Katy O'Grady's victory.

FRANK HUNTER'S PERIL

BY

HORATIO ALGER, JR.

AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK SERIES," "LUCK AND PLUCK

SERIES," "TATTERED TOM SERIES," ETC.

PHILADELPHIA

HENRY T. COATES & CO.

Copyright, 1896,

BY

HENRY T. COATES & CO.

CONTENTS.

FRANK HUNTER'S PERIL.

CHAPTER I.
FRANK AND BEN.

"Is your mother at home, Frank?" asked a soft voice.

Frank Hunter was stretched on the lawn in a careless posture, but looked up quickly as the question fell upon his ear. A man of middle height and middle age was looking at him from the other side of the gate.

Frank rose from his grassy couch and answered coldly:

"Yes, sir; I believe so. I will go in and see."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself, my young friend," said Mr. Craven, opening the gate and advancing toward the door with a brisk step. "I will ring the bell; I want to see your mother on a little business."

"Seems to me he has a good deal of business with mother," Frank said to himself. "There's something about the man I don't like, though he always treats me well enough. Perhaps it's his looks."

"How are you, Frank?"

Frank looked around, and saw his particular friend, Ben Cameron, just entering the gate.

"Tip-top, Ben," he answered, cordially. "I'm glad you've come."

"I'm glad to hear it; I thought you might be engaged."

"Engaged? What do you mean, Ben?" asked Frank, with a puzzled expression.

"Engaged in entertaining your future step-father," said Ben, laughing.

"My future step-father!" returned Frank, quickly; "you are speaking in riddles, Ben."

"Oh! well, if I must speak out, I saw Mr. Craven ahead of me."

"Mr. Craven! Well, what if you did?"

"Why, Frank, you must know the cause of his attentions to your mother."

"Ben," said Frank, his face flushing with anger, "you are my friend, but I don't want even you to hint at such a thing as that."

"Have I displeased you, Frank?"

"No, no; I won't think of it any more."

"I am afraid, Frank, you will have to think of it more," said his companion, gravely.

"You surely don't mean, Ben, that you have the least idea that my mother would marry such a man as that?" exclaimed Frank, pronouncing the last words contemptuously.

"It's what all the village is talking about," said Ben, significantly.

"Then I wish all the village would mind its own business," said Frank, hotly.

"I hope they are wrong, I am sure. Craven's a mean, sneaking sort of man, in my opinion. I should be sorry to have him your step-father."

"It's a hateful idea that such a man should take the place of my dear, noble father," exclaimed Frank, with excitement. "My mother wouldn't think of it."

But even as he spoke, there was a fear in his heart that there might be something in the rumor after all. He could not be blind to the frequent visits which Mr. Craven had made at the house of late. He knew that his mother had come to depend on him greatly in matters of business. He had heard her even consult him about her plans for himself, and this had annoyed him. Once he had intimated his dislike of Mr. Craven, but his mother had reproved him, saying that she considered him a true friend, and did not know how to do without him. But he stifled this apprehension, and assured Ben, in the most positive terms, that there was nothing whatever in the report. Whether there was or not, we shall be able to judge better by entering the house and being present at the interview.

Mrs. Hunter was sitting in a rocking-chair, with a piece of needle-work in her hand. She was a small, delicate-looking woman, still pretty, though nearer forty than thirty, and with the look of one who would never depend on herself, if she could find some one to lean upon for counsel and guidance. Frank, who was strong and resolute, had inherited these characteristics not from her but from his father, who had died two years previous, his strong and vigorous constitution succumbing to a sudden fever, which in his sturdy frame found plenty to prey upon.

And who was Mr. Craven?

He was, or professed to be, a lawyer, who six months before had come to the town of Shelby. He had learned that Mrs. Hunter was possessed of a handsome competence, and had managed an early introduction. He succeeded in getting her to employ him in some business matters, and under cover of this had called very often at her house. From the first he meant to marry her if he could, as his professional income was next to nothing, and with the money of the late Mr. Hunter he knew that he would be comfortably provided for for life. This very afternoon he had selected to make his proposal, and he knew so well the character and the weakness of the lady that he felt a tolerable assurance of success. He knew very well that Frank did not like him, and he in turn liked our young hero no better, but he always treated him with the utmost graciousness and suavity from motives of policy.

The room in which they were seated was very neatly and tastefully furnished. He looked, to employ a common phrase, "as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth," and his voice was soft and full of suavity.

They had evidently been talking on business, for he is saying, "Now that our business interview is over, there is another subject, my dear Mrs. Hunter, on which I wish to speak to you."

She looked up, not suspecting what was coming, and said, "What is it, Mr. Craven?"

"It's a very delicate matter. I hardly know how to introduce it."

Something in his look led her to suspect now, and she said, a little nervously, "Go on, Mr. Craven."

"My dear Mrs. Hunter, the frequent visits I have made here have given me such a view of your many amiable qualities, that almost without knowing it, I have come to love you."

Mrs. Hunter dropped her work nervously, and seemed agitated.

"I esteem you, Mr. Craven," she said, in a low voice, "but I have never thought of marrying again."

"Then think of it now, I entreat you. My happiness depends upon it—think of that. When I first discovered that I loved you, I tried hard to bury the secret in my own breast, but—but it became too strong for me, and now I place my fate in your hands."

By this time he had edged round to her side, and lifted her hand gently in his, and pressed it to his lips.

"Do not drive me to despair," he murmured softly.

"I—I never thought you loved me so much, Mr. Craven," said Mrs. Hunter, in agitation.

"Because I tried to hide it."

"Can you not still be my friend and give up such thoughts?"

"Never, never!" he answered, shaking his head. "If you deny my suit, I shall at once leave this village, and bury my sorrow and desolation of heart in some wild prairie scene, far from the haunts of men, where I shall linger out the remnant of my wretched life."

"Don't—pray don't, Mr. Craven," she said, in a tone of distress.

But, feeling that surrender was at hand, he determined to carry the fortress at once. He sank down on his knees, and, lifting his eyes, said:

"Say yes, I entreat you, dear Mrs. Hunter, or I shall be miserable for life."

"Pray get up, Mr. Craven."

"Never, till I hear the sweet word, 'yes.'"

"Yes, then," she answered, hastily, scarcely knowing what she said.

At this moment, while Mr. Craven was yet on his knees, the door opened suddenly, and Katy, the Irish maid-of-all-work, entered:

"Holy St. Pathrick!" she exclaimed, as she witnessed the tableau.

Mrs. Hunter blushed crimson, but Mr. Craven was master of the situation. Cleverly taking advantage of it to fix the hasty consent he had obtained, he turned to Katy with his habitual smirk.

"Katy, my good girl," he said, "you must not be too much startled. Shall I explain to her, dear Mrs. Hunter?"

The widow, with scarlet face, was about to utter a feeble remonstrance, but he did not wait for it.

"Your mistress and I are engaged, Katy," he said, briskly. "You shall be the first to congratulate us."

"Indade, sir!" exclaimed Katy. "Is it goin' to be married, ye are?"

"Yes, Katy."

"I congratulate you, sir," she said, significantly.

"Plague take her!" thought Mr. Craven; "so she has the impudence to object, has she? I'll soon set her packing when I come into possession."

But he only said, with his usual suavity:

"You are quite right, Katy. I feel that I am indeed fortunate."

"Indade, mum, I didn't think you wud marry ag'in," said Katy, bluntly.

"I—I didn't intend to, Katy, but—"

"I couldn't be happy without her," said Mr. Craven, playfully. "But, Katy, you had something to say to Mrs. Hunter."

"What will I get for supper, mum?"

"Anything you like, Katy," said Mrs. Hunter, who felt too much flustered to give orders. "Will you stay to supper, Mr. Craven?"

"Not to-night, dear Mrs. Hunter. I am sure you will want to think over the new plans of happiness we have formed. I will stay a few minutes yet, and then bid you farewell till to-morrow."

"That's the worst news Katy O'Grady's heard yet," said Katy, as she left the room and returned to her own department. "How can my mistress, that's a rale lady, if ever there was one, take up wid such a mane apology for a man. Shure I wouldn't take him meself, not if he'd go down on forty knees to me—no, I wouldn't," and Katy tossed her head.

CHAPTER II.
MR. CRAVEN'S COURTSHIP.

When Katy left the room, Mr. Craven still kept his place at the side of the widow.

"I hope," he said softly, "you were not very much annoyed at Katy's sudden entrance?"

"It was awkward," said Mrs. Hunter.

"True, but, after all, is there anything to be ashamed of in our love?"

"I am afraid, Mr. Craven, I do not love you."

"Not yet, but you will. I am sure you will when you see how completely I am devoted to you."

"It seems so sudden," faltered Mrs. Hunter.

"But, setting aside my affection, think how much it will relieve you of care. Dear Mrs. Hunter, the care of your property and the responsibility of educating and training your son is too much for a woman."

"Frank never gives me any trouble," said Mrs. Hunter. "He is a good boy."

"He is a disagreeable young scamp, in my opinion," thought Mr. Craven, but he said, unwittingly speaking the truth:

"He is indeed a noble boy, with excellent qualities, but you will soon be called upon to form plans for his future, and here you will need the assistance of a man."

"I don't know but what you are right, Mr. Craven. I should have consulted you."

"Only one who fills a father's place, dear Mrs. Hunter, can do him justice."

"I am afraid Frank won't like the idea of my marrying again," said Mrs. Hunter, anxiously.

"He may not like it at first, but he will be amenable to reason. Tell him that it is for your happiness."

"But I don't know. I can't feel sure that it is."

"I am having more trouble than I expected," thought Mr. Craven. "I must hurry up the marriage or I may lose her, and, what is of more importance, the money she represents. By the way, I had better speak on that subject."

"There are some who will tell you that I have only sought you because you are rich in this world's goods—that I am a base and mercenary man, who desires to improve his circumstances by marriage, but you, I hope, dear Mrs. Hunter—may I say, dear Mary—will never do me that injustice."

"I do not suspect you of it," said Mrs. Hunter, who was never ready to suspect the motives of others, though in this case Mr. Craven had truly represented his object in seeking her.

"I knew you would not, but others may try to misrepresent me, and therefore I feel it necessary to explain to you that my wealth, though not equal to your own, is still considerable."

"I have never thought whether you were rich or poor," said Mrs. Hunter. "It would not influence my decision."

While she spoke, however, it did excite in her a momentary surprise to learn that since Mr. Craven was rich, he should settle down in so small and unimportant a place as Shelby, where he could expect little business of a professional nature.

"I know your generous, disinterested character," he said; "but still I wish to explain to you frankly my position, to prove to you that I am no fortune-hunter. I have twenty thousand dollars invested in Lake Superior mining stocks, and I own a small house in New York City, worth about fifteen thousand dollars. It is not much," he added, modestly, "but is enough to support me comfortably, and will make it clear that I need not marry from mercenary motives. I shall ask the privilege of assisting to carry out your plans for Frank, in whom I feel a warm interest."

"You are very generous and kind, Mr. Craven," said Mrs. Hunter, "but his father amply provided for him. Two-thirds of his property was left to Frank, and will go to him on his twenty-first birth-day."

"Drat the boy," thought Mr. Craven, "he stands between me and a fortune."

But this thought was not suffered to appear in his face.

