airs as if he were a prince instead of a beggar."

"He is not a beggar."

"He is a low factory boy, and that is about the same."

"By no means. He earns his living by honest industry."

"It appears to me," put in Mrs. Davis, "that you are taking the part of
this boy who has insulted your son in such an outrageous manner."

"How am I doing it? I am only saying he is not a beggar."

"He is far below Halbert in position, and that is the principal thing."

It occurred to the superintendent that should he make restitution Robert
Rushton would be quite as well off as his own son, but of course he
could not venture to breathe a hint of this to his wife. It was the
secret knowledge of the deep wrong which he had done to the Rushtons
that now made him unwilling to oppress him further.

"It seems to me," he said, "you are making too much of this matter. It
is only a boyish quarrel."

"A boyish quarrel!" retorted Mrs. Davis, indignantly. "You have a
singular way of standing by your son, Mr. Davis. A low fellow insults
and abuses him, and you exert yourself to mate excuses for him."

"You misapprehend me, my dear."

"Don't 'my dear' me," said the exasperated lady. "I thought you would be
as angry as I am, but you seem to take the whole thing very coolly, upon
my word!"

Mrs. Davis had a sharp temper and a sharp tongue, and her husband stood
considerably in awe of both. He had more than once been compelled to
yield to them, and he saw that he must make some concession to order to
keep the peace.

"Well, what do you want me to do?" he asked.

"Want you to do! I should think that was plain enough."

"I will send for the boy and reprimand him."

"Reprimand him!" repeated the lady, contemptuously. "And what do you
think he will care for that?"

"More than you think, perhaps."

"Stuff and nonsense! He'll be insulting Halbert again to-morrow."

"I am not so sure that Halbert is not in fault in some way."

"Of course, you are ready to side with a stranger against your own son."

"What do you want me to do?" asked the superintendent, submissively.

"Discharge the boy from your employment," said his wife, promptly.

"But how can he and his mother live?--they depend on his wages."

"That is their affair. He ought to have thought of that before he raised
his hand against Halbert."

"I cannot do what you wish," said the superintendent, with some
firmness, for he felt that it would indeed be a piece of meanness to
eject from the factory the boy whom he had already so deeply wronged;
"but I will send for young Rushton and require him to apologize to
Halbert."

"And if he won't do it?" demanded Halbert.

"Then I will send him away."

"Will you promise that, father?" asked Halbert, eagerly.

"Yes," said Mr. Davis, rather reluctantly.

"All right!" thought Halbert; "I am satisfied; for I know he never will
consent to apologize."

Halbert had good reason for this opinion, knowing, as he did, that he
had struck the first blow, a circumstance he had carefully concealed
from his father. Under the circumstances he knew very well that his
father would be called upon to redeem his promise.

The next morning, at the regular hour, our hero went to the factory, and
taking his usual place, set to work. An hour passed, and nothing was
said to him. He began to think that Halbert, feeling that he was the
aggressor, had resolved to let the matter drop.

But he was speedily undeceived.

At a quarter after eight the superintendent made his appearance, and
after a brief inspection of the work, retired to his private office. Ten
minutes later, the foreman of the room in which he was employed came up
to Robert and touched him on the shoulder.

"Mr. Davis wishes to see you in his office," he said.

"Now for it!" thought Robert, as he left his work and made his way,
through the deafening clamor of the machinery, to the superintendent's
room.




CHAPTER V.


DISCHARGED.

The superintendent sat at an office table writing a letter. He did not
at first look up, but kept on with his employment. He had some remnants
of conscience left, and he shrank from the task his wife had thrust upon
him.

"Mr. Baker tells me you wish to see me, Mr. Davis," said Robert, who had
advanced into the office, by way of calling his attention.

"Yes," said the superintendent, laying down his pen, and turning half
round; "I hear a bad account of you, Rushton."

"In what way, sir?" asked our hero, returning his look fearlessly.

"I hear that you have been behaving like a young ruffian," said Mr.
Davis, who felt that he must make out a strong case to justify him in
dismissing Robert from the factory.

"This is a serious charge, Mr. Davis," said Robert, gravely, "and I hope
you will be kind enough to let me know what I have done, and the name
of my accuser."

"I mean to do so. Probably it will be enough to say that your accuser is
my son, Halbert."

"I supposed so. I had a difficulty with Halbert yesterday, but I
consider he was in fault."

"He says you insulted and struck him."

"I did not insult him. The insult came from him."

"Did you strike him?"

"Yes, but not until he had struck me first."

"He didn't mention this, but even if he had you should not have struck
him back."

"Why not?" asked Robert.

"You should have reported the affair to me."

"And allowed him to keep on striking me?"

"You must have said something to provoke him," continued the
superintendent, finding it a little difficult to answer this question,
"or he would not have done it."

"If you will allow me," said Robert, "I will give you an account of the
whole affair."

"Go on," said the superintendent, rather unwillingly, for he strongly
suspected that our hero would be able to justify himself, and so render
dismissal more difficult.

"Halbert took offense because I accompanied Hester Paine home from the
writing school, evening before last, though I did with the young lady's
permission, as he knew. He met me yesterday at twelve o'clock, as I was
going home to dinner, and undertook to lecture me on my presumption in
offering my escort to one so much above me. He also taunted me with
being a factory boy. I told him to keep his advice to himself, as I
should not ask his permission when I wanted to walk, with Hester Paine.
Then he became enraged, and struck me with his cane. I took it from him
and returned the blow, breaking the cane in doing it."

"Ahem!" said the superintendent, clearing his throat; "you must have
been very violent."

"I don't think I was, sir. I struck him a smart blow, but the cane was
very light and easily broken."

"You were certainly very violent," continued Mr. Davis, resolved to make
a point of this. "Halbert did not break the cane when he struck you."

"He struck the first blow."

"That does not alter the question of the amount of violence, which was
evidently without justification. You must have been in a great passion."

"I don't think I was in any greater passion than Halbert."

"In view of the violence you made use of, I consider that you owe my son
an apology."

"An apology!" repeated Robert, whose astonishment was apparent in his
tone.

"I believe I spoke plainly," said the superintendent, irritably.

"If any apology is to be made," said our hero, firmly, "it ought to come
from Halbert to me."

"How do you make that out?"

"He gave me some impertinent advice, and, because I did not care to take
it, he struck me."

"And you seized his cane in a fury, and broke it in returning the blow."

"I acknowledge that I broke the cane," said Robert; "and I suppose it is
only right that I should pay for it. I am willing to do that, but not to
apologize."

"That will not be sufficient," said the superintendent, who knew that
payment for the cane would fall far short of satisfying his wife or
Halbert. "The cost of the cane was a trifle, and I am willing to buy him
another, but I cannot consent that my son should be subjected to such
rude violence, without an apology from the offender. If I passed this
over, you might attack him again to-morrow."

"I am not in the habit of attacking others without cause," said Robert,
proudly. "If Halbert will let me alone, or treat me with civility, he
may be sure that I shall not trouble him."

"You are evading the main point, Rushton," said the superintendent. "I
have required you to apologize to my son, and I ask you for the last
time whether you propose to comply with my wishes."

"No, sir," said Robert, boldly.

"Do you know to whom you are speaking, boy?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am not only the father of the boy you have assaulted, but I am also
the superintendent of this factory, and your employer.".

"I am aware of that, sir."

"I can discharge you from the factory."

"I know you can," said Robert.

"Of course, I should be sorry to resort to such an extreme measure, but,
if you defy my authority, I may be compelled to do so."

So the crisis had come. Robert saw that he must choose between losing
his place and a humiliating apology. Between the two he did not for a
moment hesitate.

"Mr. Davis," he said, boldly and firmly, "it will be a serious thing for
me if I lose my place here, for my mother and I are poor, and my wages
make the greatest part of our income. But I cannot make this apology you
require. I will sooner lose my place."

The bold and manly bearing of our hero, and his resolute tone, impressed
the superintendent with an involuntary admiration. He felt that Robert
was a boy to be proud of, but none the less he meant to carry out his
purpose.

"Is this your final decision?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Then you are discharged from the factory. You will report your
discharge to Mr. Baker, and he will pay you what you have earned this
week."

"Very well, sir."

Robert left the office, with a bold bearing, but a heart full of
trouble. If only himself had been involved in the calamity, he could
have borne it better, but he knew that his loss of place meant privation
and want for his mother, unless he could find something to do that would
bring in an equal income, and this he did not expect.

"Mr. Baker," he said, addressing the foreman of his room, on his return
from the superintendent's office, "I am discharged."

"Discharged?" repeated the foreman, in surprise. "There must be some
mistake about this. You are one of our best hands--for your age, I
mean."

"There is no dissatisfaction with my work that I know of, but I got into
a quarrel with Halbert Davis yesterday, and his father wants me to
apologize to him."

"Which you won't do?"

"I would if I felt that I were in fault. I am not too proud for that.
But the fact is, Halbert ought to apologize to me."

"Halbert is a mean boy. I don't blame you in the least."

"So I am to report my discharge to you, and ask you for my wages."

This account was soon settled, and Robert left the factory his own
master. But it is poor consolation to be one's own master under such
circumstances. He dreaded to break the news to his mother, for he knew
that it would distress her. He was slowly walking along, when he once
more encountered Halbert Davis. Halbert was out for the express purpose
of meeting and exulting over him, for he rightly concluded that Robert
would decline to apologize to him. Robert saw his enemy, and guessed his
object, but resolved to say nothing to him, unless actually obliged to
do so.

"Where are you going?" demanded Halbert.

"Home."

"I thought you worked in the factory?"

"Did you?" asked Robert, looking full in his face, and reading the
exultation he did not attempt to conceal.

"Perhaps you have got turned out?" suggested Halbert, with a malicious
smile.

"You would be glad of that, I suppose," said our hero.

"I don't think I should cry much," said Halbert. "It's true then, is
it?"

"Yes; it's true."

"You won't put on so many airs when you go round begging for cold
victuals. It'll be some time before you walk with Hester Paine again."

