THE TIN BOX

and What it Contained

By Horatio Alger, Jr.

A. L. Burt Company, Publishers

New York

CONTENTS

THE TIN BOX

CHAPTER I — A COLLISION

“Have you finished breakfast already, Harry?” asked Mrs. Gilbert, as Harry rose hurriedly from the table and reached for his hat, which hung on a nail especially appropriated to it.

“Yes, mother. I don’t want to be late for the store. Saturday is always a busy day.”

“It is a long day for you, Harry. You have to stay till nine o’clock in the evening.”

“I am always glad to have Saturday come, for then I can get my money,” replied Harry, laughing. “Well, good-by, mother—I’m off.”

“What should I do without him?” said Mrs. Gilbert to herself, as Harry dashed out of the yard on the way to Mead’s grocery store, where he had been employed for six months.

That would have been a difficult question to answer. Mrs. Gilbert was the widow of a sea captain, who had sailed from the port of Boston three years before, and never since been heard of.

It was supposed that the vessel was lost with all hands, but how the disaster occurred, or when, was a mystery that seemed never likely to be solved.

Captain Gilbert had left no property except the small cottage, which was mortgaged for half its value, and a small sum of money in the savings bank, which, by this time, was all expended for the necessaries of life.

Fortunately for the widow, about the time this sum gave out Harry obtained a situation at Mead’s grocery store, with a salary of four dollars a week. This he regularly paid to his mother, and, with the little she herself was able to earn, they lived comfortably. It was hard work for Harry, but he enjoyed it, for he was an active boy, and it was a source of great satisfaction to him that he was able to help his mother so materially.

He was now fifteen years old, about the average height for a boy of that age, with a strong frame and a bright, cheerful manner that made him a general favorite.

The part of his duty which he liked best was to drive the store wagon for the delivery of goods to customers. Most boys of his age like to drive a horse, and Harry was no exception to the rule.

When he reached the store Mr. Mead, his employer, said:

“Harness up the horse as soon as you can, Harry. There are some goods to be carried out.”

“All right, sir,” answered Harry, cheerfully, and made his way to the stable, which stood in the rear of the store. It was but a few minutes before he was loaded up and was on his way.

He had called at several places and left the greater part of the goods, when he found himself in a narrow road, scarcely wider than a lane. Why it had been made so narrow was unaccountable, for there was certainly land enough to be had, and that of little value, which could have been used. It was probably owing to a want of foresight on the part of the road commissioners.

Just at the narrowest part of the road Harry saw approaching him an open buggy of rather a pretentious character, driven by a schoolmate, Philip Ross, the son of Colonel Ross, a wealthy resident of the village.

I have said that Philip was, or rather had been, a schoolmate of Harry. I cannot call him a friend. Philip was of a haughty, arrogant temper. The horse and buggy he drove were his own—that is, they had been given him by his father on his last birthday—and he was proud of them, not without some reason, for the buggy was a handsome one, and the horse was spirited and of fine appearance.

As soon as Harry saw Philip approaching, he proceeded to turn his horse to one side of the road.

Philip, however, made no such move, but kept in the middle.

“Isn’t he going to turn out?” thought Harry. “How does he expect to get by?”

“Why don’t you turn out, Philip?” he called out.

“Turn out yourself!” retorted Philip, haughtily.

“That’s what I’m doing,” said Harry, rather provoked.

“Then turn out more!” said the young gentleman, arrogantly.

“I have turned out my share,” said Harry, stopping his horse. “Do you expect to keep right on in the middle of the road?”

“I shall if I choose,” said Philip, unpleasantly; but he, too, reined up his horse, so that the two teams stood facing each other.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, and asked, temperately:

“Then how do you expect to get by?”

“I want you to turn out as far as you can,” he said authoritatively.

Harry was provoked, and not without reason.

“I have turned out my share, and shan’t turn out another inch,” he said, firmly. “You must be a fool to expect it.”

“Do you mean to call me a fool?” demanded Philip, his eyes flashing.

“You certainly act like one.”

“You’d better take care how you talk, you beggar!” exclaimed Philip, furiously.