"I am almost sorry," he said, with consummate hypocrisy, "that he is so well provided for, since now he does not stand in need of my help, that is, in a pecuniary way. But my experience of the world can at least be of service to him, and I will do my best to make up to him for the loss of his dear father."

These last words were feelingly spoken. She realized how much she was wanting in the ability to guide and direct a boy of Frank's age. Mr. Craven was a lawyer, and a man of the world. He would be able, as he said, to relieve her from all care about his future, and it was for Frank that she now lived. Her feelings were not enlisted in this marriage with Mr. Craven. Indeed, on some accounts it would be a sacrifice.

The result was, that twenty minutes later, when he started homeward, Mrs. Hunter had ratified her promise, and consented to an early marriage. Mr. Craven felt that he had, indeed, achieved a victory, and left the house with a heart exulting in his coming prosperity.

Frank Hunter and Ben Cameron were on the lawn, conversing, when the lawyer passed them.

"Good afternoon, Frank," he said with suavity.

"Good afternoon, sir," answered Frank, gravely.

"The old fellow is very familiar," said Ben, when Mr. Craven had passed out of the gate.

"He is more familiar than I like," answered Frank. "I don't know why it is, Ben, but I can't help disliking him."

He had reason to dislike Mr. Craven, and he was destined to have still further cause, though he did not know it at the time.

CHAPTER III.
UNWELCOME NEWS.

Shortly after Mr. Craven's departure, Ben announced that he must be going. Left alone, Frank went into the house. He felt rather sober, for though he did not believe that his mother was in any danger of marrying again—least of all, Mr. Craven—the mere possibility disturbed him.

"Is mother up stairs, Katy?" he asked.

"Yes," said Katy, looking very knowing. "She went up as soon as Mr. Craven went away."

"He staid a long time. He seems to come here pretty often."

"May be he'll come oftener and stay longer, soon," said Katy, nodding her head vigorously.

"What do you mean, Katy? What makes you say such things?"

"What do I mane? Why do I say such things? You'll know pretty soon, I'm thinking."

"I wish you'd tell me at once what you mean?" said Frank, impatiently.

"Mr. Craven doesn't come here for nothing, bad 'cess to him," said Katy, oracularly.

"You don't mean, Katy—" exclaimed Frank, in excitement.

"I mean that you're goin' to have a step-father, Master Frank, and a mighty mane one, too; but if your mother's satisfied, it ain't for Katy O'Grady to say a word, though he isn't fit for her to wipe her shoes on him."

"Who told you such a ridiculous story?" demanded Frank, angrily.

"He told me himself shure," said Katy. "Didn't I pop in when he was on his knees at your mother's feet, and didn't he ask me to congratulate him, and your mother said never a word? What do you say to that Master Frank, now?"

"I think there must be some mistake, Katy," said Frank, turning pale. "I will go and ask my mother."

"No wonder the child can't abide havin' such a mane step-father as that," soliloquized Katy. "He looks like a sneakin' hyppercrite, that he does, and I'd like to tell him so."

Mrs. Hunter was an amiable woman, but rather weak of will, and easily controlled by a stronger spirit. She had yielded to Mr. Craven's persuasions because she had not the power to resist for any length of time. That she did not feel a spark of affection for him, it is hardly necessary to say, but she had already begun to feel a little reconciled to an arrangement which would relieve her from so large a share of care and responsibility. She was placidly thinking it all over when Frank entered the room hastily.

"Have you wiped your feet, Frank?" she asked, for she had a passion for neatness. "I am afraid you will track dirt into the room."

"Yes—no—I don't know," answered Frank, whose thoughts were on another subject. "Has Mr. Craven been here?"

"Yes," replied his mother, blushing a little.

"He seemed to stay pretty long."

"He was here about an hour."

"He comes pretty often, too."

"I consult him about my business affairs, Frank."

"Look here, mother, what do you think Ben Cameron told me to-day?"

"I don't know, I am sure, Frank."

"He said it was all over the village that you were going to marry him."

"I—I didn't think it had got round so soon," said the widow, nervously.

"So soon! Why, you don't mean to say there's anything in it, mother?" said Frank, impetuously.

"I hope it won't displease you very much, Frank," said Mrs. Hunter, in embarrassment.

"Is it true? Are you really going to marry that man?"

"He didn't ask me till this afternoon, and, of course, it took me by surprise, and I said so, but he urged me so much that I finally consented."

"You don't love him, mother? I am sure you can't love such a man as that."

"I never shall love any one again in that way, Frank—never any one like your poor father."

"Then why do you marry him?"

"He doesn't ask me to love him. But he can relieve me of a great many cares and look after you."

"I don't want anybody to look after me, mother—that is, anybody but you. I hate Mr. Craven!"

"Now that is wrong, Frank. He speaks very kindly of you—very kindly indeed. He says he takes a great interest in you."

"I am sorry I cannot return the interest he professes. I dislike him, and I always have. I hope you won't be angry, mother, if I tell you just what I think of him. I think he's after your property, and that is what made him offer himself. He is poor as poverty, though I don't care half so much for that as I do for other things."

"No, Frank; you are mistaken there," said credulous Mrs. Hunter, eagerly. "He is not poor."

"How do you know?"

"He told me that he had twenty thousand dollars' worth of mining stock out West somewhere, besides owning a house in New York."

Frank looked astonished.

"If he has as much property as that," he said, "I don't see what makes him come here. I don't believe his business brings him in three hundred dollars a year."

"That's the very reason, Frank. He has money enough, and doesn't mind if business is dull. He generously offered to pay—or was it help pay?—the expenses of your education; but I told him that you didn't need it."

"If I did, I wouldn't take it from him. But what you tell me surprises me, mother. He doesn't look as if he was worth five hundred dollars in the world. What made him tell you all this?"

"He said that some people would accuse him of being a fortune-hunter, and he wanted to convince me that he was not one."

"It may be a true story, and it may not," said Frank.

"You are really very unjust, Frank," said his mother. "I don't pretend to love Mr. Craven, and he doesn't expect it, but I am sure he has been very kind, and he takes a great deal of interest in you, and you will learn to know him better."

"When you are married to him?"

"Yes."

"Mother," exclaimed Frank, impetuously, "don't marry this man! Let us live alone, as we have done. We don't want any third person to come in, no matter who he is. I'll take care of you."

"You are only a boy, Frank."

"But I am already fifteen. I shall soon be a man at any rate, and I am sure we can get along as well as we have done."

Mrs. Hunter was not a strong or a resolute woman, but even women of her type can be obstinate at times. She had convinced herself, chiefly through Mr. Craven's suggestion, that the step she was about to take was for Frank's interest, and the thought pleased her that she was sacrificing herself for him. The fact that she didn't fancy Mr. Craven, of course heightened the sacrifice, and so Frank found her far more difficult of persuasion than he anticipated. She considered that he was but a boy and did not understand his own interests, but would realize in future the wisdom of her conduct.

"I have given my promise, Frank," she said.

"But you can recall it."

"It would not be right. My dear Frank, why can you not see this matter as I do? I marry for your sake."

"Then, mother, I have the right to ask you not to do it. It will make me unhappy."

"Frank, you do not know what is best. You are too young."

"Then you are quite determined, mother?" asked Frank, sadly.

"I cannot draw back now, Frank. I—I hope you won't make me unhappy by opposing it."

"I won't say another word, mother, since you have made up your mind," said Frank, slowly. "When is it going to be?"

"I do not know yet. Mr. Craven wants it to be soon."

"You will let me know when it is decided, mother?"

"Certainly, Frank."

He left the room sad at heart. He felt that for him home would soon lose its charms, and that he would never get over the repugnance which he felt against his future step-father.

CHAPTER IV.
MR. CRAVEN'S FOUR-LEGGED ENEMY.

Mr. Craven sought his office in a self-complacent mood.

"By Jove!" he said to himself, "I'm in luck. It's lucky I thought to tell her that I was rich. I wish somebody would come along and buy that Lake Superior mining stock at five cents on a dollar," he soliloquized, laughing softly; "and if he'd be good enough to let me know whereabouts that house in New York is, I should feel very much obliged. However, she believes it, and that's enough. No, on the whole, it isn't quite enough, for I must have some ready money to buy a wedding suit, as well as to pay for my wedding tour. I can't very well call upon Mrs. Craven that is to be for that. Once married, I'm all right."

The result of these cogitations was that having first secured Mrs. Hunter's consent to a marriage at the end of two months, he went to New York to see how he could solve the financial problem.

He went straightway to a dingy room in Nassau Street, occupied by an old man as shabby as the apartment he occupied. Yet this old man was a capitalist, who had for thirty years lent money at usurious interest, taking advantage of a tight money market and the needs of embarrassed men, and there are always plenty of the latter class in a great city like New York. In this way he had accumulated a large fortune, without altering his style of living. He slept in a small room connected with his office, and took his meals at some one of the cheap restaurants in the neighborhood. He was an old man, of nearly seventy, with bent form, long white beard, face seamed with wrinkles, and thick, bushy eyebrows, beneath which peered a pair of sharp, keen eyes. Such was Job Green, the money-lender.

"Good morning," said Mr. Craven, entering his office.

"Good morning, Mr. Craven," answered the old man. He had not met his visitor for a long time, but he seldom forgot a face. "I haven't seen you for years."

"No, I'm living in the country now."

"In the country?"

"Yes, in the town of Shelby, fifty miles from the city."

"Aha! you have retired on a fortune?" inquired the old man, waggishly.

"Not yet, but I shall soon, I hope."

"Indeed!" returned Job, lifting his eyebrows as he emphasized the word. "Then you find business better in the country than in the city?"

"Business doesn't amount to much."

"Then how will you retire on the fortune, Mr. Craven? I really should like to know. Perhaps I might move out there myself."

"I don't think, Mr. Green," said Craven, with his soft smile, "you would take the same course to step into a fortune."

"And why not?" inquired the old man, innocently.

"Because I am to marry a rich widow," said Mr. Craven.

"Aha! that is very good," said Job, laughing. "Marrying isn't exactly in my line, to be sure. Who is the lucky woman?"

"I will tell you, Mr. Green, for I want you to help me in the matter."

"How can I help you? You don't want money if you are going to marry a fortune," said Job, beginning to be suspicious that this was a story trumped up to deceive him.

"Yes, I do, and I will tell you why. She thinks I am rich."

"And marries you for your money? Aha! that is very good," and the man laughed.

"I told her I owned twenty thousand dollars' worth of stock in a Lake Superior mine."

"Very good."

"And a fifteen-thousand-dollar house in this city."

"Oh, you droll dog! You'll kill me with laughing, Mr. Craven; I shall certainly choke," and old Job, struck with the drollness of regarding the man before him as a capitalist, laughed till he was seized with a coughing spell.

"Well, well, Craven, you're a genius," said Job, recovering himself. "You wouldn't—ha! ha!—like to have me advance you a few thousand on the mines, would you now, or take a mortgage on the house?"

"Yes, I would."

"I'll give you a check on the bank of Patagonia, shall I?"

"I see you will have your joke, Mr. Green. But I do want some money, and I'll tell you why. You see I am to be married in two months, and I must have a new suit of clothes, and go on a wedding tour. That'll cost me two or three hundred dollars."

"Ask Mrs. Craven for the money."