"I shall probably walk with her sooner than you will."

"She won't notice a beggar."

"There is not much chance of my becoming a beggar, Halbert Davis; but I
would rather be one than be as mean as you. I will drop you a slight
hint, which you had better bear in mind. It won't be any safer to insult
me now than it was yesterday. I can't lose my place a second time."

Halbert instinctively moved aside, while our hero passed on, without
taking farther notice of him.

"I hate him!" he muttered to himself. "I hope he won't find anything to
do. If he wasn't so strong, I'd give him a thrashing."




CHAPTER VI.


HALBERT'S DISCOMFITURE.

Great was the dismay of Mrs. Rushton when she heard from Robert that he
was discharged from the factory. She was a timid woman, and rather apt
to take desponding views of the future.

"Oh, Robert, what is going to become of us?" she exclaimed, nervously.
"We have only ten dollars in the house, and you know how little I can
earn by braiding straw. I really think you were too hasty and
impetuous."

"Don't be alarmed, my dear mother," said Robert, soothingly. "I am sorry
I have lost my place, but there are other things I can do besides
working in the factory. We are not going to starve yet."

"But, suppose you can't find any work?" said his mother.

"Then I'll help you braid straw," said Robert, laughing. "Don't you
think I might learn after a while?"

"I don't know but you might," said Mrs. Rushton, dubiously; "but the
pay is very poor."

"That's so, mother. I shan't, take to braiding straw except as a last
resort."

"Wouldn't Mr. Davis take you back into the factory if I went to him and
told him how much we needed the money?"

"Don't think of such a thing, mother," said Robert, hastily, his brown
cheek flushing. "I am too proud to beg to be taken back."

"But it wouldn't be you."

"I would sooner ask myself than have you do it, mother. No; the
superintendent sent me away for no good reason, and he must come and ask
me to return before I'll do it."

"I am afraid you are proud, Robert."

"So I am, mother; but it is an honest pride. Have faith in me for a
week, mother, and see if I don't earn something in that time. I don't
expect to make as much as I earned at the factory; but I'll earn
something, you may depend upon that. Now, how would you like to have
some fish for supper?"

"I think I should like it. It is a good while since we had any."

"Then, I'll tell you what--I'll borrow Will Paine's boat, if he'll let
me have it, and see if I can't catch something."

"When will you be home, Robert?"

"It will depend on my success in fishing. It'll be half-past nine, very
likely, before I get fairly started, so I think I'd better take my
dinner with me. I'll be home some time in the afternoon."

"I hope you'll be careful, Robert. You might get upset."

"I'll take care of that, mother. Besides, I can swim like a duck."

Robert went out into the garden, and dug some worms for bait. Meanwhile,
his mother made a couple of sandwiches, and wrapped them in a paper for
his lunch. Provided thus, he walked quickly to the house of Squire
Paine, and rang the bell.

"Is Will home?" he asked.

"Here I am, old fellow!" was heard from the head of the stairs; and
William Paine, a boy of our hero's size and age, appeared. "Come right
up."

"How did you happen to be at leisure?" he asked. "I supposed you were at
the factory."

"I'm turned off."

"Turned off! How's that?"

"Through the influence of Halbert Davis."

"Halbert is a disgusting sneak. I always despised him, and, if he's done
such a mean thing, I'll never speak to him again. Tell me all about it."

This Robert did, necessarily bringing in Hester's name.

"He needn't think my sister will walk with him," said Will. "If she
does, I'll cut her off with a shilling. She'd rather walk with you, any
day."

Robert blushed a little; for, though he was too young to be in love, he
thought his friend's sister the most attractive girl he had even seen,
and, knowing how she was regarded in the village, he naturally felt
proud of her preference for himself over a boy who was much richer.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Will, with interest.

"The first thing I am going to do is to catch some fish, if you'll lend
me your boat."

"Lend you my boat? Of course I will! I'll lend it to you for the next
three months."

"But you want it yourself?"

"No. Haven't you heard the news? I'm going to boarding school."

"You are?"

"It's a fact. I'm packing my trunk now. Come upstairs, and superintend
the operation."

"I can't stay long. But, Will, are you in earnest about the boat?"

"To be sure I am. I was meaning to ask you if you'd take care of it for
me. You see, I can't carry it with me, and you are the only fellow I am
willing to lend it to."

"I shall be very glad of the chance, Will. I've been wanting a boat for
a long time, but there wasn't much chance of my getting one. Now I
shall feel rich. But isn't this a sudden idea, your going to school?"

"Rather. There was a college classmate of father's here last week, who's
at the head of such a school, and he made father promise to send me. So
I'm to start to-morrow morning. If it wasn't for that, and being up to
my ears in getting ready, I'd go out fishing with you."

"I wish you could."

"I must wait till vacation. Here is the boat key."

Robert took the key with satisfaction. The boat owned by his friend was
a stanch, round-bottomed boat, of considerable size, bought only two
months before, quite the best boat on the river. It was to be at his
free disposal, and this was nearly the same thing as owning it. He might
find it very useful, for it occurred to him that, if he could find
nothing better to do, he could catch fish every day, and sell at the
village store such as his mother could not use. In this way he would be
earning something, and it would be better than being idle.

He knew where the boat was usually kept, just at the foot of a large
tree, whose branches drooped over the river. He made his way thither,
and, fitting the key in the padlock which confined the boat, soon set it
free. The oars he had brought with him from his friend's house.

Throwing in the oars, he jumped in, and began to push off, when he heard
himself called, and, looking up, saw Halbert Davis standing on the bank.

"Get out of that boat!" said Halbert.

"What do you mean?" demanded Robert.

"You have no business in that boat! It doesn't belong to you!"

"You'd better mind your own business, Halbert Davis. You have nothing to
do with the boat."

"It's William Paine's boat."

"Thank you for the information. I supposed it was yours, from the
interest you seem to take in it."

"It will be. He's going to let me have it while he's away at school."

"Indeed! Did he tell you so?"

"I haven't asked Ma yet; but I know he will let me have it."

"I don't think he will."

"Why not?"

"If you ever want to borrow this boat, you'll have to apply to me."

"You haven't bought it?" asked Halbert, in surprise. "You're too poor."

"I'm to have charge of the boat while Will Paine is away."

"Did he say you might?" asked Halbert, in a tone of disappointment and
mortification.

"Of course he did."

"I don't believe it," said Halbert, suspiciously.

"I don't care what you believe. Go and ask him yourself, if you are not
satisfied; and don't meddle with what is none of your business;"

"You're an impudent rascal."

"Have you got another cane you'd like to have broken?" asked Robert,
significantly.

Halbert looked after him, enviously, as he rowed the boat out into the
stream. He had asked his father to buy him a boat, but the
superintendent's speculations had not turned out very well of late, and
he had been deaf to his son's persuasions, backed, though they were, by
his mother's influence. When Halbert heard that William Paine was going
to boarding school, he decided to ask him for the loan of his boat
during his absence, as the next best thing. Now, it seemed that he had
been forestalled, and by the boy he hated. He resolved to see young
Paine himself, and offer him two dollars for the use of his boat during
the coming term. Then he would have the double satisfaction of using the
boat and disappointing Robert.

He made his way to the house of Squire Paine, and, after a brief pause,
was admitted, He was shown into the parlor, and Will Paine came down to
see him.

"How are you, Davis?" he said, nodding, coolly, but not offering his
hand.

"I hear you are going to boarding school?"

"Yes; I go to-morrow."

"I suppose you won't take your boat with you?"

"No."

"I'll give you two dollars for the use of it; the next three months?"

"I can't accept your offer. Robert Bashton is to have it."

"But he doesn't pay you anything for it. I'll give you three dollars, if
you say so?"

"You can't have it for three dollars, or ten. I have promised it to my
friend, Robert Rushton, and I shall not take it back."

"You may not know," said Halbert, maliciously, "that your friend was
discharged from the factory this morning for misconduct."

"I know very well that he was discharged, and through whose influence,
Halbert Davis," said Will, pointedly. "I like him all the better for his
misfortune, and so I am sore will my sister."

Halbert's face betrayed the anger and jealousy he felt, but he didn't
dare to speak to the lawyer's son as he had to the factory boy.

"Good-morning!" he said, rising to go.

"Good-morning!" said young Paine, formally.

Halbert felt, as he walked homeward, that his triumph over Robert was by
no means complete.




CHAPTER VII.


THE STRANGE PASSENGER.

Robert, though not a professional fisherman, was not wholly
inexperienced. This morning he was quite lucky, catching quite a fine
lot of fish--as much, indeed, as his mother and himself would require a
week to dispose of. However, he did not intend to carry them all home.
It occurred to him that he could sell them at a market store in the
village. Otherwise, he would not have cared to go on destroying life for
no useful end.

Accordingly, on reaching the shore, he strung the fish and walked
homeward, by way of the market. It was rather a heavy tug, for the fish
he had caught weighed at least fifty pounds.

Stepping into the store, he attracted the attention of the proprietor.

"That's a fine lot of fish you have there, Robert. What are you going to
do with them?"

"I'm going to sell most of them to you, if I can."

"Are they just out of the water?"

"Yes; I have just brought them in."

"What do you want for them?"

"I don't know what is a fair price?"

"I'll give you two cents a pound for as many as you want to sell."

"All right," said our hero, with satisfaction. "I'll carry this one
home, and you can weigh the rest."

The rest proved to weigh forty-five pounds. The marketman handed Robert
ninety cents, which he pocketed with satisfaction.

"Shall you want some more to-morrow?" he asked.

"Yes, if you can let me have them earlier. But how is it you are not at
the factory?"

"I've lost my place."

"That's a pity."

"So I have plenty of time to work for you."

"I may be able to take considerable from you. I'm thinking of running a
cart to Brampton every morning, but I must have the fish by eight
o'clock, or it'll be too late."

"I'll go out early in the morning, then."

"Very well; bring me what you have at that hour, and we'll strike a
trade."

"I've got something to do pretty quick," thought Robert, with
satisfaction. "It was a lucky thought asking Will Paine for his boat.
I'm sorry he's going away, but it happens just right for me."

Mrs. Rushton was sitting at her work, in rather a disconsolate frame of
mind. The more she thought of Robert's losing his place, the more
unfortunate it seemed. She could not be expected to be as sanguine and
hopeful as our hero, who was blessed with strong hands and a fund of
energy and self-reliance which he inherited from his father. His mother,
on the other hand, was delicate and nervous, and apt to look on the dark
side of things. But, notwithstanding this, she was a good mother, and
Robert loved her.

Nothing had been heard for some time but the drowsy ticking of the
clock, when a noise was heard at the door, and Robert entered the room,
bringing the fish he had reserved.

"You see, mother, we are not likely to starve," he said.

"That's a fine, large fish," said his mother.

"Yes; it'll be enough for two meals. Didn't I tell you, mother, I would
find something to do?"

"True, Robert," said his mother, dubiously; "but we shall get tired of
fish if we have it every day."

Robert laughed.

"Six days in the week will do for fish, mother," he said. "I think we
shall be able to afford something else Sunday."

"Of course, fish is better than nothing," said his mother, who
understood him literally; "and I suppose we ought to be thankful to get
that."

"You don't look very much pleased at the prospect of fish six times a
week," said Robert, laughing again. "On the whole, I think it will be
better to say twice."

"But what will we do other days, Robert?"

"What we have always done, mother--eat something else. But I won't keep
you longer in suspense. Did you think this was the only fish I caught?"

"Yes, I thought so."

"I sold forty-five pounds on the way to Minturn, at his market
store--forty-five pounds, at two cents a pound. What do you think of
that?"

"Do you mean that you have earned ninety cents to-day, Robert?"

"Yes; and here's the money."

"That's much better than I expected," said Mrs. Rushton, looking several
degrees more I cheerful.

"I don't expect to do as well as that every day, mother, but I don't
believe we'll starve. Minturn has engaged me to supply him with fish
every day, only some days the fishes won't feel like coming out of the
water. Then, I forgot to tell you, I'm to have Will Paine's boat for
nothing. He's going to boarding school, and has asked me to take care of
it for him."

"You are fortunate, Robert."

"I am hungry, too, mother. Those two sandwiches didn't go a great ways.
So, if you can just as well as not have supper earlier, it would suit
me."

"I'll put on the teakettle at once, Robert," said his mother, rising.
"Would you like some of the fish for supper?"

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"Surely not, Robert."

The usual supper hour was at five in this country household, but a
little after four the table was set, and mother and son sat down to a
meal which both enjoyed. The fish proved to be excellent, and Robert
enjoyed it the more, first, because he had caught it himself, and next
because he felt that his independent stand at the factory, though it had
lost him his place, was not likely to subject his mother to the
privations he had feared.

"I'll take another piece of fish, mother," said Robert, passing his
plate. "I think, on the whole, I shan't be obliged to learn to braid
straw."

"No; you can do better at fishing."

"Only," added Robert, with mock seriousness, "we might change work
sometimes, mother; I will stay at home and braid straw, and you can go
out fishing."

"I am afraid I should make a poor hand at it," said Mrs. Rushton,
smiling.

"If Halbert Davis could look in upon us just now, he would be
disappointed to find us so cheerful after my losing my place at factory.
However, I've disappointed him in another way."

"How is that?"

"He expected Will Paine would lend him his boat while he was gone, but,
instead of that, he finds it promised to me."

"I am afraid he is not a very kind-hearted boy."

"That's drawing it altogether too mild, mother. He's the meanest fellow
I ever met. However, I won't talk about him any more, or it'll spoil my
appetite."

On the next two mornings Robert went out at five o'clock, in order to
get home in time for the market-wagon. He met with fair luck, but not as
good as on the first day. Taking the two mornings together, he captured
and sold seventy pounds of fish, which, as the price remained the same,
brought him in a dollar and forty cents. This was not equal to his wages
at the factory; still, he had the greater part of the day to himself,
only, unfortunately, he had no way of turning his time profitably to
account, or, at least, none had thus far occurred to him.

On the morning succeeding he was out of luck. He caught but two fish,
and they were so small that he decided not to offer them for sale.

"If I don't do better than this," he reflected, "I shan't make very good
wages. The fish seem to be getting afraid of me."

He paddled about, idly, a few rods from the shore, having drawn up his
line and hook.

All at once, he heard a voice hailing him from the river bank:

"Boat ahoy!"

"Hallo!" answered Robert, lifting his eyes, and seeing who called him.

"Can you set me across the river?"

"Yes, sir."

"Bring in your boat, then, and I'll jump aboard. I'll pay you for your
trouble."

Robert did as requested, with alacrity. He was very glad to earn money
in this way, since it seemed he was to have no fish to dispose of. He
quickly turned the boat to the shore, and the stranger jumped on board.
He was a man of rather more than the average height, with a slight limp
in his gait, in a rough suit of clothes, his head being surmounted by a
felt hat considerably the worse for wear. There was a scar on one
cheek, and, altogether, he was not very prepossessing in his appearance.
Robert noted all this in a rapid glance, but it made no particular
impression upon him at the moment. He cared very little how the stranger
looked, as long as he had money enough to pay his fare.

"It's about a mile across the river, isn't it?" asked the stranger.

"About that here. Where do you want to go?"

"Straight across. There's an old man named Nichols lives on the other
side, isn't there?"

"Yes; he lives by himself."

"Somebody told me so. He's rich, isn't he?" asked the stranger,
carelessly.

"So people say; but he doesn't show it in his dress or way of living."

"A miser, I suppose?"

"Yes."

"What does he do with his money?"

"I only know what people say."

"And what do they say?"

"That he is afraid to trust banks, and hides his money in the earth."

"That kind of bank don't pay very good interest," said the stranger,
laughing.

"No; but it isn't likely to break."

"Here? boy, give me one of the oars. I'm used to rowing, and I'll help
you a little."

Robert yielded one of the oars to his companion, who evidently
understood rowing quite as well as he professed to. Our hero, though
strong-armed, had hard work to keep up with him.

"Look out, boy, or I'll turn you round," he said.

"You are stronger than I am."

"And more used to rowing; but I'll suit myself to you."

A few minutes brought them to the other shore. The passenger jumped
ashore, first handing a silver half-dollar to our hero, who was well
satisfied with his fee.

Robert sat idly in his boat, and watched his late fare as with rapid
steps he left the river bank behind him.

"He's going to the old man's house," decided Robert. "I wonder whether
he has any business with him?"




CHAPTER VIII.


THE OLD FARMHOUSE.

The stranger walked, with hasty strides, in the direction of an old
farmhouse, which could be seen a quarter of a mile away. Whether it had
ever been painted, was a question not easily solved. At present it was
dark and weather-beaten, and in a general state of neglect.

The owner, Paul Nichols, was a man advanced in years, living quite
alone, and himself providing for his simple wants. Robert was right in
calling him a miser, but he had not always deserved the name. The time
was when he had been happily married to a good wife, and was blessed
with two young children. But they were all taken from him in one week by
an epidemic, and his life was made solitary and cheerless. This
bereavement completely revolutionized his life. Up to this time he had
been a good and respected citizen, with an interest in public affairs.
Now be became morose and misanthropic, and his heart, bereaved of its
legitimate objects of affection, henceforth was fixed upon gold, which
he began to love with a passionate energy. He repulsed the advances of
neighbors, and became what Robert called him--a miser.

How much he was worth, no one knew. The town assessors sought in vain
for stocks and bonds. He did not appear to possess any. Probably popular
opinion was correct in asserting that he secreted his money in one or
many out-of-the-way places, which, from time to time, he was wont to
visit and gloat over his treasures. There was reason also to believe
that it was mostly in gold, for he had a habit of asking specie payments
from those indebted to him, or, if he could not obtain specie, he used
to go to a neighboring town with his bank notes and get the change
effected.

Such was the man about whom Robert's unknown passenger exhibited so much
curiosity, and whom it seemed that he was intending to visit.

"I wonder whether the old man is at home!" he said to himself, as he
entered the front yard through a gateway, from which the gate had long
since disappeared. "He don't keep things looking very neat and trim,
that's a fact," he continued, noticing the rank weeds and indiscriminate
litter which filled the yard. "Just give me this place, and his money
to keep it, and I'd make a change in the looks of things pretty quick."

He stepped up to the front door, and, lifting the old-fashioned knocker,
sounded a loud summons.

"He'll hear that, if he isn't very deaf," he thought.

But the summons appeared to be without effect. At all events, he was
left standing on the doorstone, and no one came to bid him enter.

"He can't be at home, or else he won't come," thought the visitor. "I'll
try him again," and another knock, still louder than before, sounded
through the farmhouse.

But still no one came to the door. The fact was, that the old farmer had
gone away early, with a load of hay, which he had sold; to a
stable-keeper living some five miles distant.

"I'll reconnoiter a little," said the stranger.

He stepped to the front window, and looked in. All that met his gaze was
a bare, dismantled room.

"Not very cheerful, that's a fact," commented the outsider. "Well, he
don't appear to be here; I'll go round to the back part of the house."

He went round to the back door, where he thought it best, in the first
place, to knock. No answer coming, he peered through the window, but saw
no one.

"The coast is clear," he concluded. "So much the better, if I can get
in."

The door proved to be locked, but the windows were easily raised.
Through one of these he clambered into the kitchen, which was the only
room occupied by the old farmer, with the exception of a room above,
which he used as a bedchamber. Here he cooked and ate his meals, and
here he spent his solitary evenings.

Jumping over the window sill, the visitor found himself in this room. He
looked around him, with some curiosity.