"I would, if she were Mrs. Craven, but it won't do to undeceive her too soon."

"You don't expect me to furnish the money, Craven, do you?"

"Yes, I do."

"What security have you to offer?"

"The security of my marriage."

"Are you sure there is to be a marriage?" demanded Job, keenly. "Tell me, now, is the rich widow a humbug to swindle me out of my money? Aha! Craven, I have you."

"No, you haven't, Mr. Green," said Craven, earnestly. "It's a real thing; it's a Mrs. Hunter of Shelby; her husband died two years ago."

"How much money has she got?"

"Sixty thousand dollars."

"What, in her own right?"

"Why, there's a son—a boy of fifteen," said Mr. Craven, reluctantly.

"Aha! Well how much has he got of this money?"

"I'll tell you the plain truth, Mr. Green. He is to have two-thirds when he comes of age. His mother has the balance, and enjoys the income of the whole, of course providing for him till that time."

"That's good," said Job, thoughtfully.

"Of course, what she has I shall have," added Craven. "To tell the truth," he continued, smiling softly, "I shan't spoil the young gentleman by indulgence when he is my step-son. I shan't waste much of his income on him."

"Perhaps the mother will raise a fuss," suggested Job.

"No, she won't. She's a weak, yielding woman. I can turn her round my finger."

"Well, what do you want then?"

"I want three hundred and fifty dollars for ninety days."

"And suppose I let you have it?"

"I will pay you five hundred. That will allow fifty dollars a month for the loan."

"But you see, Craven, she might give you the slip. There's a risk about it."

"Come to Shelby yourself, and make all the inquiries you see fit. Then you will see that I have spoken the truth, and there is no risk at all."

"Well, well, perhaps I will. If all is right, I may let you have the money."

Two days afterward the old man came to Shelby, stipulating that his traveling expenses should be paid by Craven. He inquired around cautiously, and was convinced that the story was correct. Finally he agreed to lend the money, but drove a harder bargain than first proposed—exacting six hundred dollars in return for his loan of three hundred and fifty. It was outrageous, of course, but he knew how important it was to Mr. Craven, and that he must consent.

Frank, according to his determination, said not a word further to his mother about the marriage. He avoided mentioning Mr. Craven's name even. But an incident about this time, though Frank was quite innocent in the matter, served to increase Mr. Craven's dislike for him.

He had spent the evening with Mrs. Hunter, and was about to leave the house when a watch-dog, which Frank had just purchased, sprang upon him, and, seizing him by the coat-tails, shook him fiercely.

Mr. Craven disliked dogs, and was thoroughly frightened. He gave a loud shriek, and tried to escape, but the dog held on grimly.

"Help, help!" he shrieked, at the top of his voice.

Frank heard the cry from the house, and ran out.

At this juncture he managed to break away from the dog, and made a rush for the garden wall.

"Down, Pompey! Ain't you ashamed of yourself?" said Frank, sternly, seizing the dog by the collar.

"I am very sorry, Mr. Craven," he added.

Mr. Craven turned wild with rage, and his soft voice trembled as he said:

"Really, Frank, it is hardly fair to your visitors to keep such a fierce animal about."

"He didn't know you, sir. To-morrow I will make you acquainted, and then there will be no danger of this occurring again."

"I really hope not," said Craven, laughing rather discordantly.

"I hope he hasn't bitten you, sir."

"No, but he has torn my coat badly. However, it's of no consequence. Accidents will happen."

"He takes it very well," thought Frank, as Mr. Craven said good-night. But it was by a strong effort that his future step-father had done so.

"Curse the dog!" he said to himself, with suppressed passion. "After I am married and fairly settled down, I will shoot him. Thus I will spite the boy and revenge myself on the brute at the same time."

CHAPTER V.
MR. CRAVEN'S RETURN.

Mr. Craven called the next day, as usual. Frank apologized again for Pompey's rude treatment of the evening previous, and, as far as he could, established friendly relations between the parties. Pompey, who had nothing vicious about him, and was only anxious to do his duty, looked meek and contrite, and Mr. Craven, to all appearance, had quite forgiven him.

"Good dog!" he exclaimed, patting Pompey's head. "Say no more about it, Frank," he said, in his usual soft voice; "it was only an accident. I foresee that Pompey and I will be excellent friends in future."

"I hope your coat isn't much torn, sir."

"It can easily be repaired. It isn't worth mentioning. Is your mother at home."

"Yes, sir. Walk in."

"He behaves very well about it," thought Frank. "He may be a better man than I thought. I wish I could like him, as he is to be my step-father; but I think there are some persons it is impossible to like."

So the time passed, and the wedding-day drew near. Frank did not consider it honorable to make any further objection to the marriage, though he often sighed as he thought of the stranger who was about to be introduced into their small circle.

"Mother will seem different to me when she is that man's wife," he said to himself. "I shall love her as much, but she won't seem to belong to me as much as she did."

In due time the wedding was celebrated. Mrs. Hunter wished it to be quiet, and Mr. Craven interposed no objection. Quiet or not, he felt that the substantial advantages of the union would be his all the same. Mrs. Hunter looked a little nervous during the ceremony, but Mr. Craven was smiling and suave as ever. When he kissed his wife, saluting her as Mrs. Craven, she shuddered a little, and with difficulty restrained her tears, for it reminded her of her first marriage, so different from this, in which she wedded a man to whom she was devoted in heart and soul.

The ceremony took place at eleven o'clock, and the newly-wedded pair started on a tour as previously arranged. So for two weeks Frank and Katy O'Grady were left alone in the house. Katy was a privileged character, having been in the family ever since Frank was a baby, and she had no hesitation in declaring her opinion of Mr. Craven.

"What possessed the mistress to marry such a mane specimen of a man, I can't tell," she said.

"I don't like him myself," said Frank; "but we must remember that he's my mother's husband now, and make the best of him."

"And a mighty poor best it will be," said Katy.

"There you go again, Katy!"

"I can't help it, shure. It vexes me intirely that my dear mistress should throw herself away on such a man."

"What can't be cured must be endured, you know. You mustn't talk that way after Mr. Craven comes back."

"And what for will I not. Do you think I'm afraid of him?" asked Katy, defiantly. "If he is a man, I could bate him in a square fight."

"I don't know but you could, Katy," said Frank, glancing at the muscular arms and powerful frame of the handmaiden; "but I really hope you won't get into a fight," he added, smiling. "It wouldn't look well, you know."

"Then he'd better not interfare wid me," said Katy, shaking her head.

"You must remember that he will be master of the house, Katy."

"But he sha'n't be master of Katy O'Grady," said that lady, in a very decided tone.

"I don't suppose you'll have much to do with him," said Frank.

He sympathized with Katy more than he was willing to acknowledge, and wondered how far Mr. Craven would see fit to exercise the authority of a step-father. He meant to treat him with the respect due to his mother's husband, but to regard him as a father was very repugnant to him. But he must be guided by circumstances, and he earnestly hoped that he would be able to live peacefully and harmoniously with Mr. Craven.

Days passed, and at length Frank received a dispatch, announcing the return home.

"They will be home to-night, Katy," he said.

"I'll be glad to see your mother, shure," said Katy, "but I wish that man wasn't comin' wid her."

"But we know he is, and we must treat him with respect."

"I don't feel no respect for him."

"You must not show your feelings, then, for my mother's sake."

At five o'clock the stage deposited Mr. and Mrs. Craven at the gate.

Frank ran to his mother, and was folded in her embrace. Then he turned to Mr. Craven, who was standing by, with his usual smile, showing his white teeth.

"I hope you have had a pleasant journey, sir," he said.

"Thank you, Frank, it has been very pleasant, but we are glad to get home, are we not, my dear?"

"I am very glad," said Mrs. Craven, thankfully, and she spoke the truth; for though Mr. Craven had been all attention (he had not yet thought it prudent to show himself in his true colors), there being no tie of affection between them, she had grown inexpressibly weary of the soft voice and artificial smile of her new husband, and had yearned for the companionship of Frank, and even her faithful handmaiden, Katy O'Grady, who was standing on the lawn to welcome her, and only waiting till Frank had finished his welcome.

"How do you do, Katy," said her mistress.

"I'm well, mum, thankin' you for askin', and I'm mighty glad to see you back."

"I hope you are glad to see me also, Katy," said Mr. Craven, but his soft voice and insinuating smile didn't melt the hostility of Miss O'Grady.

"I'm glad you've brought the mistress home safe," she said, with a low bow; "we've missed her from morning till night, sure; haven't we, Master Frank?"

"I see she isn't my friend," thought Mr. Craven. "She'd better change her tune, or she won't stay long in my house."

He had already begun to think of himself as the sole proprietor of the establishment, and his wife as an unimportant appendage.

"I hope you have some supper for us, Katy," said he, not choosing at present to betray his feelings, "for I am quite sure Mrs. Craven and myself have a good appetite."

"Mrs. Craven!" repeated Katy, in pretended ignorance. "Oh, you mean the mistress, sure."

"Of course I do," said Mr. Craven, with a frown, for once betraying himself.

"Supper is all ready, ma'am," said Katy, turning to Mrs. Craven. "It'll be ready as soon as you've took off your things."

When they sat down to the table, Frank made a little mistake. He had always been accustomed to sit at the head of the table, opposite his mother, and on the frequent occasions of Mr. Craven's taking a meal there during the engagement, the latter had taken the visitor's place at the side.

So to-night, without thinking of the latter's new relations to him, Frank took his old place. Mr. Craven noticed it, and soft and compliant as he was, he determined to assert his position at once. "I believe that is my place," he said, with an unpleasant smile.

"Oh, I beg pardon," said Frank, his face flushing.

"You forgot, I suppose," said Mr. Craven, still smiling.

"Yes, sir."

"You'll soon get used to the change," said his step-father, as he seated himself in the chair Frank had relinquished.

Mrs. Craven looked a little uncomfortable. She began to realize that she had introduced a stranger into the family, and that this would interfere to a considerable extent with their old pleasant way of living.

No one seemed inclined to talk except Mr. Craven. He seemed disposed to be sociable, and passed from one subject to another, regardless of the brief answers he received.

"Well, Frank, and how have you got along since we were away?" he asked.

"Very well, sir."

"And you haven't missed us then?"

"I have missed my mother, and should have missed you," he added politely, "if you had been accustomed to live here."

"And how is Pompey?" asked Mr. Craven, again showing his teeth.

"The same as usual. I wonder he was not out on the lawn to receive you and my mother."

"I hope he wouldn't receive me in the same way as he did once," said Mr. Craven, again displaying his teeth.

"No danger, sir. He didn't know you then."

"That's true, but I will take care that he knows me now," said Mr. Craven, softly.

"I think he will remember you, sir; he is a good dog, and very peaceable unless he thinks there are improper persons about."

"I hope he didn't think me an improper person," said Mr. Craven.

"No fear, sir."

Frank wondered why Mr. Craven should devote so much time to Pompey, but he was destined to be enlightened very soon.

CHAPTER VI.
THE DIFFICULTY OF KILLING A DOG.

If Frank supposed that Mr. Craven had forgotten or forgiven Pompey's attack upon him, he was mistaken. Within a week after Mr. Craven had been established as a permanent member of the household, Katy, looking out of the kitchen window, saw him advancing stealthily to a corner of the back yard with a piece of raw meat in his hand. He dropped it on the ground, and then, with a stealthy look around, he withdrew hastily.

"What is he doin', sure?" said the astonished Katy to herself; then, with a flash of intelligence, she exclaimed, "I know what he manes, the dirty villain! The meat is p'isoned, and it's put there to kill the dog. But he shan't do it, not if Katy O'Grady can prevint him."

The resolute handmaid rushed to the pantry, cut off a piece of the meat meant for the morrow's breakfast, and carrying it out into the yard, was able, unobserved by Mr. Craven, to substitute it for the piece he had dropped. This she brought into the kitchen, and lifting it to her nose, smelled it. It might have been Katy's imagination, but she thought she detected an uncanny smell.

"It's p'isoned, sure!" she said. "I smell it plain; but it shan't harm poor Pomp! I'll put it where it'll never do any harm."

She wrapped it in a paper, and carrying it out into the garden, dug a hole in which she deposited it.

"Won't the ould villain be surprised when he sees the dog alive and well to morrow morning?" she said to herself, with exultation.

Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Craven, from an upper window, had the satisfaction of seeing the dog greedily eating what he supposed would be his last meal on earth.

"That'll fix him!" he muttered, smiling viciously. "He won't attack me again very soon. Young impudence will never know what hurt the brute. That's the way I mean to dispose of my enemies."

Probably Mr. Craven did not mean exactly what might be inferred from his remarks, but he certainly intended to revenge himself on all who were unwise enough to oppose him.

Mr. Craven watched Pompey till he had consumed the last morsel of the meat, and then retired from the window, little guessing that his scheme had been detected and baffled.

The next morning he got up earlier than usual, on purpose to enjoy the satisfaction of seeing his four-footed enemy stretched out stiff and stark. What was his astonishment to see the dog jumping over a stick at the command of his young master. Had he suddenly seen Pompey's ghost (supposing dogs to have ghosts), he could scarcely have been more astonished or dismayed.

"Goodness gracious! that dog must have a cast-iron constitution!" he said to himself. "There was enough strychnine on that meat to kill ten men. I don't understand it at all."

"He looks as if his grandmother had died and left him nothin' at all in her will," said Katy to herself, slyly watching him out of the window. "The ould villain's disappinted sure, and it's Katy O'Grady he's got to thank for it, if he only knew it."

"Good morning, sir," said Frank, for the first time noticing the presence of Mr. Craven.

"Good morning, Frank," replied his step-father, opening his mouth with his customary smile. "Pompey seems lively this morning."

"Yes, sir. I am teaching him to jump over this stick."

"Good dog!" said Mr. Craven, patting him softly.

"Oh, the ould hypocrite!" ejaculated Katy, who had slyly opened the window a trifle and heard what he said. "He tries to p'ison the poor creeter, and thin calls him good dog."

Mr. Craven meanwhile was surveying Pompey curiously.

"I certainly saw him eat the meat," he said to himself, "and I am sure it was tainted with a deadly poison. Yet here the dog is alive and well, after devouring every morsel of it. It is certainly the most curious case I ever heard of."

Mr. Craven went into the house, and turned to the article on strychnine in an encyclopædia, but the statements he there found corroborated his previously formed opinion as to the deadly character and great strength of the poison. Pompey must certainly be an extraordinary dog. Mr. Craven was puzzled.

Meanwhile Katy said to herself:

"Shall I tell Master Frank what Mr. Craven tried to do? Not yit. I'll wait a bit, and while I'm waitin' I'll watch. He don't suspect that Katy O'Grady's eyes are on him, the villain!"

It may not be considered suitable generally for a maid-of-all-work to speak of her employer as a villain; but then Katy had some grounds for her use of this term, and being a lady very decided in her language, it is not singular that such should have been her practice.

Notwithstanding the apparent superiority of Pompey's constitution to the deadliest poison, Mr. Craven's murderous intent was by no means laid aside. He concluded to try another method of getting him out of the way. He had a pistol in his trunk, and he resolved to see if Pompey was bullet-proof as well as poison-proof.

Three days later, therefore, when Frank was at school, and Mrs. Craven was in attendance at the house of a neighbor, at a meeting of the village sewing-circle, Mr. Craven slipped the pistol into his pocket and repaired to the back yard, where Pompey, as he anticipated, was stretched out in the sun, having a comfortable nap.

"Pompey," said Mr. Craven, in a low tone, "come here. Good dog."

Pompey walked up, and, grateful for attention, began to fawn upon the man who sought to lure him to death.

"Good dog! Fine fellow!" repeated Mr. Craven, stroking him.

Pompey seemed to be gratefully appreciative of the kindness.

Low and soft as were his tones—for he did not wish to attract any attention—Mr. Craven was overheard. Katy O'Grady's ears were sharp, and at the first sound she drew near to the window, where, herself unobserved, she was an eye and ear witness of Mr. Craven's blandishments.

"What is the ould villain doin' now?" she said to herself. "Is he going to thry p'isonin' him again?"

But no piece of meat was produced. Mr. Craven had other intentions.

"Come here, Pompey," said he, soothingly; "follow me, sir."

So saying, he rose and beckoned the dog to follow him.

Pompey rose, stretching his limbs, and obediently trotted after his deadly foe.

"Where's he takin' him to?" thought Katy. "He manes mischief, I'll be bound. The misthress is gone, and Master Frank's gone, and he thinks there ain't nobody to interfere. Katy O'Grady, you must go after him and see what he's up to."

Katy was in the midst of her work, but she didn't stop for that. She had in her hand a glass tumbler, which she had been in the act of wiping, but she didn't think to put it down. Throwing her apron over her head, she followed Mr. Craven at a little distance. He made his way into a field in the rear of the house. She went in the same direction, but on the other side of a stone wall which divided it from a neighboring field. From time to time she could catch glimpses, through the loosely laid rocks, of her employer, and she could distinctly hear what he was saying.

"My friend Pompey," he said, with a smile full of deadly meaning, "you are going to your death, though you don't know it. That was a bad job for you when you attacked me, my four-footed friend. You won't be likely to trouble me much longer."

"What's he going to do to him?" thought Katy; "it's not p'ison, for he hasn't got any meat. May be it's shootin' him he manes."

Mr. Craven went on.

"Poison doesn't seem to do you any harm, but I fancy you can't stand powder and ball quite so well."

"Yes, he's goin' to shoot him. What will I do?" thought Katy. "I'm afraid I can't save the poor creetur's life."

By this time Mr. Craven had got so far that he considered it very unlikely that the report of the pistol would be heard at the house. He stopped short, and, with a look of triumphant malice, drew the pistol from his pocket. Pompey stood still, and looked up in his face.

"How can he shoot the poor creetur, and him lookin' up at him so innocent?" thought Katy. "What will I do? Oh, I know—I'll astonish him a little."

Mr. Craven was just pointing the pistol at Pompey, when Katy flung the tumbler with force against his hat, which rolled off. In his fright at the unexpected attack, the pistol went off, but its contents were lodged in a tree near by, and Pompey was unhurt.

Mr. Craven looked around him with startled eyes, but he could not see Katy crouching behind the wall, nor did he understand from what direction the missile had come.

CHAPTER VII.
MISS O'GRADY'S VICTORY.

Crouching behind the stone wall, Katy enjoyed the effect of what she had done. She particularly enjoyed the bewildered look, of Mr. Craven, who, bare-headed, looked on this side and on that, unable to conjecture who had thrown the missile.

Pompey, unconscious of the danger he had escaped, walked up to the tumbler and smelt of it. This attracted the attention of Mr. Craven, who stooped and picked it up. His bewilderment increased. If it had been a stone, he would have understood better, but how a tumbler should have found its way here as a missile was incomprehensible.

It slowly dawned upon him that the person who threw it must be somewhere near. Then again, on examining it further, he began to suspect that it was one of his wife's tumblers, and he jumped to the conclusion that it was Frank who threw it.

"If it is he, I'll wring his neck!" he murmured, revengefully. "I mean to find out."

"Pompey," he said, calling the dog, "do you see this tumbler?"

Pompey wagged his tail.

"Who threw it?"

Pompey looked up, as if for instructions.

"Go find him!" said Mr. Craven, in a tone of command.

The dog seemed to understand, for he put his nose to the ground and began to run along, as if in search.

"Oh, murther! What if he finds me?" thought Katy, crouching a little lower. "Won't he be mad, jist?"

Katy might have crawled away unobserved, very possibly, if she had started as soon as the missile was thrown. Now, that dog and man were both on the lookout, escape was cut off.

"Will he find me?" Katy asked herself, with some anxiety.

The question was soon answered.

Pompey jumped over the wall, and a joyous bark announced his discovery. He knew Katy, and seemed to fancy that she had concealed herself in joke. He jumped upon her, and wagged his tail intelligently, as if to say:

"You see, I've found you out, after all."

Mr. Craven hurried to the wall, eagerly expecting to detect Frank in the person concealed. He started back in astonishment as Katy O'Grady rose and faced him. Then he became wrathful, as he realized that his own hired servant had had the audacity to fling a tumbler at his hat.

"What brings you out here, Katy?" he demanded, with a frown.

"Shure, sir," said Katy, nonchalantly, "I was tired wid stayin' in the hot kitchen, and I thought I'd come out and take the air jist."

"And so you neglected the work."

"The worruk will be done; niver you mind about that."

"Did you fling this tumbler at my head?" demanded Mr. Craven, sternly.

"Let me look at it, sir."

Katy looked at it scrutinizingly, and made answer:

"Very likely, sir."

"Don't you know?"

"I wouldn't swear it was the same one, sir, but it looks like it."

"Then you admit throwing a tumbler at my head, do you?"

"No, sir."

"Didn't you say you did just now?"

"I threw it at your hat."

"It is the same thing. How came you to have the cursed impudence to do such a thing?" asked her master, wrathfully.

"Because you was goin' to shoot the dog," said Katy, coolly.

"Suppose I was, is it any business of yours?"

"The dog doesn't belong to you, Mr. Craven. It belongs to Master Frank."

"I don't think it expedient for him to keep such an ill-natured brute around."

"He calls you a brute, Pomp," said Katy, caressing Pompey—"you that's such a good dog. It's a shame!"

"Catherine," said Mr. Craven, with outraged dignity, "your conduct is very improper. You have insulted me."

"By the powers, how did I do it?" asked Katy, with an affectation of innocent wonder.

"It was an insult to throw that tumbler at my head. I might order the constable to arrest you."

"I'd like to see him thry it!" said Katy, putting her arms akimbo in such a resolute fashion that Mr. Craven involuntarily stepped back slightly.

"Are you aware that I am your master?" continued Mr. Craven, severely.

"No, I'm not," answered Katy, promptly.

"You are a servant in my house."

"No, I'm not. The house don't belong to you at all, sir. It belongs to my mistress and Master Frank."

"That's the same thing. According to the law, I am in control of their property," said Mr. Craven, resolved upon a master-stroke which, he felt confident, would overwhelm his adversary. "After the great impropriety of which you have been guilty this afternoon, I discharge you from my employment."

"You discharge me!" exclaimed Katy, with incredulous scorn.

"I discharge you, and I desire you to leave the house to-morrow."

"You discharge me!" repeated Katy, with a ringing laugh. "That's a good one."

Mr. Craven's cadaverous face colored with anger.