"It is eighteen years since I was last in this room," he said. "Time
hasn't improved it, nor me, either, very likely," he added, with a short
laugh. "I've roamed pretty much all over the world in that time, and
I've come back as poor as I went away. What's that copy I used to
write?--'A rolling stone gathers no moss.' Well, I'm the rolling stone.
In all that time my Uncle Paul has been moored fast to his hearthstone,
and been piling up gold, which he don't seem to have much use for. As
far as I know, I'm his nearest relation, there's no reason why he
shouldn't launch out a little for the benefit of the family."

It will be gathered from the foregoing soliloquy that the newcomer was a
nephew of Paul Nichols. After a not very creditable youth, he had gone
to sea, and for eighteen years this was his first reappearance in his
native town.

He sat down in a chair, and stretched out his legs, with an air of being
at home.

"I wonder what the old man will say when he sees me," he soliloquized.
"Ten to one he won't know me. When we saw each other last I was a
smooth-faced youth. Now I've got hair enough on my face, and the years
have made, their mark upon me, I suspect. Where is he, I wonder, and how
long have I got to wait for him? While I'm waiting, I'll take the
liberty of looking in the closet, and seeing if he hasn't something to
refresh the inner man. I didn't make much of a breakfast, and something
hearty wouldn't come amiss."

He rose from his chair, and opened the closet door. A small collection
of crockery was visible, most of it cracked, but there was nothing
eatable to be seen, except half a loaf of bread. This was from the
baker, for the old man, after ineffectual efforts to make his own bread,
had been compelled to abandon the attempt, and patronize the baker.

"Nothing but a half loaf, and that's dry enough," muttered the
stranger. "That isn't very tempting. I can't say much for my uncle's
fare, unless he has got something more attractive somewhere."

But, search as carefully as he might, nothing better could be found, and
his appetite was not sufficiently great to encourage an attack upon the
stale loaf. He sat down, rather discontented, and resumed the current of
his reflections.

"My uncle must be more of a miser than I thought, if he stints himself
to such fare as this. It's rather a bad lookout for me. He won't be very
apt to look with favor on my application for a small loan from his
treasure. What's that the boy said? He don't trust any banks, but keeps
his money concealed in the earth. By Jove! It would be a stroke of luck
if I could stumble on one of his hiding places! If I could do that while
he was away, I would forego the pleasure of seeing him, and make off
with what I could find. I'll look about me, and see if I can't find some
of his hidden hoards."

No sooner did the thought occur to him than he acted upon it.

"Let me see," he reflected, "where is he most likely to hide his
treasure? Old stockings are the favorites with old maids and widows, but
I don't believe Uncle Paul has got any without holes in them. He's more
likely to hide his gold under the hearth. That's a good idea, I'll try
the hearth first."

He kneeled down, and began to examine the bricks, critically, with a
view of ascertaining whether any bore the marks of having been removed
recently, for he judged correctly that a miser would wish, from time to
time, to unearth his treasure for the pleasure of looking at it. But
there was no indication of disturbance. The hearth bore a uniform
appearance, and did not seem to have been tampered with.

"That isn't the right spot," reflected the visitor. "Perhaps there's a
plank in the floor that raises, or, still more likely, the gold is
buried in the cellar. I've a great mind to go down there."

He lit a candle, and went cautiously down the rickety staircase. But he
had hardly reached the bottom of the stairs, when he caught the sound of
a wagon entering the yard.

"That must be my uncle," he said. "I'd better go up, and not let him
catch me down here."

He ascended the stairs, and re-entered the room just as the farmer
opened the door and entered.

On seeing a tall, bearded stranger, whom he did not recognize, standing
before him in his own kitchen, with a lighted candle in his hand, Paul
Nichols uttered a shrill cry of alarm, and ejaculated:

"Thieves! Murder! Robbers!" in a quavering voice.




CHAPTER IX.


THE UNWELCOME GUEST.

The stranger was in rather an awkward predicament. However, he betrayed
neither embarrassment nor alarm. Blowing out the candle, he advanced to
the table and set it down. This movement brought him nearer Paul
Nichols, who, with the timidity natural to an old man, anticipated an
immediate attack.

"Don't kill me! Spare my life!" he exclaimed, hastily stepping back.

"I see you don't know me, Uncle Paul?" said the intruder, familiarly.

"Who are you that call me Uncle Paul?" asked the old man, somewhat
reassured.

"Benjamin Haley, your sister's son. Do you know me now?"

"You Ben Haley!" exclaimed the old man, betraying surprise. "Why, you
are old enough to be his father."

"Remember, Uncle Paul, I am eighteen years older than when you saw me
last. Time brings changes, you know. When I saw you last, you were a
man in the prime of life, now you are a feeble old man."

"Are you really Ben Haley?" asked the old man, doubtfully.

"To be sure I am. I suppose I look to you more like a bearded savage.
Well, I'm not responsible for my looks. Not finding you at home, I took
the liberty of coming in on the score of relationship."

"What, were you doing with that candle?" asked Paul, suspiciously.

"I went down cellar with it."

"Down cellar!" repeated his uncle, with a look of alarm which didn't
escape his nephew. "What for?"

"In search of something to eat. All I could find in the closet was a dry
loaf, which doesn't look very appetizing."

"There's nothing down cellar. Don't go there again," said the old man,
still uneasy.

His nephew looked at him shrewdly.

"Ha, Uncle Paul! I've guessed your secret so quick," he said to himself.
"Some of your money is hidden away in the cellar, I'm thinking."

"Where do you keep your provisions, then?" he said aloud.

"The loaf is all I have."

"Come, Uncle Paul, you don't mean that. That's a scurvy welcome to give
a nephew you haven't seen for eighteen years. I'm going to stay to
dinner with you, and you must give me something better than that.
Haven't you got any meat in the house?"

"No."

Just then Ben Haley, looking from the window, saw some chickens in the
yard. His eye lighted up at the discovery.

"Ah, there is a nice fat chicken," he said. "We'll have a chicken
dinner. Shall it be roast or boiled?"

"No, no," said the old farmer, hastily. "I can't spare them. They'll
bring a good price in the market by and by."

"Can't help it, Uncle Paul. Charity begins at home. Excuse me a minute,
I'll be back directly."

He strode to the door and out into the yard. Then, after a little
maneuvering, he caught a chicken, and going to the block, seized the ax,
and soon decapitated it.

"What have you done?" said Paul, ruefully, for the old man had followed
his nephew, and was looking on in a very uncomfortable frame of mind.

"Taken the first step toward a good dinner," said the other, coolly. "I
am not sure but we shall want two."

"No, no!" said Paul, hastily. "I haven't got much appetite."

"Then perhaps we can make it do. I'll just get it ready, and cook it
myself. I've knocked about in all sorts of places, and it won't be the
first time I've served as cook. I've traveled some since I saw you
last."

"Have you?" said the old man, who seemed more interested in the untimely
death of the pullet than in his nephew's adventures.

"Yes, I've been everywhere. I spent a year in Australia at the gold
diggings."

"Did you find any?" asked his uncle, for the first time betraying
interest.

"Some, but I didn't bring away any."

Ben Haley meanwhile was rapidly stripping the chicken of its feathers.
When he finished, he said, "Now tell me where you keep your vegetables,
Uncle Paul?"

"They're in the corn barn. You can't get in. It's locked."

"Where's the key?"

"Lost."

"I'll get in, never fear," said the intruder, and he led the way to the
corn barn, his uncle unwillingly following and protesting that it would
be quite impossible to enter.

Reaching the building, he stepped back and was about to kick open the
door, when old Paul hurriedly interposed, saying, "No, no, I've found
the key."

His nephew took it from his hand, and unlocking the door, brought out a
liberal supply of potatoes, beets and squashes.

"We'll have a good dinner, after all," he said. "You don't half know how
to live, Uncle Paul. You need me here. You've got plenty around you, but
you don't know how to use it."

The free and easy manner in which his nephew conducted himself was
peculiarly annoying and exasperating to the old man, but as often as he
was impelled to speak, the sight of his nephew's resolute face and
vigorous frame, which he found it difficult to connect with his
recollections of young Ben, terrified him into silence, and he contented
himself with following his nephew around uneasily with looks of
suspicion.

When the dinner was prepared both sat down to partake of it, but Ben
quietly, and, as a matter of course, assumed the place of host and
carved the fowl. Notwithstanding the shock which his economical notions
had received, the farmer ate with appetite the best meal of which he had
partaken for a long time. Ben had not vaunted too highly his skill as a
cook. Wherever he had acquired it, he evidently understood the
preparation of such a dinner as now lay before them.

"Now, Uncle Paul, if we only had a mug of cider to wash down the
dinner. Haven't you got some somewhere?"

"Not a drop."

"Don't you think I might find some stored away in the cellar, for
instance?" asked Ben, fixing his glance upon his uncle's face.

"No, no; didn't I tell you I hadn't got any?" returned Paul Nichols,
with petulance and alarm.

"I mean to see what else you have in the cellar," said Ben, to himself,
"before I leave this place. There's a reason for that pale face of
yours." But he only said aloud, "Well, if you haven't got any we must do
without it. There's a little more of the chicken left. As you don't want
it I'll appropriate it. Nothing like clearing up things. Come, this is
rather better than dry bread, isn't it?"

"It's very expensive," said the miser, ruefully.

"Well, you can afford it, Uncle Paul--there's a comfort in that. I
suppose you are pretty rich, eh?"

"Rich!" repeated Paul, in dismay. "What put such a thing into your
head?"

"Not your style of living, you may be sure of that."

"I am poor, Benjamin. You mustn't think otherwise. I live as well as I
can afford."

"Then what have you been doing with your savings all these years?"

"My savings! It has taken all I had to live. There isn't any money to be
made in farming. It's hard work and poor pay."

"You used to support your family comfortably when you had one."

"Don't--don't speak of them. I can't bear it," said Paul, his
countenance changing. "When I had them I was happy."

"And now you're not. Well, I don't wonder at it. It must be dismal
enough living alone. You need somebody with you. I am your nephew and
nearest relation. I feel that it is my duty to stay with you."