"If you don't go quietly, I'll help you out," he added, incautiously.

"Come on, then," said Katy, assuming a warlike attitude. "Come on, then, and we'll see whether you can put out Katy O'Grady."

"Your impudence will not avail you. I am determined to get rid of you."

"And do ye think I'm goin' to lave the house, and my ould misthress, and Master Frank, at the orders of such an interloper as you, Mr. Craven?" she cried, angrily.

"I don't propose to multiply words about it," said Mr. Craven, with an assumption of dignity. "If you had behaved well, you might have stayed. Now you must go."

"Must I?" sniffed Katy, indignantly. "Must I, indade?"

"Yes, you must, and the less fuss you make about it the better."

Mr. Craven supposed that he had the decided advantage, and that Katy, angry as she was, would eventually succumb to his authority. But he did not know the independent spirit of Catherine O'Grady, whose will was quite as resolute as his own.

"And ye think I'm goin' at your word—I that's been in the family since Master Frank was a baby?"

"I am sorry for you, Katy," said Mr. Craven, in triumphant magnanimity. "But I cannot permit a servant to remain in my house who is guilty of the gross impropriety of insulting me."

"I know why you want to get rid of me," said Katy, nodding her head vigorously.

"Why?" asked Craven, with some curiosity.

"You want to p'ison the dog."

Mr. Craven started. How had his secret leaked out?

"What do you mean?"

"Mane! I mane that I saw you lavin' the p'isoned mate for the dog three days agone, and if it hadn't been for me he'd have eaten it, and the poor creetur would be stiff in death."

"He did eat it. I saw him," said Mr. Craven, hastily.

"No, he didn't. It wasn't the same mate!" said Katy, triumphantly.

"What was it, then?"

"It was a piece I cut off and carried out to him," said Katy. "The other I wrapped up in a piece of paper, and buried it in the field."

Mr. Craven's eyes were opened. Pompey's cast-iron constitution was explained. After all, he was not that natural phenomenon which Mr. Craven had supposed him to be. But he was angry at Katy's interference no less.

"Say no more," he said. "You must go. You have no right to interfere with my plans."

"Say no more? Won't I be tellin' the misthress and Master Frank how you tried to kill the poor dog, first with p'ison, and nixt wid a pistol?"

There was something in this speech that made Mr. Craven hesitate and reflect.

He knew that Katy's revelation would provoke Frank, and make him an enemy, and he feared the boy's influence on his mother, particularly as he was concocting plans for inducing his wife to place some of her money in his hand under pretext of a new investment. He must be careful not to court hostile influences, and after all, he resolved to bear with Katy, much as he disliked her.

"On the whole, Katy," he said, after a pause, "I will accept your apology, and you may stay."

"My apology!" said Katy, in astonishment.

"Yes, your explanation. I see your motives were good, and I will think no more about it. You had better not mention this matter to Mrs. Craven or Frank, as it might disturb them."

"And won't you try to kill Pomp agin?" asked Katy.

"No; I dislike dogs, especially as they are apt to run mad, but as Frank is attached to Pompey, I won't interfere. You had better take this tumbler and wash it, as it is uninjured."

"All right, sir," said Katy, who felt that she had gained a victory, although Mr. Craven assumed that it was his.

"I am very glad you are so devoted to your mistress," said Mr. Craven, who had assumed his old suavity. "I shall propose to her to increase your wages."

"He's a mighty quare man!" thought the bewildered Katy, as she hurried back to her work, followed by Pompey.

CHAPTER VIII.
FRANK IS OBSTINATE.

Mr. Craven had as yet gained nothing from his marriage. He was itching to get possession of his wife's property. Then his next step would be Frank's more considerable property. He was beginning to be low in pocket, and in the course of a month or so Mr. Green's note for six hundred dollars would fall due. He knew enough of that estimable gentleman to decide that it must be met, and, of course, out of his wife's money.

"My dear," he said one day, after breakfast, Frank being on his way to school, "I believe I told you before our marriage that I had twenty thousand dollars invested in Lake Superior mines."

"Yes, Mr. Craven, I remember it."

"It is a very profitable investment," continued her husband. "What per cent. do you think it pays me?"

"Ten per cent.," guessed Mrs. Craven.

"More than that. During the last year it has paid me twenty per cent."

"That is a great deal," said his wife, in surprise.

"To be sure it is, but not at all uncommon. You, I suppose, have not got more than seven or eight per cent. for your money?"

"Only six per cent."

Mr. Craven laughed softly, as if to say, "What a simpleton you must be!"

"I didn't know about these investments," said his wife. "I don't know much about business."

"No, no. I suppose not. Few women do. Well, my dear, the best thing you can do is to empower me to invest your money for you in future."

"If you think it best," said Mrs. Craven.

"Certainly; it is my business to invest money. And, by the way, the income of Frank's property is paid to you, I believe."

"Yes."

"He does not come into possession till twenty-one."

"That was his father's direction."

"And a very proper one. He intended that you should have the benefit of the income, which is, of course, a good deal more than Frank needs till he comes of age."

"I thought perhaps I ought to save up the surplus for Frank," said Mrs. Craven, hesitating.

"That is not necessary. Frank is amply provided for. He might be spoiled by too much money."

"I don't think so. Frank is an excellent boy," said his mother, warmly.

"So he is," said Mr. Craven. "He has a noble, generous disposition, and for that very reason is more liable to be led astray."

"I hope he won't be led astray. I should feel wretched if I thought anything would befall him," said his mother, shuddering.

"We will look after him; we will see that he goes straight," said Mr. Craven, cheerfully. "But I wanted to suggest, my dear, that it would be proper that I should be appointed joint guardian with you."

"I am not sure whether Frank will like it," said his mother, who was aware that Frank, though scrupulously polite to his step-father, had no cordial liking or respect for him.

"As to that, my dear, I count upon you exerting your influence in the matter. If you recommend it he will yield."

"Don't you think it just as well as it is?" said Mrs. Craven, hesitatingly. "Of course, we shall go to you for counsel and advice in anything important."

"You don't seem to have confidence in me," said Mr. Craven, with an injured air.

"I hope you won't think that, Mr. Craven," said his wife, hastily.

"How can I help it? You know my interest in Frank, yet you are unwilling to have me associated in the guardianship."

"I didn't say I objected. I said Frank might."

"You are not willing to urge him to favor the measure."

"You misunderstand me. Yes, I will," said yielding Mrs. Craven.

"Thank you, my dear," said Mr. Craven, with one of his most unctuous smiles. "I was quite sure you would do me justice in the end. By the way, what disposition is made of Frank's property if he does not live to come of age?"

"You—you don't think he is likely to be taken away?" said Mrs. Craven, in distress.

"You are a goose," said her husband, laughing softly. "Of course not. But then we are all mortal. Frank is strong, and will, I hope, live to smooth our dying pillows. But, of course, however improbable, the contingency is to be thought of."

"I believe the property comes to me in that case, but I am sure I should not live to enjoy it."

"My dear, don't make yourself miserable about nothing. Our boy is strong, and has every prospect of reaching old age. But it is best to understand clearly how matters stand. By the way, you need not say anything about the guardianship to him till I tell you."

Mrs. Craven not only complied with this request, but she surrendered to Mr. Craven the entire control of her money within an hour. She raised one or two timid objections, but these were overruled by her husband, and in the end she yielded. Mr. Craven was now in funds to pay the note held by Job Green, and this afforded him no little relief.

A few evenings later, Frank was about to take his cap and go out, when Mr. Craven stopped him.

"Frank," he said, "if you have no important engagement, your mother and I desire to speak to you on a matter of some consequence."

"I was only going to call on one of my friends," said Frank. "I will defer that and hear what you have to say."

"Thank you," said Mr. Craven, smiling sweetly. "I wished to speak to you on the subject of your property."

"Very well, sir."

"Your mother is your guardian, she tells me."

"Yes, sir."

"The responsibilities of a guardian are very great," proceeded Mr. Craven, leaning back upon his chair. "Naturally there are some of them to which a woman cannot attend as well as a man."

Frank began to understand what was coming, and, as it was not to his taste, he determined to declare himself at once.

"I couldn't have a better guardian than my mother," he said.

"Of course not. (I am afraid I shall find trouble with him, thought Mr. Craven.) Of course not. You couldn't possibly find any one as much interested in your welfare as your mother."

"Certainly not, sir."

"As your step-father, I naturally feel a strong interest in you, but I do not pretend to have the same interest as your mother."

"I never expected you would, sir," said Frank, "and I don't want you to," he added, to himself.

"But your mother is not used to business, and, as I said, the responsibilities of a guardian are great."

"What do you propose, sir?" asked Frank, gazing at his step-father steadily. "Do you recommend me to change guardians—to give up my mother?"

"No, by no means. It is best that your mother should retain the guardianship."

"Then, sir, I don't quite understand what you mean."

"I mean to suggest that it would be well for another to be associated in the guardianship, who might relieve your mother of a part of her cares and responsibilities."

"I suppose you mean yourself, sir," said Frank.

"Yes—ahem!" answered Mr. Craven, coughing softly, "as your step-father, it would naturally occur to your mind that I am the most suitable person. Your mother thinks as I do."

"Do you want Mr. Craven to be guardian with you, mother?" asked Frank, turning to his mother.

"Mr. Craven thinks it best," said his mother, in a little embarrassment. "He knows more about business matters than I do, and I have no doubt he is right."

Frank understood that it was entirely Mr. Craven's idea, and something made it very repugnant to him. He did not want to be under the control of that man. Though he knew nothing to his disadvantage, he distrusted him. He had never ceased to regret that his mother married him, and he meant to have as little to do with him as politeness would permit.

He answered, therefore:

"I hope, Mr. Craven, that you won't be offended if I say that I don't wish any change in the guardianship. If another were to be added, I suppose it would be proper that you should be the one, but I am content with my mother as guardian, and wish no other."

"I am afraid," said Mr. Craven, with a softness of tone which by no means accorded with his inward rage, "that you are unmindful of the care the sole guardianship will impose on your mother."

"Has it been much care for you, mother?" asked Frank.

"Not yet," said Mrs. Craven, hesitating, "but perhaps it may."

"I suppose Mr. Craven will always be ready to give you advice if you need it," said Frank, though the suggestion was not altogether to his taste, "but I would rather have you only as my guardian."

"Well, let us drop the subject," said Mr. Craven, gayly. "As you say, I shall always be ready to advise, if called upon. Now, my dear Frank, go to your engagement, I won't detain you any longer."

But when Mr. Craven was alone, his countenance underwent a change.

"That boy is a thorn in my side," he muttered, with compressed lips. "Sooner or later, he must be in my power, and his fortune under my control. Patience, Richard Craven! A dull-witted boy cannot defeat your plans!"

CHAPTER IX.
A STRANGER APPEARS ON THE SCENE.

"How do you like your step-father, Frank," asked Ben Cameron as the two boys were walking home from school together.

"You mean Mr. Craven?"

"Of course. He is your step-father, isn't he?"

"I suppose he is, but I don't like to think of him in that way."

"Is he disagreeable, then?"

"He treats me well enough," said Frank, slowly; "but, for all that, I dislike him. His appearance, his manners, his soft voice and stealthy ways are all disagreeable to me. As he is my mother's husband, I wish I could like him, but I can't."