The expression of dismay which overspread the old man's face at this
declaration was ludicrous.

"You stay with me?" he repeated, in a tone of alarm.

"Yes, for a time at least. We'll be company for each other, won't we,
Uncle Paul?"

"No, no; there's no room."

"No room? You don't mean to say that you need the whole house?"

"I mean I cannot afford to have you here. Besides I'm used to being
alone. I prefer it."

"That's complimentary, at any rate. You prefer to be alone rather than
to have me with you?"

"Don't be offended, Benjamin. I've been alone so many years. Besides
you'd feel dull here. You wouldn't like it."

"I'll try it and see. What room are you going to give me?"

"You'd better go away."

"Well, uncle, we'll talk about that to-morrow. You're very considerate
in fearing it will be dull for me, but I've roamed about the world so
much that I shall be glad of a little dullness. So it's all settled. And
now, Uncle Paul, if you don't object I'll take out my pipe and have a
smoke. I always smoke after dinner."

He lit his pipe, and throwing himself back in a chair, began to puff
away leisurely, his uncle surveying him with fear and embarrassment. Why
should his graceless nephew turn up, after so many years, in the form of
this big, broad-shouldered, heavy-bearded stranger, only to annoy him,
and thrust his unwelcome company upon him?




CHAPTER X.


UNCLE AND NEPHEW.

Paul Nichols looked forward with dismay to the prospect of having his
nephew remain with him as a guest. Like all misers, he had a distrust of
every one, and the present appearance of his nephew only confirmed the
impressions he still retained of his earlier bad conduct He had all the
will to turn him out of his house, but Ben was vastly his superior in
size and strength, and he did not dare to attempt it.

"He wants to rob, perhaps to murder me," thought Paul, surveying his big
nephew with a troubled gaze.

His apprehensions were such that he even meditated offering to pay the
intruder's board for a week at the tavern, if he would leave him in
peace by himself. But the reluctance to part with his money finally
prevented such a proposal being made.

In the afternoon the old man stayed around home. He did not dare to
leave it lest Ben should take a fancy to search the house, and come upon
some of his secret hoards, for people were right in reporting that he
hid his money.

At last evening came. With visible discomposure the old man showed Ben
to a room.

"You can sleep there," he said, pointing to a cot bed in the corner of
the room.

"All right, uncle. Good-night!"

"Good-night!" said Paul Nichols.

He went out and closed the door behind him. He not only closed it, but
locked it, having secretly hidden the key in his pocket. He chuckled
softly to himself as he went downstairs. His nephew was securely
disposed of for the night, being fastened in his chamber. But if he
expected Ben Haley quietly to submit to this incarceration he was
entirely mistaken in that individual. The latter heard the key turn in
the lock, and comprehended at once his uncle's stratagem. Instead of
being angry, he was amused.

"So my simple-minded uncle thinks he has drawn my teeth, does he? I'll
give him a scare."

He began to jump up and down on the chamber floor in his heavy boots,
which, as the floor was uncarpeted, made a terrible noise, The old man
in the room below, just congratulating himself on his cunning move,
grew pale as he listened. He supposed his nephew to be in a furious
passion, and apprehensions of personal violence disturbed him. Still he
reflected that he would be unable to get out, and in the morning he
could go for the constable. But he was interrupted by a different noise.
Ben had drawn off his boots, and was firing them one after the other at
the door.

The noise became so intorable, that Paul was compelled to ascend the
stairs, trembling with fear.

"What's the matter?" he inquired at the door, in a quavering voice.

"Open the door," returned Ben.

His uncle reluctantly inserted the key in the lock and opening it
presented a pale, scared face in the doorway. His nephew, with his coat
stripped off, was sitting on the side of the bed.

"What's the matter?" asked Paul.

"Nothing, only you locked the door by mistake," said Ben, coolly.

"What made you make such a noise?" demanded Paul.

"To call you up. There was no bell in the room, so that was the only way
I had of doing it. What made you lock me in?"

"I didn't think," stammered the old man.

"Just what I supposed. To guard against your making that mistake again,
let me have the key."

"I'd rather keep it, if it's the same to you," said Paul, in alarm.

"But it isn't the same to me. You see, Uncle Paul, you are growing old
and forgetful, and might lock me in again. That would not be pleasant,
you know, especially if the house should catch fire in the night."

"What!" exclaimed Paul, terror-stricken, half suspecting his nephew
contemplated turning incendiary.

"I don't think it will, mind, but it's best to be prepared, so give me
the key."

The old man feebly protested, but ended in giving up the key to his
nephew.

"There, that's all right. Now I'll turn in. Good-night."

"Good-night," responded Paul Nichols, and left the chamber, feeling more
alarmed than ever. He was beginning to be more afraid and more
distrustful of his nephew than ever. What if the latter should light on
some of his various hiding places for money? Why, in that very chamber
he had a hundred dollars in gold hidden behind the plastering. He
groaned in spirit as he thought of it, and determined to tell his nephew
the next morning that he must find another home, as he couldn't and
wouldn't consent to his remaining longer.

But when the morning came he found the task a difficult one to enter
upon. Finally, after breakfast, which consisted of eggs and toast, Ben
Haley having ransacked the premises for eggs, which the old man intended
for the market, Paul said, "Benjamin, you must not be offended, but I
have lived alone for years, and I cannot invite you to stay longer."

"Where shall I go, uncle?" demanded Ben, taking out his pipe coolly, and
lighting it.

"There's a tavern in the village."

"Is there? That won't do me any good."

"You'll be better off there than here. They set a very good table,
and----"

"You don't," said Ben, finishing the sentence. "I know that, but then,
uncle, I have two reasons for preferring to stay here. The first is,
that I may enjoy the society of my only living relation; the second is,
that I have not money enough to pay my board at the hotel."

He leaned back, and began to puff leisurely at his pipe, as if this
settled the matter.

"If you have no money, why do you come to me?" demanded Paul, angrily.
"Do you expect me to support you?"

"You wouldn't turn out your sister's son, would you, Uncle Paul?"

"You must earn your own living. I can't support you in idleness."

"You needn't; I'll work for you. Let me see, I'll do the cooking."

"I don't want you here," said the old man, desperately. "Why do you come
to disturb me, after so many years?"

"I'll go away on one condition," said Ben Haley.

"What's that?"

"Give me, or lend me--I don't care which--a hundred dollars."

"Do you think I'm made of money?" asked Paul, fear and anger struggling
for the mastery.

"I think you can spare me a hundred dollars."

"Go away! You are a bad man. You were a wild, bad boy, and you are no
better now."

"Now, Uncle Paul, I think you're rather too hard upon me. Just consider
that I am your nephew. What will people say if you turn me out of
doors?"

"I don't care what they say. I can't have you here."

"I'm sorry I can't oblige you by going, Uncle Paul, but I've got a
headache this morning, and don't feel like stirring. Let me stay with
you a day or two, and then I may go."

Vain were all the old man's expostulations. His nephew sat obstinately
smoking, and refused to move.

"Come out to the barn with me while I milk," said Paul, at length, not
daring to leave his nephew by himself.

"Thank you, but I'm well off as I am. I've got a headache, and I'd
rather stay here."

Milking couldn't longer be deferred. But for the stranger's presence it
would have been attended to two hours earlier. Groaning in spirit, and
with many forebodings, Paul went out to the barn, and in due time
returned with his foaming pails. There sat his nephew in the old place,
apparently not having stirred. Possibly he didn't mean mischief after
all, Paul reflected. At any rate, he must leave him again, while he
released the cows from their stalls, and drove them to pasture. He tried
to obtain his nephew's companionship, but in vain.

"I'm not interested in cows, uncle," he said. "I'll be here when you
come back."

With a sigh his uncle left the house, only half reassured. That he had
reason for his distrust was proved by Ben Haley's movements. He lighted
a candle, and going down celler, first securing a pickax, struck into
the earthen flooring, and began to work energetically.

"I am sure some of the old man's money is here," he said to himself. "I
must work fast, or he'll catch me at it."

Half an hour later Paul Nichols re-entered the house. He looked for his
nephew, but his seat was vacant. He thought he heard a dull thud in the
cellar beneath. He hurried to the staircase, and tottered down. Ben had
come upon a tin quart-measure partly filled with gold coins, and was
stooping over, transferring them to his pocket.

With a hoarse cry like that of an animal deprived of its young, his
uncle sprang upon him, and fastened his clawlike nails in the face of
his burly nephew.




CHAPTER XI.


ROBERT COMES TO THE RESCUE.

The attack was so sudden, and the old man's desperation so reinforced
his feeble strength, that Ben Haley was thrown forward, and the measure
of gold coins fell from his hand. But he quickly recovered himself.

"Let me alone," he said, sternly, forcibly removing his uncle's hands
from his face, but not before the clawlike nails had drawn blood. "Let
me alone, if you know what is best for yourself."

"You're a thief!" screamed Paul. "You shall go to jail for this."

"Shall I?" asked Ben, his face darkening and his tone full of menace.
"Who is going to send me there?"

"I am," answered Paul. "I'll have you arrested."

"Look here, Uncle Paul," said Ben, confining the old man's arms to his
side, "it's time we had a little talk together. You'd better not do as
you say."

"You're a thief! The jail is the place for thieves."

"It isn't the place for me, and I'm not going there. Now let us come to
an understanding. You are rich and I am poor."

"Rich!" repeated Paul.

"Yes; at any rate, you have got this farm, and more money hidden away
than you will ever use. I am poor. You can spare me this money here as
well as not."

"It is all I have."

"I know better than that. You have plenty more, but I will be satisfied
with this. Remember, I am your sister's son."

"I don't care if you are," said the old man, doggedly.

"And you owe me some help. You'll never miss it. Now make up your mind
to give me this money, and I'll go away and leave you in peace."

"Never!" exclaimed Paul, struggling hard to free himself.

"You won't!"

His uncle repeated the emphatic refusal.

"Then I shall have to put it out of your power to carry out your
threat."