"I don't wonder at it, Frank. I don't fancy him myself."

"Somehow, everything seems changed since he came. He seems to separate my mother from me."

"Well, Frank, I suppose you must make the best of it. If he doesn't interfere with you, that is one good thing. Some step-fathers would, you know."

"He hasn't, so far; but sometimes I fear that he will in the future."

"Have you any reason for thinking so?"

"A day or two since he called me, just as I was leaving the house to come and see you, and asked if I were willing to have him join with my mother as my guardian."

"What did you say?"

"That I didn't want any change. He said the responsibility was too great for a woman."

"What answer did you make?"

"That my mother could get as much help and advice as she needed, even if she were sole guardian."

"Did he seem angry?"

"Not at all. He turned it off very pleasantly, and said he would not detain me any longer."

"Then why should you feel uneasy?"

"I think there's something underhand about him. He seems to me like a cat that purrs and rubs herself against you, but has claws concealed, and is open to scratch when she gets ready."

Ben laughed.

"The comparison does you credit, Frank," said he. "There's something in it, too. Mr. Craven is like a cat—that is, in his ways; but I hope he won't show his claws."

"When he does I shall be ready for him," said Frank, stoutly. "I am not afraid of him, but I don't like the idea of having such a person in the family."

They had arrived at this point in the conversation when they were met by a tall man, of dark complexion, who was evidently a stranger in the village. In a small town of two thousand inhabitants, where every person is known to every other, a strange face attracts attention, and the boys regarded this man with curiosity. He paused as they neared him, and, looking from one to the other, inquired:

"Can you direct me to Mr. Craven's office?"

The two boys exchanged glances.

Frank answered:

"It is that small building on the left-hand side of the street, but I am not sure whether he is there yet."

Curious to know how the boy came to know so much of Mr. Craven's movements, the stranger said:

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, sir; he is my step-father."

It was the first time he had ever made the statement, and, true as he knew it to be, he made it with rising color and a strange reluctance.

"Oh, indeed!" returned the stranger, looking very much surprised. "He is your step-father?"

"Yes; he married my mother," said Frank, hurriedly.

"Then you think he may not have come to the office yet?"

"There he is, just opening the door," said Ben, pointing to Mr. Craven, who, unaware of the interest his appearance excited, was just opening the door of the office, in which he was really beginning to do a little business. His marriage to a woman of property, and the reports which had leaked out that he had a competence of his own, had inspired a degree of confidence in him which before had not existed.

"Thank you," said the stranger. "As he is in, I will call upon him."

CHAPTER X.
A CONSPIRACY AGAINST FRANK.

"So he's married again, the sly villain!" muttered the stranger, as, after leaving the boys, he proceeded on his way to Mr. Craven's office. "That will be good news for my sister, won't it? And so that's his step-son? A nice-looking, well-dressed boy. Likely Craven has feathered his nest, and married a fortune. If so, all the better. I may get a few feathers for my own nest, if I work my cards right."

Meanwhile Mr. Craven had seated himself at an office table, and was looking over a paper of instructions, having been commissioned to write a will for one of the town's people. He had drawn out a printed form, and had just dipped his pen in the ink, when a knock was heard at the outer door that opened upon the street.

"I suppose it's Mr. Negley, come for the will. He'll have to wait," thought Craven, and as the thought passed through his mind, he said, "Come in!"

The door opened.

He mechanically raised his eyes, and his glance rested upon the man whom we have introduced in the last chapter.

A remarkable change came over Mr. Craven's face. First surprise, then palpable dismay, drove the color from his cheeks, and he stood up in silent consternation.

The other appeared to enjoy the sensation caused by his arrival, and laughed.

"Why, man, you look as if I were a ghost. No such thing. I'm alive and well, and delighted to see you again," he added, significantly. "By Jove, I've had hard work finding you, but here I am, you see."

"How—did—you—find—me?" asked Craven, huskily.

"How did I find you? Well, I got upon your tracks in New York. Never mind how, as long as I have found you. Well, have you no welcome for me?"

"What do you want of me?" asked Mr. Craven, sullenly.

"What do I want of you?" echoed the other, with a laugh. "Why, considering the relationship between us—"

Mr. Craven's pallor increased, and he shifted his position uneasily.

"Considering the relationship between us, it is only natural that I should want to see you."

He paused, but Mr. Craven did not offer any reply.

"By the way, your wife is very uneasy at your long absence," continued the newcomer, fixing his eyes steadily upon the shrinking Craven.

"For Heaven's sake stop, or speak lower!" exclaimed Craven, exhibiting the greatest alarm.

"Come, now, Craven, is any allusion to your wife so disagreeable? Considering that she is my sister, it strikes me that I shall have something to say on that subject."

"Don't allude to her, Sharpley," said the other, doggedly. "I shall never see her again. We—we didn't live happily, and are better apart."

"You may think so, but do you think I am going to have my sister treated in this way—deserted and scorned?"

"I can't help it," was the dogged reply.

"You can't? Why not?"

And the man addressed as Sharpley fixed his eyes upon his brother-in-law.

"Why do you come here to torment me?" said Craven, fiercely, brought to bay. "Why can't you leave me alone? Your sister is better off without me. I never was a model husband."

"That is where you are right, Craven; but, hark you!" he added, bending forward, "do you think we are going to stand by and do nothing while you are in the enjoyment of wealth and the good things of life?"

"Wealth? What do you mean?" stammered Craven.

The other laughed slightly.

"Do you take me for a mole? Did you suppose I wouldn't discover that you are married again, and that your marriage has brought you money?"

"So you have found it out?" said Mr. Craven, whose worst apprehensions were now confirmed.

"I met your step-son a few minutes ago, and he directed me here."

"Did you tell him?" asked Craven, in dismay.

"Tell him? No, not yet. I wanted to see you first."

"I'm glad you didn't. He doesn't like me. It would be all up with me if you had."

"Don't be frightened, Craven. It may not be so bad as you think. We may be able to make some friendly arrangement. Tell me about it, and then we'll consult together. Only don't leave anything untold. Situated as we are, I demand your entire confidence."

Here the door opened, and Mr. Negley appeared.

"Have you finished that 'ere dokkyment, Mr. Craven?" asked the old-fashioned farmer, to whom the name belonged.

"No, Mr. Negley," said Mr. Craven, with his customary suavity, "not yet, I am sorry to say. I've had a great deal to do, and I am even now consulting with a client on an important matter. Could you wait till to-morrow?"

"Sartain, Mr. Craven. I ain't in no hurry. Only, as I was passing, I thought I'd just inquire. Good mornin', squire."

"Good morning, Mr. Negley."

"So you are in the lawyer's line again, Craven?" said Sharpley. "You are turning to good account that eight months you spent in a law office in the old country?"

"Yes, I do a little in that line."

"Now, tell me all about this affair of yours. I don't want to ruin you. May be we can make an arrangement that will be mutually satisfactory."

Thus adjured, and incited from time to time by questions from his visitor, Mr. Craven unfolded the particulars of his situation.

"Well, the upshot of it is, Craven, that you've feathered your nest, and made yourself comfortable. That's all very well; but it seems to me, that your English wife has some rights in the matter."

"You need not tell her," said Craven, hastily. "What good will it do?"

"It won't do you any good, but it may benefit her and me."

"How can it benefit 'her and me?' How can it benefit either of you, if I am found out, and obliged to flee from this place into penury?"

"Why, not exactly in that way. In fact, I may feel disposed to let you alone, if you'll come down handsomely. The fact is, Craven, my circumstances are not over prosperous, and of course I don't forget that I have a rich brother-in-law."

"You call me rich. You are mistaken. I get a living, but the money is my wife's."

"If it is hers, you can easily get possession of it."

"Only one-third of it belongs to her. Two-thirds belong to that boy you met—my step-son."

"Suppose he dies?"

"It goes to my wife."

"Then you have some chance of it."

"Not much; he is a stout, healthy boy."

"Look here, Craven, you must make up your mind to do something for me. Give me a thousand dollars down."

"I couldn't without my wife finding out. Besides you would be coming back for more."

"Well, perhaps I might," said the other, coolly.

"You would ruin me," exclaimed Craven, sullenly. "Do you think I am made of money?"

"I know this—that it will be better for you to share your prosperity with me, and so insure not being disturbed. Half a loaf is better than no bread."

Mr. Craven fixed his eyes upon the table, seriously disturbed.

"How much is the boy worth?" asked Sharpley, after a pause.

"Forty thousand dollars."

"Forty thousand dollars!" exclaimed Sharpley, his eyes sparkling with greed. "That's splendid."

"For him, yes. It doesn't do me any good."

"Didn't you say, that in the event of his death the money would go to your wife?"

"Yes."

"He may die."

"So may we. That's more likely. He's a stout boy, as you must have observed, since you have met him."

"Life is uncertain. Suppose he should have a fever, or meet with an accident."

"Suppose he shouldn't."

"My dear Craven," said Sharpley, drawing his chair nearer that of his brother-in-law, "it strikes me that you are slightly obtuse, and you a lawyer, too. Fie upon you! My meaning is plain enough, it strikes me."

"What do you mean?" inquired Craven, coloring, and shifting uneasily in his chair. "You wouldn't have me murder him, would you?"

"Don't name such a thing. I only mean, that if we got a good opportunity to expose him to some sickness, and he happened to die of it, it would be money in our pockets."

Craven looked startled, and his sallow face betrayed by its pallor his inward disturbance.

"That is absurd," he said. "There is no chance of that here. If the boy should die I shouldn't mourn much, but he may live to eighty. There's not much chance of any pestilence reaching this town."

"Perhaps so," said the other, shrugging his shoulders, "but then this little village isn't the whole world."

"You seem to have some plan to propose," said Mr. Craven, eagerly. "What is it?"

"I propose," said Sharpley, "that you send the boy to Europe with me."

"To Europe?"

"Yes; on a traveling tour, for his education, improvement, anything. Only send him under my paternal care, and—possibly he might never come back."

Mr. Craven was not a scrupulous man, and this proposal didn't shock him as it should have done, but he was a timid man, and he could not suppress a tremor of alarm.

"But isn't there danger in it?" he faltered.

"Not if it is rightly managed," said Sharpley.

"And how do you mean to manage it?"

"Can't tell yet," answered the other, carelessly. "The thought has just occurred to me, and I have had no time to think it over. But that needn't trouble you. You can safely leave all that to me."

Mr. Craven leaned his head on his hand and reflected. Here was a way out of two embarrassments. This plan offered him present safety and a continuance of his good fortune, with the chance of soon obtaining control of Frank's fortune.

"Well, what do you say?" asked Sharpley.

"I should like it well enough, but I don't know what my wife and the boy will say."

"Has Mrs. Craven the—second—a will of her own?"

"No, she is very yielding."

"Doesn't trouble you, eh? By the way, what did she see in you, Craven, or my sister either, for that matter, to attract her? There's no accounting for tastes, surely."

"That is not to the point," said Craven, impatiently.

"You are right. That is not to the point. Suppose we come to the point, then. If your wife is not strong-minded she can be brought over, and the boy, if he is like most boys, will be eager to embrace the chance of visiting Europe, say for three months. It will be best, I suppose, that the offer should come from me. I'll tell you what you must do. Invite me to supper to-night and offer me a bed, and I'll lay the train. Shall it be so?"

"Agreed," said Craven, and thus the iniquitous compact was made.

CHAPTER XI.
TRAPPED.

"Mrs. Craven, I have pleasure in introducing to you one of my oldest friends, Colonel Sharpley."

As this was the first friend of her husband who had come in her way, his wife regarded the stranger with some curiosity, which, however, was veiled by her quiet manner.

"I am glad to meet a friend of yours, Mr. Craven," she said, offering her hand.

"I have invited the colonel to supper, and pass the night with us, Mary."

"I am glad you did so. I will see that a chamber is got ready."

After she had left the room, Sharpley looked about him approvingly. "On my life, Craven, you are well provided for. This house is decidedly comfortable."

"It is the best in the village," said Craven, complacently.

"Evidently, your predecessor had taste as well as money. It is a pity that there is a little legal impediment in the way of your permanent enjoyment of all this luxury."

"Hush, hush, Sharpley!" said Mr. Craven, nervously. "You might be heard."

"So I might, and as that would interfere with my plans as well as yours, I will be careful. By the way, that's a good idea making me a colonel. It sounds well—Colonel Sharpley, eh? Let me see. I'll call myself an officer in the English service—served for a while in the East Indies, and for a short period in Canada."

"Whatever you like. But here's my step-son coming in."

"The young man I'm to take charge of. I must ingratiate myself with him."

Here Frank entered the room. He paused when he saw the stranger.

"Frank," said Mr. Craven, "this is my friend, Colonel Sharpley. I believe you have already made his acquaintance."

"Yes, sir, I saw him this morning."

"I didn't suspect when I first spoke to you that you were related to my old friend, Craven," said Sharpley, smiling.

Mr. Sharpley was a man not overburdened—in fact, not burdened at all—with principle, but he could make himself personally more agreeable than Mr. Craven, nor did Frank feel for him the instinctive aversion which he entertained for his step-father. The stranger had drifted about the world, and, being naturally intelligent and observing, he had accumulated a fund of information which enabled him to make himself agreeable to those who were unacquainted with his real character. He laid himself out now to entertain Frank.

"Ah, my young friend," he said, "how I envy you your youth and hope. I am an old, battered man of the world, who has been everywhere, seen a great deal, and yet, in all the wide world, I am without a home."

"Have you traveled much, sir," asked Frank.

"I have been in Europe, Asia, Africa, America and Australia," answered Sharpley.

"Yes, Botany Bay," thought Craven, but it was not his cue to insinuate suspicions of his friend.

"How much you must have seen!" said Frank, interested.

"You're right; I've seen a great deal."

"Have you ever been in Switzerland?"

"Yes, I've clambered about among the Alps. I tried to ascend Mont Blanc, but had not endurance enough."

Frank was interested. He had read books of travels, and he had dreamed of visiting foreign lands. He had thought more than once how much he should enjoy roaming about in countries beyond the sea, but he had never, in his quiet country home, even met one who had made this journey, and he eagerly listened to what Colonel Sharpley had to tell him about these distant lands.

Here supper was announced, and the four sat down.

"Do you take your tea strong, Colonel Sharpley?" asked Mrs. Craven.

"As strong as you can make it. Tea is a favorite drink of mine. I have drunk it in its native land—in fact, everywhere."

"Have you been in China, Colonel Sharpley?"

"Yes, madam. I spent three months there—learned to talk broken China a little," he added, with a laugh. "Yes, Mrs. Craven, I have been a rover."

"He has been telling me about Switzerland, mother," said Frank, eagerly. "How splendid it must be to travel there."

"I am going back to Europe in three or four weeks," said Sharpley, ready now to spring his trap. "Were you ever there, Mrs. Craven?"

"No, sir; I am timid about traveling."

"I was going to ask why you and my friend Craven didn't pull up stakes and go abroad for a time?"

"I am afraid I am getting too old to travel, Colonel Sharpley."

"Old! my dear madam? Why you're in the prime of life. If you are getting old, what shall I say about myself?"

"I suppose I am not quite venerable," said Mrs. Craven, smiling, "but I should shrink from the voyage."

"I may persuade her to go some time," said Mr. Craven, with a glance at his wife, "Just now it would be a little inconvenient for me to leave my business."

"I fancy this young man would like to go," said Sharpley, turning to Frank.

"Indeed I should," said Frank, eagerly. "There is nothing in the world I should like better."

"Come, I have an idea to propose," said Sharpley, as if it had struck him; "if you'll let him go with me, I will look after him, and at the end of three months, or any other period you may name, I will put him on board a steamer bound for New York. It will do him an immense deal of good."

Mrs. Craven was startled by the suddenness of the proposal.

"How could he come home alone?" she said.

"He couldn't leave the steamer till it reached New York, and I am sure he could find his way home from there, or you could meet him at the steamer."

"Oh, mother, let me go!" said Frank, all on fire with the idea.

"It would seem lonely without you, Frank."

"I would write twice—three times a week, and I should have ever so much to tell you after I got home."

"What do you think, Mr. Craven?" asked his wife, hesitatingly.

"I think it a very good plan, Mary, but, as you know, I don't wish to interfere with your management of Frank. If you say yes, I have no sort of objection."

Just at that moment Frank felt more kindly toward Mr. Craven than he had ever done before. He could not, of course, penetrate the treachery which he meditated.

"I hardly know what to say. Do you think there would be any danger?"

"I have great confidence in my friend, Colonel Sharpley. He is an experienced traveler—has been everywhere, as he has told you. I really wish I could go myself in the party."

This Frank did not wish, though he would prefer to go with Mr. Craven rather than stay at home.

"Would it not interrupt his studies?" asked his mother, as a final objection.

"Summer is near at hand, and he would have a vacation at any rate. He will probably study all the better after he returns."

"That I will," said Frank.

"Then, if you really think it best, I will consent," said Mrs. Craven.

Frank was so overjoyed that he jumped from his chair and threw his arms around his mother's neck. A flush of pleasure came to her cheek, and she felt repaid for the sacrifice she must make of Frank's society. She knew beforehand that her husband's company would not go far toward compensating that.

"I congratulate you, my young friend," said Colonel Sharpley (for we may as well address him by his stolen title), "upon the pleasure before you."

"I am very much obliged to you, sir, for being willing to take so much trouble on my account."

"No need of thanks on that score. The fact is, I shall enjoy the trip all the more in watching your enjoyment. I am rather blase myself, but it will be a treat to me to see what impressions foreign scenes make on you."

"How soon do you go, sir?" asked Frank, eagerly.

"Let me see; this is the fifth. I will engage passage for the nineteenth—that is, if you can get ready at such short notice."

"No fear of that," said Frank, confidently.

"He'll be on hand promptly, you may be sure," said Mr. Craven, smiling. "Really, Frank, we shall miss you very much."

"Thank you, sir," said Frank, feeling almost cordial to his step-father; "but it won't be long, and I shall write home regularly."

During the evening Frank kept Sharpley busy telling him about foreign parts. Mr. Craven listened, with a crafty smile, watching him as a spider does an entangled fly.

"He's trapped!" he said to himself

Poor Frank! How little could he read of the future!

CHAPTER XII.
TWO BOY FRIENDS.

"Going to Europe, Frank!" repeated his friend, Ben Cameron, in unbounded astonishment. "I can hardly believe it."

"I can hardly believe it myself; but it's true."

"How did it come about?"

"Colonel Sharpley, Mr. Craven's friend, is going, and offered to take me."

"Didn't Mr. Craven object?"

"No; why should he? He thought it was a good plan."

"And your mother?"

"She was a little afraid at first that something might happen to me; but, as Colonel Sharpley and Mr. Craven were in favor of it, she yielded."

"Well, Frank, all I can say is, that I wish I were in your shoes."

"I wish you were going with me, Ben. Wouldn't it be jolly?"

"Unfortunately, Frank, I wasn't born with a silver spoon in my mouth, like you. You are the son of rich parents, while my father is a poor carpenter, working by the day."

"I like you as much as if you were worth half a million, Ben."

"I know you do, Frank; but that doesn't give me the half-million. I must postpone going to Europe till I have earned money enough with my own hands."

"Don't be too sure of that, Ben."

"What do you mean, Frank?"

"I mean this, that when I am twenty-one I come into possession of about forty thousand dollars. Now, the interest on that is two thousand four hundred. I'll invite you to go abroad with me, and spend a year there. If the interest isn't enough to pay our expenses, I will take a few hundred dollars of the principal."

"That's a generous offer, Frank," said Ben; "but you don't consider that at that time I shall be a journeyman carpenter, very likely, while you will be a young gentleman, just graduated from college. You may not want such company then."

"My dear Ben," said Frank, laying his hand affectionately on the other's shoulder, "if you think I'm a snob or likely to become one, say so at once; but I hope you think better of me than to believe that I will ever be ashamed of my dearest friend, even if he is a journeyman carpenter. I should despise myself if I thought such a thing possible."

"Then I won't think so, Frank."

"That's right, Ben. We'll be friends for life, or, if we are not, it shall be your fault, not mine. But there's one favor I am going to ask of you."

"What is it?"

"That while I am gone you will call round often and see mother. She will miss me a great deal, for I have always been with her, and it will be a pleasure to her to see you, whom she knows to be my dearest friend, and talk with you about me. Will you go?"

"Certainly I will, Frank, if you think she would like to have me."

"I know she would. You see, Ben, though Mr. Craven and my mother get along well enough, I am sure she doesn't love him. He may be a fair sort of man, and I am bound to say that I have no fault to find with him, but I don't think she finds a great deal of pleasure in his society. Of course, Ben, you won't repeat this?"

"Certainly not."

"And you will call often?"

"Yes, Frank."

"I will tell mother so. Then I shall leave home with a light heart. Just think of it, Ben—it's now the sixth of the month, and on the nineteenth I sail. I wish it were to-morrow."

"It will soon be here, Frank."

"Yes, I know it. I am afraid I can't fix my mind on my studies much for the next week or so. I shall be thinking of Europe all the time."

Meanwhile, Mr. Craven and Colonel Sharpley, in the office of the former, were discussing the same subject.

"So we have succeeded, Craven," said Sharpley, taking out a cigar and beginning to smoke.

"Yes, you managed it quite cleverly."

"Neither Mrs. Craven nor the boy will suspect that you are particularly interested in getting him out of the country."

"No," said Craven, complacently; "I believe I scored a point in my favor with the boy by favoring the project. Had I opposed it, his mother would not have consented, and he knows it."

"Yes, that is well. It will avert suspicion hereafter. Now there is an important point to be considered. What funds are you going to place in my hands to start with?"

"How much shall you need?"

"Well, you must supply me with money at once to pay for tickets—say two hundred and fifty dollars, and a bill of exchange for a thousand dollars, to begin with. More can be sent afterward."

"I hope you won't be too extravagant, Sharpley," said Mr. Craven, a little uneasily.

"Extravagant! Why, zounds, man, two persons can't travel for nothing. Besides, the money doesn't come out of your purse; it comes out of the boy's fortune."

"If I draw too much, his mother, who is his guardian, will be startled."

"Then draw part from her funds. You have the control of those."

"I don't know as I have a right to."