He took his uncle up in his strong arms, and moved toward the stairs.

"Are you going to murder me?" asked Paul, in mortal fear.

"You will find out what I am going to do," said Ben, grimly.

He carried his uncle upstairs, and, possessing himself of a clothesline
in one corner of the kitchen, proceeded to tie him hand and foot,
despite his feeble opposition.

"There," said he, when his uncle lay before him utterly helpless, "I
think that disposes of you for a while. Now for the gold."

Leaving him on the floor, he again descended the cellar stairs, and
began to gather up the gold coins, which had been scattered about the
floor at the time of Paul's unexpected attack.

The old man groaned in spirit as he found himself about to be robbed,
and utterly helpless to resist the outrage. But help was near at hand,
though he knew it not. Robert Rushton had thought more than once of his
unknown passenger of the day before, and the particular inquiries he
made concerning Paul Nichols and his money. Ben Haley had impressed him
far from favorably, and the more he called to mind his appearance, the
more he feared that he meditated some dishonest designs upon Paul. So
the next morning, in order to satisfy his mind that all was right, he
rowed across to the same place where he had landed Ben, and fastening
his boat, went up to the farmhouse. He reached it just as Ben, having
secured the old man, had gone back into the cellar to gather up the
gold.

Robert looked into the window, and, to his surprise, saw the old farmer
lying bound hand and foot. He quickly leaped in, and asked:

"What is the matter? Who has done this?"

"Hush!" said the old man, "he'll hear you."

"Who do you mean?"

"My nephew."

"Where is he?"

"Down cellar. He's tied me here, and is stealing all my gold."

"What shall I do? Can I help you?"

"Cut the ropes first."

Robert drew a jackknife from his pocket, and did as he was bidden.

"Now," said Paul, rising with a sigh of relief from his constrained
position, "while I bolt the cellar door, you go upstairs, and in the
closet of the room over this you will find a gun. It is loaded. Bring it
down."

Robert hurried upstairs, and quickly returned with the weapon.

"Do you know how to fire a gun?" asked Paul.

"Yes," said Robert.

"Then keep it. For I am nervous, and my hand trembles. If he breaks
through the door, fire."

Ben Haley would have been up before this, but it occurred to him to
explore other parts of the cellar, that he might carry away as much
booty as possible. He had rendered himself amenable to the law already,
and he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, so he argued. He was
so busily occupied that he did not hear the noise of Robert's entrance
into the room above, or he would at once have gone upstairs. In
consequence of the delay his uncle and Robert had time to concert
measures for opposing him.

Finally, not succeeding in finding more gold, he pocketed what he had
found, and went up the cellar stairs. He attempted to open the door,
when, to his great surprise, he found that it resisted his efforts.

"What makes the door stick so?" he muttered, not suspecting the true
state of the case. But he was quickly enlightened.

"You can't come up!" exclaimed the old man, in triumph. "I've bolted the
door."

"How did he get free? He must have untied the knots," thought Ben. "Does
the old fool think he is going to keep me down here?"

"Unlock the door," he shouted, in a loud, stern voice, "or it will be
the worse for you."

"Have you got the gold with you?"

"Yes."

"Then go down and leave it where you found it, and I will let you come
up."

"You're a fool," was the reply. "Do you think I am a child? Open the
door, or I will burst it open with my foot."

"You'd better not," said Paul, whose courage had returned with the
presence of Robert and the possession of the gun.

"Why not? What are you going to do about it?" asked Ben, derisively.

"I've got help. You have more than one to contend with."

"I wonder if he has any one with him?" thought Ben. "I believe the old
fool is only trying to deceive me. At any rate, help or no help, it is
time I were out of this hole."

"If you don't open the door before I count three," he said, aloud, "I'll
burst it open."

"What shall I do," asked Robert, in a low voice, "if he comes out?"

"If he tries to get away with the gold, fire!" said the old man.

Robert determined only to inflict a wound. The idea of taking a human
life, even under such circumstances, was one that made him shudder. He
felt that gold was not to be set against life.

"One--two--three!" counted Ben, deliberately.

The door remaining locked, he drew back and kicked the door powerfully.
Had he been on even ground, it would have yielded to the blow, but
kicking from the stair beneath, placed him at a disadvantage.
Nevertheless the door shook and trembled beneath the force of the attack
made upon it.

"Well, will you unlock it now?" he demanded, pausing.

"No," said the old man, "not unless you carry back the gold."

"I won't do that. I have had too much trouble to get it. But if you
don't unlock the door at once I may be tempted to forget that you are my
uncle."

"I should like to forget that you are my nephew," said the old man.

"The old fool has mustered up some courage," thought Ben. "I'll soon
have him whining for mercy."

He made a fresh attack upon the door. This time he did not desist until
he had broken through the panel. Then with the whole force he could
command he threw himself against the upper part of the door, and it came
crashing into the kitchen. Ben Haley leaped through the opening and
confronted his uncle, who receded in alarm. The sight of the burly form
of his nephew, and his stern and menacing countenance, once more made
him quail.

Ben Haley looked around him, and his eyes lighted upon Robert Rushton
standing beside the door with the gun in his hand.

He burst into a derisive laugh, and turning to his uncle, said: "So this
is the help you were talking about. He's only a baby. I could twist him
around my finger. Just lay down that gun, boy! It isn't meant for
children like you."




CHAPTER XII.


ESCAPE.

Though he had a weapon in his hand, many boys in Robert's situation
would have been unnerved. He was a mere boy, though strong of his age.
Opposed to him was a tall, strong man, of desperate character, fully
resolved to carry out his dishonest purpose, and not likely to shrink
from violence, to which he was probably only too well accustomed. From
the old man he was not likely to obtain assistance, for already Paul's
courage had begun to dwindle, and he regarded his nephew with a scared
look.

"Lay down that gun, boy!" repeated Ben Haley. "I know you. You're the
boy that rowed me across the river. You can row pretty well, but you're
not quite a match for me even at that."

"This gun makes me even with you," said Robert, returning his look
unflinchingly.

"Does it? Then all I can say is, that when you lose it you'll be in a
bad pickle. Lay it down instantly."

"Then lay down the gold you have in your pockets," said our hero, still
pointing his gun at Haley.

"Good boy! Brave boy!" said the old man, approvingly.

"Look here, boy," said Haley, in quick, stern tones, "I've had enough of
this nonsense. If you don't put down that gun in double quick time,
you'll repent it. One word--yes or no!"

"No," said Robert, resolutely.

No sooner had he uttered the monosyllable than Haley sprang toward him
with the design of wresting the gun from him. But Robert had his finger
upon the trigger, and fired. The bullet entered the shoulder of the
ruffian, but in the excitement of the moment he only knew that he was
hit, but this incensed him. In spite of the wound he seized the musket
and forcibly wrested it from our hero. He raised it in both hands and
would probably in his blind fury have killed him on the spot, but for
the sudden opening of the outer door, and entrance of a neighboring
farmer, who felt sufficiently intimate to enter without knocking. This
changed Haley's intention. Feeling that the odds were against him, he
sprang through the window, gun in hand, and ran with rapid strides
towards the river.

"What's the matter?" demanded the new arrival, surveying the scene
before him in astonishment.

"He's gone off with my gold," exclaimed Paul Nichols, recovering from
his stupefaction. "Run after him, catch him!"

"Who is it?"

"Ben Haley."

"What, your nephew! I thought he was dead long ago."

"I wish he had been," said Paul, wringing his hands. "He's taken all my
money--I shall die in the poorhouse."

"I can't understand how it all happened," said the neighbor, looking to
Robert for an explanation. "Who fired the gun?"

"I did," said our hero.

"Did you hit him?"

"I think so. I saw blood on his shirt. I must have hit him in the
shoulder."

"Don't stop to talk," said Paul, impatiently. "Go after him and get back
the gold."

"We can't do much," said the neighbor, evidently not very anxious to
come into conflict with such a bold ruffian. "He has the gun with him."

"What made you let him have it?" asked Paul.

"I couldn't help it," said Robert. "But he can't fire it. It is
unloaded, and I don't think he has any ammunition with him."

"To be sure," said Paul, eagerly. "You see there's no danger. Go after
him, both of you, He can't hurt ye."

Somewhat reassured the neighbor followed Robert, who at once started in
pursuit of the escaped burglar. He was still in sight, though he had
improved the time consumed in the foregoing colloquy, and was already
near the river bank. On he sped, bent on making good his escape with the
money he had dishonestly acquired. One doubt was in his mind. Should he
find a boat? If not, the river would prove an insuperable obstacle, and
he would be compelled to turn and change the direction of his flight.
Looking over his shoulder he saw Robert and the farmer on his track, and
he clutched his gun the more firmly.

"They'd better not touch me," he said to himself. "If I can't fire the
gun I can brain either or both with it."

Thoughts of crossing the stream by swimming occurred to him. A sailor by
profession, he was an expert swimmer, and the river was not wide enough
to daunt him. But his pockets were filled with the gold he had stolen,
and gold is well known to be the heaviest of all the metals. But
nevertheless he could not leave it behind since it was for this he had
incurred his present peril. In this uncertainty he reached the bank of
the river, when to his surprise and joy his eye rested upon Robert's
boat.

"The boy's boat!" he exclaimed, in exultation, "by all that's lucky! I
will take the liberty of borrowing it without leave."

He sprang in, and seizing one of the oars, pushed out into the stream,
first drawing up the anchor. When Robert and his companion reached the
shore he was already floating at a safe distance.

"He's got my boat!" exclaimed our hero, in disappointment.

"So he has!" ejaculated the other.

"You're a little too late!" shouted Ben Haley, with a sneer. "Just carry
back my compliments to the old fool yonder and tell him I left in too
great a hurry to give him my note for the gold he kindly lent me. I'll
attend to it when I get ready."

He had hitherto sculled the boat. Now he took the other oar and
commenced rowing. But here the wound, of which he had at first been
scarcely conscious, began to be felt, and the first vigorous stroke
brought a sharp twinge, besides increasing the flow of blood. His
natural ferocity was stimulated by his unpleasant discovery, and he
shook his fist menacingly at Robert, from whom he had received the
wound.

"There's a reckoning coming betwixt you and me, young one!" he cried,
"and it'll be a heavy one. Ben Haley don't forget that sort of debt. The
time'll come when he'll pay it back with interest. It mayn't come for
years, but it'll come at last, you may be sure of that."

Finding that he could not row on account of his wound, he rose to his
feet, and sculled the boat across as well as he could with one hand.

"I wish I had another boat," said Robert. "We could soon overtake him."

"Better let him go," said the neighbor. "He was always a bad one, that
Ben Haley. I couldn't begin to tell you all the bad things he did when
he was a boy. He was a regular dare-devil. You must look out for him, or
he'll do you a mischief some time, to pay for that wound."

"He brought it on himself," said Robert "I gave him warning."

He went back to the farmhouse to tell Paul of his nephew's escape. He
was brave and bold, but the malignant glance with which Ben Haley
uttered his menace, gave him a vague sense of discomfort.




CHAPTER XIII.


REVENGE.

In spite of his wounded arm Ben Haley succeeded in propelling the boat
to the opposite shore. The blood was steadily, though slowly, flowing
from his wound, and had already stained his shirt red for a considerable
space. In the excitement of first receiving it he had not felt the pain;
now, however, the wound began to pain him, and, as might be expected,
his feeling of animosity toward our hero was not diminished.

"That cursed boy!" he muttered, between his teeth. "I wish I had had
time to give him one blow--he wouldn't have wanted another. I hope the
wound isn't serious--if it is, I may have paid dear for the gold."

Still, the thought of the gold in his pockets afforded some
satisfaction. He had been penniless; now he was the possessor of--as
near as he could estimate, for he had not had time to count--five
hundred dollars in gold. That was more than he had ever possessed before
at one time, and would enable him to live at ease for a while.

On reaching the shore he was about to leave the boat to its fate, when
he espied a boy standing at a little distance, with a hatchet in his
hand. This gave him an idea.

"Come here, boy," he said.

The boy came forward, and examined the stranger with curiosity.

"Is that your hatchet?" he asked.

"No, sir. It belongs to my father."

"Would you mind selling it to me if I will give you money enough to buy
a new one?"

"This is an old hatchet."

"It will suit me just as well, and I haven't time to buy another. Would
your father sell it?"

"Yes, sir; I guess so."

"Very well. What will a new one cost you?"

The boy named the price.

"Here is the money, and twenty-five cents more to pay you for your
trouble in going to the store."

Tae boy pocketed the money with satisfaction. He was a farmer's son, and
seldom had any money in his possession. He already had twenty-five cents
saved up toward the purchase of a junior ball, and the stranger's
gratuity would just make up the sum necessary to secure it. He was in a
hurry to make the purchase, and, accordingly, no sooner had he received
the money than he started at once for the village store. His departure
was satisfactory to Ben Haley, who now had nothing to prevent his
carrying out his plans.

"I wanted to be revenged on the boy, and now I know how," he said. "I'll
make some trouble for him with this hatchet."

He drew the boat up and fastened it. Then he deliberately proceeded to
cut away at the bottom with his newly-acquired hatchet. He had a strong
arm, and his blows were made more effective by triumphant malice. The
boat he supposed to belong to Robert, and he was determined to spoil it.

He hacked away with such energy that soon there was a large hole in the
bottom of the boat. Not content with inflicting this damage, he cut it
in various other places, until it presented an appearance very different
from the neat, stanch boat of which Will Paine had been so proud. At
length Ben stopped, and contemplated the ruin he had wrought with
malicious satisfaction.

"That's the first instalment in my revenge," he said. "I should like to
see my young ferryman's face when he sees his boat again. It'll cost
him more than he'll ever get from my miserly uncle to repair it. It
serves him right for meddling with matters that don't concern him. And
now I must be getting away, for my affectionate uncle will soon be
raising a hue and cry after me if I'm not very much mistaken."

He would like to hare gone at once to obtain medical assistance for his
wound, but to go to the village doctor would be dangerous. He must wait
till he had got out of the town limits, and the farther away the better.
He knew when the train would start, and made his way across the fields
to the station, arriving just in time to catch it. First, however, he
bound a handkerchief round his shoulder to arrest the flow of blood.

When he reached the station, and was purchasing his ticket, the
station-master noticed the blood upon his shirt.

"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked.

"Yes, a little," said Ben Haley.

"How did it happen?" inquired the other, with Yankee inquisitiveness.

"I was out hunting," said Ben, carelessly, "with a friend who wasn't
much used to firearms. In swinging his gun round, it accidentally went
off, and I got shot through the shoulder."

"That's bad," said the station-master, in a tone of sympathy. "You'd
better go round to the doctor's, and have it attended to."

"I would," said Ben, "but I am called away by business of the greatest
importance. I can get along for a few hours, and then I'll have a doctor
look at it. How soon will the train be here?"

"It's coming now. Don't you hear it?"

"That's the train I must take. You see I couldn't wait long enough for
the doctor," added Ben, anxious to account satisfactorily for his
inattention to the medical assistance of which he stood in need.

When he was fairly on board the cars, and the train was under way, he
felt considerably relieved. He was speeding fast away from the man he
had robbed, and who was interested in his capture, and in a few days he
might be at sea, able to snap his fingers at his miserly uncle and the
boy whom he determined some day to meet and settle scores with.

From one enemy of Robert the transition is brief and natural to another.
At this very moment Halbert Davis was sauntering idly and discontentedly
through the streets of the village. He was the son of a rich man, or of
one whom most persons, his own family included, supposed to be rich; but
this consciousness, though it made him proud, by no means made him
happy. He had that morning at the breakfast table asked his father to
give him a boat like Will Paine's, but Mr. Davis had answered by a
decided refusal.

"You don't need any boat," he said, sharply.

"It wouldn't cost very much," pleaded Halbert.

"How much do you suppose?"

"Will Paine told me his father paid fifty dollars for his."

"Why don't you borrow it sometimes?"

"I can't borrow it. Will started a day or two since for boarding
school."

"Better still. I will hire it for you while he is away."

"I thought of it myself," said Halbert, "but just before he went away
Will lent it to the factory boy," sneering as he uttered the last two
words.

"Do you mean Robert Rushton?"

"Yes."

"That's only a boy's arrangement. I will see Mr. Paine, and propose to
pay him for the use of the boat, and I presume he will be willing to
accede to my terms."

"When will you see him?" asked Halbert, hopefully.

"I will try to see him in the course of the day."

It turned out, however, that there was no need of calling on Mr. Paine,
for five minutes later, having some business with Mr. Davis, he rang
the bell, and was ushered into the breakfast-room.

"Excuse my calling early," he said, "but I wished to see you about----"
and here he stated his business, in which my readers will feel no
interest. When that was over, Mr. Davis introduced the subject of the
boat, and made the offer referred to.

"I am sorry to refuse," said Mr. Paine, "but my son, before going away,
passed his promise to Robert Rushton that he should have it during his
absence."

"Do you hold yourself bound by such a promise?" inquired Mrs. Davis,
with a disagreeable smile.

"Certainly," said the lawyer, gravely. "Robert is a valued friend of my
son's, and I respect boyish friendship. I remember very well my own
boyhood, and I had some strong friendships at that time."

"I don't see what your son can find to like in Robert Rushton," said
Mrs. Davis, with something of Halbert's manner. "I think him a very
disagreeable and impertinent boy."

Mr. Paine did not admire Mrs. Davis, and was not likely to be influenced
by her prejudices. Without inquiry, therefore, into the cause of her
unfavorable opinion, he said, "I have formed quite a different opinion
of Robert. I am persuaded that you do him injustice."

"He attacked Halbert ferociously the other day," said Mrs. Davis,
determined to impart the information whether asked or not. "He has an
ungovernable temper."

Mr. Paine glanced shrewdly at Halbert, of whose arrogant and quarrelsome
disposition he had heard from his own son, and replied, "I make it a
point not to interfere in boys' quarrels. William speaks very highly of
Robert, and it affords him great satisfaction, I know, to leave the boat
in his charge."

Mrs. Davis saw that there was no use in pursuing the subject, and it
dropped.

After the lawyer had gone Halbert made his petition anew, but without
satisfactory results. The fact was, Mr. Davis had heard unfavorable
reports from New York the day previous respecting a stock in which he
had an interest, and it was not a favorable moment to prefer a request
involving the outlay of money.

It was this refusal which made Halbert discontented and unhappy. The
factory boy, as he sneeringly called him, could have a boat, while he, a
gentleman's son, was forced to go without one. Of course, he would not
stoop to ask the loan of the boat, however much he wanted it, from a boy
he disliked so much as Robert. He wondered whether Robert were out this
morning. So, unconsciously, his steps led him to the shore of the river,
where he knew the boat was generally kept. He cast his eye toward it,
when what was his surprise to find the object of his desire half full of
water, with a large hole in the bottom and defaced in other respects.




CHAPTER XIV.


TWO UNSATISFACTORY INTERVIEWS.

Halbert's first emotion was surprise, his second was gratification. His
rival could no longer enjoy the boat which he had envied him. Not only
that, but he would get into trouble with Mr. Paine on account of the
damage which it had received. Being under his care, it was his duty to
keep it in good condition.

"I wonder how it happened?" thought Halbert. "Won't the young beggar be
in a precious scrape when it's found out? Most likely he won't let Mr.
Paine know."

In this thought he judged Robert by himself. Straightway the plan
suggested itself of going to the lawyer himself and informing him of
Robert's delinquency. It would be a very agreeable way of taking revenge
him. The plan so pleased him that he at once directed his steps toward
Mr. Paine's office. On the way he overtook Hester Paine, the young lady
on whose account he was chiefly incensed against Robert. Being as
desirous as ever of standing in the young lady's good graces, he
hurriedly advanced to her side, and lifting his hat with an air of
ceremonious politeness, he said:

"Good-morning, Hester."