"Pooh, man, get over your ridiculous scruples. I know your real reason. You look upon her money as yours, and don't like to part with any of it. But just consider, if things turn out as we expect, you will shortly get possession of the boy's forty thousand dollars, and can then pay yourself. Don't you see it?"

"Perhaps the boy may return in safety," suggested Craven. "In that case our plans are all dished."

"Don't be afraid of that," said Sharpley, with wicked significance. "I will take care of that."

"It shall be as you say, then," said Craven. "You shall have two hundred dollars for the purchase of tickets and a bill of exchange for a thousand."

"You may as well say three hundred, Craven, as there will be some extra preliminary expenses, and you had better give me the money now, as I am going up to the city this morning to procure tickets."

"Very well, three hundred let it be."

"And there's another point to be settled, a very important one, and we may as well settle it now."

"What is it?"

"How much am I to receive in case our plans work well?"

"How much?" repeated Craven, hesitatingly.

"Yes, how much?"

"Well, say two thousand dollars."

"Two thousand devils!" exclaimed Sharpley, indignantly. "Why, Craven, you must take me for a fool."

Mr. Craven hastily disclaimed this imputation.

"You expect me to do your dirty work for any such paltry sum as that! No! I don't sell myself so cheap."

"Two thousand dollars is a good deal of money."

"Not for such services as that, especially as it leaves you nineteen times as much. Craven, it won't do!"

"Say five thousand dollars, then!" said Craven, reluctantly.

"That's a little more like the figure, but it isn't enough."

"What will satisfy you, then?"

"Ten thousand."

"Ten thousand!" repeated Craven, in dismay.

"Yes, ten thousand," said Sharpley, firmly. "Not a cent less."

Mr. Craven expostulated, but his expostulations were all in vain. His companion felt that he had him in his power, and was not disposed to abate his demands. Finally the agreement was made.

"Shall it be in writing, Craven?" asked Sharpley, jocosely.

"No, no."

"I didn't know but you might want to bind me. When does the train leave for New York?"

"In an hour."

"Then I'll trouble you to look up three hundred dollars for me, and I'll take it."

By the ten o'clock train Colonel Sharpley was a passenger. Mr. Craven saw him off, and then returned thoughtfully to his office.

"It's a bold plan," thus he soliloquized; "but I think it will succeed. If it does, I shall no longer be dependent upon the will or caprice of my wife. I shall be my own master, and possessed of an abundant fortune.

"If only Sharpley and the boy could die together, it would be a great relief. While that man lives I shall not feel wholly safe. However, one at a time. Let the boy be got out of the way, and I will see what can be done for the other. The cards are in my favor, and if I play a crafty game, I shall win in the end."

CHAPTER XIII.
JONATHAN TARBOX, OF SQUASHBORO'.

A great steamer was plowing its way through the Atlantic waves. Fifteen hundred miles were traversed, and nearly the same remained to be crossed. The sea had been rough in consequence of a storm, and even now there was considerable motion. A few passengers were on deck, among them our young hero, who felt better in the open air than in the closer atmosphere below; besides, he admired the grandeur of the sea, spreading out on all sides of him, farther than his eyes could reach. He had got over his first sadness at parting with his mother, and he was now looking forward with the most eager anticipation to setting foot upon European soil.

He shared a state-room with Sharpley, but the latter spent little time in the boy's company. He had discovered some congenial company among the other passengers, and spent most of the time smoking with them or playing cards below. Frank did not miss him much, as he found plenty to engage his attention on board.

As he stood looking out on the wild waste of waters, trying to see if anywhere he could discover another vessel, he was aroused by the salutation:

"I say, you boy!"

Looking around, he saw a tall, thin man, dressed in a blue swallow-tail coat with brass buttons, a high standing dickey, and pants three or four inches too short in the legs. He was an admirable specimen of the Yankee—as he is represented on the stage—an exceptional specimen, though some of our foreign friends may regard him as the rule. It was not the first time Frank had seen him. Two or three times he had appeared at the table; but he had been stricken with seasickness, and for the greater part of the voyage thus far had remained in his state-room.

"Good morning, sir," said Frank, politely. "You have been seasick, haven't you?"

"Seasick! I guess I have," returned the other, energetically. "I thought I was goin' to kick the bucket more'n once."

"It is not a very agreeable feeling," said Frank.

"I guess not. If I'd known what kind of a time I was a-goin' to have, I wouldn't have left Squashboro', you bet!"

"Are you from Squashboro'?" asked Frank, amused.

"Yes, I'm from Squashboro', State of Maine, and I wish I was there just now, I tell you."

"You won't feel so when you get on the other side," said Frank, consolingly.

"Well, may be not; but I tell you, boy, it feels kinder risky bein' out here on the mill-pond with nothin' but a plank between you and drownin'. I guess I wouldn't make a very good sailor."

"Are you going to travel much?" asked Frank.

"Wal, you see, I go mostly on business. My name's Jonathan Tarbox. My father's name is Elnathan Tarbox. He's got a nice farm in Squashboro', next to old Deacon Perkins'. Was you ever in Squashboro'?"

"No; I think not."

"It's a thrivin' place, is Squashboro'. Wal, now, I guess you are wonderin' what sets me out to go to Europe, ain't you?"

"I suppose you want to see the country, Mr. Tarbox."

"Ef that was all, you wouldn't catch me goin' over and spendin' a heap of money, all for nothin'. That ain't business."

"Then I suppose you go on business?"

"I guess I do. You see I've invented a new plow, that, I guess, is goin' to take the shine off of any other that's in use, and it kinder struck me that ef I should take it to the Paris Exhibition, I might, may be, make somethin' out of it. I've heerd that they're a good deal behind in farm tools in the old European countries, and I guess I'll open their eyes a little with my plow."

"I hope you'll succeed, Mr. Tarbox," said Frank, politely.

"I guess I shall. You see, I've risked considerable money onto it—that is, in travelin' expenses and such like. You see, my Uncle Abner—he wasn't my real uncle, that is, by blood, but he was the husband of my Aunt Matilda, my mother's oldest sister—didn't have no children of his own, so he left me two thousand dollars in his will."

Mr. Tarbox paused in order to see what effect the mention of this great inheritance would have upon his auditor.

"Indeed you were lucky, Mr. Tarbox," said Frank.

"I guess I felt tickled when I heard of it. I jist kicked like a two-year-old colt. Wal, now, dad wanted me to buy a thirty-acre farm that was for sale about half a mile from his'n, but I wouldn't. I'd about fetched my plow out right, and I wa'n't goin' to settle down on no two-thousand-dollar farm. Catch me! No; I heerd of this Paris Exhibition, and I vowed I'd come out here and see what could be did. So here I am. I ain't sorry I cum, though I was about sick enough to die. Thought I should a-turned inside out one night when the vessel was goin' every which way."

"I was sick myself that night," said Frank.

Mr. Tarbox having now communicated all his own business, naturally felt a degree of curiosity about that of his young companion.

"Are you goin' to the Paris Exhibition?" he asked.

"I suppose so. It depends upon Colonel Sharpley."

"The man you're travelin' with? Yes; I saw him at the table—tall man, black hair, and slim, ain't he?"

"Yes, sir."

"So he's a colonel, is he?"

"Yes."

"Did he fight in any of our wars?"

"No, he's an Englishman."

"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Tarbox, with a slight contempt in his voice. "He wouldn't be no match for an American officer."

"I don't know," said Frank.

"Wal, I do—the Yankees always could whip any other nation, not but the colonel seems a respectable man, though he's a foreigner."

"It is we who will be foreigners when we get to England," said Frank.

This aroused the controversial spirit of Mr. Tarbox.

"Do you mean to say that you and me will turn to furriners?" he asked, indignantly.

"We shall be foreigners in England."

"No, we won't," said Jonathan, energetically. "At any rate, I won't. I shall always be a free-born American citizen, and a free-born American citizen can't be a furriner."

"Not in America, Mr. Tarbox, but in England, I am saying."

"A free-born American citizen ain't a furriner anywhere," said Mr. Tarbox, emphatically.

Frank was amused, but felt it wise to discontinue the discussion.

"Are you goin' to Europe on business?" inquired the other.

"No, only for pleasure."

"Sho! I guess you must have a considerable pile of money!" suggested Mr. Tarbox, inquiringly.

"I have a little money," said Frank, modestly.

"Left you?"

"Yes, by my father."

"Wal, so you're in luck, too. Is the colonel related to you?"

"No. He is a friend of my step-father."

"Sho! So your mother married again. How long are you going to stay on the other side?"

"Only three or four months, I think."

"Do you know how much they ask for board in Paris?" asked Jonathan, with considerable interest.

"No, Mr. Tarbox, I have no idea. I suppose it's according to what kind of rooms and board you take."

"Wal, you see, Mr.—what did you say your name was?"

"Hunter."

"I once knowed a Hunter—I think he was took up for stealing."

"I don't think he was any relation of mine, Mr. Tarbox."

"Likely not. What was I a-goin' to say? Oh, Mr. Hunter, I ain't very particular about my fodder. I don't mind havin' baked beans half the time—pork and beans—and you know them are cheap."

"So I've heard."

"And as to a room, I don't mind it's bein' fixed up with fiddle-de-dee work and sich. Ef it's only comfortable—that'll suit me."

"Then I think you'll be able to get along cheap, Mr. Tarbox."

"That's what I calc'late. Likely I'll see you over there. What's that bell for?"

"Lunch."

"Let's go down. Fact is, I've been so tarnal sea-sick I'm empty as a well-bucket dried in the sun. I guess I can eat to-day."

They went down to the saloon, and Mr. Tarbox's prophecy was verified. He shoveled in the food with great energy, and did considerable toward making up for past deficiencies. Frank looked on amused. He was rather inclined to like his countryman, though he acknowledged him to be very deficient in polish and refinements.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE LONDON CLERK.

Jonathan Tarbox seemed to have taken a fancy to our hero, for immediately after lunch he followed him on deck.

"I want to show you a drawin' of my plow, Mr. Hunter," he said.

"I should like to see it, Mr. Tarbox, but I am no judge of such things."

Mr. Tarbox drew a paper from his coat-pocket containing a sketch of his invention. He entered into a voluble explanation of it, to which Frank listened good-naturedly, though without much comprehension.

"Do you think it'll work?" asked the inventor.

"I should think it might. Mr. Tarbox, but then I don't know much about such things."

"I don't believe they've got anything in Europe that'll come up to it," said Mr. Tarbox, complacently. "Ef I can get it introduced into England and France, it'll pay me handsome."

"Have you shown it to any Englishman yet?"

"No, I haven't. I don't know any."

"There are some on board this steamer."

"Are there? Where?"

"There's one."

Frank pointed out a young man with weak eyes and auburn hair, a London clerk, who visited the United States on a business errand, and was now returning. He was at this moment standing on deck, with his arms folded, looking out to sea.

"I guess I'll go and speak to him," said Mr. Tarbox. "May be he can help me introduce my plow in London."

Frank watched with some amusement the interview between Mr. Tarbox and the London clerk, which he shrewdly suspected was not likely to lead to any satisfactory results.

Mr. Tarbox approached the Englishman from behind, and unceremoniously slapped him on the back.

The clerk whirled round suddenly and surveyed Mr. Tarbox with mingled surprise and indignation.

"What did you say?" he inquired.

"How are you, old hoss?"

"Do you mean to call me a 'oss?"