Hester Paine was not particularly well pleased with the meeting. She had
been made acquainted by her brother with the quarrel between Halbert and
Robert, and the mean revenge which the former had taken in procuring the
dismissal of the latter from the factory. Having a partiality for
Robert, this was not likely to recommend his enemy in her eyes.

"Good-morning, Mr. Davis," she said, with cool politeness.

"You are very ceremonious this morning, Miss Hester," said Halbert, who
liked well enough to be called "Mr." by others, but not by Hester.

"Am I?" asked Hester, indifferently. "How so?"

"You called me Mr. Davis."

"That's your name, isn't it?"

"I am not called so by my intimate friends."

"No, I suppose not," said Hester, thus disclaiming the title.

Halbert bit his lips. He was not in love, not because he was too young,
but because he was too selfish to be in love with anybody except
himself. But he admired Hester, and the more she slighted him the more
he was determined to force her to like him. He did, however, feel a
little piqued at her behavior, and that influenced his next words.

"Perhaps you'd rather have the factory boy walking beside you," he said,
with not very good judgment, if he wanted to recommend himself to her.

"There are a good many factory boys in town," she said. "I can't tell
unless you tell me whom you mean."

"I mean Robert Rushton."

"Perhaps I might," said Hester.

"He's a low fellow," said Halbert, bitterly.

"No one thinks so but you," retorted Hester, indignantly.

"My father was obliged to dismiss him from the factory."

"I know all about that, and who was the means of having him sent away."

"I suppose you mean me."

"Yes, Halbert Davis, I mean you, and I consider it a very mean thing to
do," said Hester, her cheeks flushed with the indignation she felt.

"He attacked me like the low ruffian that he is," pleaded Halbert, in
extenuation. "If he hadn't insulted me, he wouldn't have got into
trouble."

"You struck him first, you know you did. My brother told me all about
it. You were angry because he walked home with me. I would rather go
home alone any time than have your escort."

"You're very polite, Miss Hester," said Halbert, angrily. "I can tell
you some news about your favorite."

"If it's anything bad, I won't believe it."

"You'll have to believe it."

"Well, what is it?" demanded Hester, who was not altogether unlike girls
in general, and so felt curious to learn what it was that Halbert had to
reveal.

"Your brother was foolish enough to leave his boat in Rushton's care."

"That is no news. Will was very glad to do Robert a favor."

"He'll be sorry enough now."

"Why will he?"

"Because the boat is completely ruined."

"I don't believe it," said Hester, hastily.

"It's true, though. I was down at the river just now, and saw it with my
own eyes. There is a great hole in the bottom, and it is hacked with a
hatchet, so that it wouldn't bring half price."

"Do you know who did it?" asked Hester, with the momentary thought that
Halbert himself might have been tempted by his hatred into the
commission of the outrage.

"No, I don't. It was only accidentally I saw it."

"Was Robert at the boat?"

"No."

"Have you asked him about it?"

"No, I have not seen him."

"Then I am sure some enemy has done it. I am sure it is no fault of
his."

"If your brother had let me have the boat, it wouldn't have happened. I
offered him a fair price for its use."

"He won't be sorry he refused, whatever has happened. But I must bid you
good-morning, Mr. Davis," and the young lady, who was now at her own
gate, opened it, and entered.

"She might have been polite enough to invite me in," said Halbert, with
chagrin. "I don't see how she can be so taken up with that low fellow."

He waited till Hester had entered the house, and then bent his steps to
Mr. Paine's office, which was a small one-story building in one corner
of the yard.

The lawyer was sitting at a table covered with papers, from which he
looked up as Halbert entered the office.

"Sit down, Halbert," he said. "Any message from your father?"

"No, sir."

"No legal business of your own?" he inquired, with a smile.

"No, sir, no legal business."

"Well, if you have any business, you may state it at once, as I am quite
busy."

"It is about the boat which your son lent to Robert Rushton."

"I shall not interfere with that arrangement," said the lawyer,
misunderstanding his object. "I told your father that this morning," and
he resumed his writing.

"I did not come to say anything about that. The boat wouldn't be of any
use to me now."

"Why not?" asked the lawyer, detecting something significant in the
boy's tone.

"Because," said Halbert, in a tone which he could not divest of the
satisfaction he felt at his rival's misfortune, "the boat's completely
ruined."

Mr. Paine laid down his pen in genuine surprise.

"Explain yourself," he said.

So Halbert told the story once more, taking good care to make the damage
quite as great as it was.

"That is very strange," said the lawyer, thoughtfully. "I can't conceive
how such damage could have happened to the boat."

"Robert Rushton don't know how to manage a boat."

"You are mistaken. He understands it very well. I am sure the injury
you speak of could not have happened when he was in charge. You say
there was not only a hole in the bottom, but it was otherwise defaced
and injured?"

"Yes, sir, it looked as if it had been hacked by a hatchet."

"Then it is quite clear that Robert could have had nothing to do with
it. It must have been done by some malicious person or persons."

Knowing something of Halbert, Mr. Paine looked hard at him, his
suspicions taking the same direction as his daughter's. But, as we know,
Halbert was entirely innocent, and bore the gaze without confusion.

"I don't see why Robert hasn't been and let me know of this," said Mr.
Paine, musing.

"He was probably afraid to tell you," said Halbert, with a slight sneer.

"I know him better than that. You can testify," added the lawyer,
significantly, "that he is not deficient in bravery."

"I thought I would come and tell you," said Halbert, coloring a little.
"I thought you would like to know."

"You are very kind to take so much trouble," said Mr. Paine, but there
was neither gratitude nor cordiality in his tone.

Halbert thought it was time to be going, and accordingly got up and
took his leave. As he opened the office door to go out, he found himself
face to face with Robert Rushton, who passed him with a slight nod, and
with an air of trouble entered the presence of his friend's father.




CHAPTER XV.


HALBERT'S MALICE.

Robert was forced, by Ben Baley's, inking possession of his boat to give
up for the present his design of recrossing the river. He felt bound to
go back and inform Paul of Ben's escape.

"He has carried off my gold," exclaimed Paul, in anguish. "Why didn't
you catch him?"

"He had too much start of us," said Robert's companion. "But even if we
had come up with him, I am afraid he would have proved more than a match
for us. He is a desperate man. How much money did he take away with
him?"

"More than five hundred dollars," wailed the old man. "I am completely
ruined!"

"Not quite so bad as that, Mr. Nichols. You have your farm left."

But the old man was not to be comforted. He had become so wedded to his
gold that to lose it was like losing his heart's blood. But was these no
hope of recovery?

"Why don't you go after him?" he exclaimed, suddenly. "Raise the
neighbors. It isn't too late yet."

"He's across the river before this," said Robert.

"Get a boat and go after him."

"I am willing," said our hero, promptly. "Where can we find a boat, Mr.
Dunham?"

"There's one about a quarter of a mile down the stream--Stetson's boat."

"Let's go, then."

"Very well, Robert. I've no idea we can do anything, but we will try."

"Go, go. Don't waste a moment," implored the old man, in feverish
impatience.

Robert and Mr. Dunham started, and were soon rowing across the river in
Stetson's boat.

"Whereabout would he be likely to land?" asked the farmer.

"There's my boat now," said Robert, pointing it out. "He has left it
where I usually keep it."

Quickly they rowed alongside. Then to his great sorrow Robert perceived
the malicious injury which his enemy had wrought.

"Oh, Mr. Dunham, look at that!" he said, struck with grief. "The boat is
spoiled!"

"Not so bad as that. It can be mended."

"What will Will Paine say? What will his father say?"

"Then it isn't your boat?"

"No. that is the worst of it. It was lent me by Will Paine, and I
promised to take such good care of it."

"It isn't your fault, Robert?"

"No, I couldn't help it, but still it wouldn't have happened if it had
not been in my charge."

"You can get it repaired, so that it will look almost as well as new."

If Robert had had plenty of money, this suggestion would have comforted
him, but it will be remembered that he was almost penniless, dependent
on the fish he caught for the means of supporting his mother and
himself. Now this resource was cut off. The boat couldn't be used until
it was repaired. He felt morally bound to get it repaired, though he was
guiltless of the damage. But how could he even do this? One thing was
clear--Mr. Paine must at once be informed of the injury suffered by the
boat. Robert shrank from informing him, but he knew it to be his duty,
and he was too brave to put it off.

But first he must try to find some clew to Ben Haley. He had now a
personal interest in bringing to justice the man who had made him so
much trouble. He had scarcely got on shore than the boy who had sold Ben
Haley the hatchet, strolled up.

"Who was that man who came across in your boat?" he asked.

"Did you see him?" asked Robert, eagerly.

"To be sure I did," said Tom Green, with satisfaction. "I sold him my
old hatchet for money enough to buy a new one, and he give me a quarter
besides for my trouble."

"I wish you hadn't done it, Tom," said Robert, gravely. "See what he's
done with it."

Tom Green opened his eyes wide with astonishment.

"What did he do that for?" he asked.

"To be revenged on me. I'll tell you what for another time. Now I want
to find him. Can you tell me where he went?"

"No; I left him here, while I went to the store for a new hatchet."

The old hatchet was found under a clump of bushes. Robert took
possession of it, feeling that he had a right to it, as part
compensation for the mischief it had done.

"We'd better go to the railroad depot, Mr. Dunham," he said. "He'd be
most likely to go there."

"You're right. We'll go."

They walked rapidly to the station, but too late, of course, for the
train. The station-master was standing on the platform, superintending
the removal of a trunk.

"Mr. Cross," said Robert, "I want to find out if a particular man left
by the last train. I'll describe him,"

"Yes," said the station-master, "that's the man I was wondering about.
He had a wound in the shoulder."

"He got that from me," said Robert.

"Sho! you don't say so," returned the station-master, in surprise. "He
said he was out hunting w