“I’m no more a beggar than you are, Philip Ross!”

“Well, you are nothing but a working boy, at any rate.”

“What if I am?” replied Harry. “I’ve got just as much right on this road as you.”

“I’m a gentleman,” asserted Philip, angrily.

“Well, you don’t act like one; you’d better turn out pretty quick, for I am in a hurry and can’t wait.”

“Then turn out more.”

“I shan’t do it,” said Harry, with spirit; “and no one but you would be unreasonable enough to ask me to do it.”

“Then you’ll have to wait,” said Philip, settling himself back provokingly in his seat, and eyeing Harry with a look of disdain.

“Come, don’t be obstinate, Philip,” urged Harry, impatiently. “I only ask you to do your share of turning. We have equal rights here, even if you were three times the gentleman you pretend to be.”

“You are insolent, Harry Gilbert. I don’t take orders from such as you.”

“Then you won’t turn out?” asked Harry, gathering up his reins.

“Suppose I don’t?” retorted Philip, in a provoking tone.

“Then I shall drive on,” said Harry, resolutely.

“You wouldn’t dare to!”

“Wouldn’t I? You’ll see. I will count ten, and if at the end of that time you don’t turn out, I will drive on, and make you take the consequences.”

Philip glanced at him doubtfully. Would he really do what he said?

“Pooh! I don’t believe it!” he decided. “Anyway, I’m not going to give way to a working boy. I won’t do it.”

I am not going to decide the question whether Harry did right or not. I can only say that he claimed no more than his rights, and was not without excuse for the course he adopted.

“One—two—three!” counted Harry, and so on until he had counted ten.

Then, gathering up his reins, he said: “I ask you, Philip, for the last time, whether you will turn out?”

“I won’t till I get ready.”

“Go ’long, Dobbin!” was Harry’s sole reply. And his horse was put in motion.

The natural result followed. The grocery wagon was strongly made, and fitted for rough usage. The buggy was of light structure, built for speed, and was no match for it. The two carriages locked wheels. That of the wagon was unharmed, but the wheel of the buggy came off.

The horse darted forward. Philip was thrown out at the side, aiming an ineffectual blow with his whip at Harry, as he found himself going, and landed in a half stunned condition on the grass at the side.

Harry kept on until his wagon was clear of the wreck of the buggy, and then halting it, jumped oft to find the extent of Philip’s injuries.

The latter’s horse, which had by a violent jerk freed himself from the shafts, was galloping up the road.

CHAPTER II — SIGNS OF A TEMPEST

“Are you hurt, Philip?” asked Harry, anxiously, as he bent over the prostrate form of his antagonist.

As he opened his eyes and saw the face of Harry bending over him, all came back to him, and his animosity revived.

“Get away from me!” he exclaimed furiously, as he staggered to his feet.

“I certainly will, if you don’t need help,” said Harry, glad that Philip had suffered no harm.

“Where is my horse?” demanded Philip.

“He has run away.”

“And it’s all your fault!” exclaimed Philip, angrily. “My buggy’s broken, too, and all because you ran into me, you beggar!”

“I wouldn’t allow you to call me names if you hadn’t been punished already for your unreasonable conduct,” said Harry, calmly. “Whatever has happened you brought upon yourself.”

“Catch my horse!” ordered Philip, with the air of a master addressing a servant.

“I’ve got something else to do,” said Harry, coolly, and he sprang into the store wagon.

“Are you going to drive off and leave me here?” demanded Philip, enraged.

“I must, for my time isn’t my own. It belongs to Mr. Mead. I would help you otherwise—though you are to blame for what has happened.”

“You will suffer for this!” exclaimed the rich man’s son, gazing at his broken buggy in helpless anger. “You’ll have to pay for all the damage you have done!”

“You can go to law about it, if you want to,” said Harry, as he gathered the reins into his hands, and he drove off. “I’ve a good defense.”

To Philip’s disgust, Harry drove off, leaving him alone with his disabled carriage. It was a good time to consider whether he had acted wisely in demanding more than the law or custom allowed him, but Philip was too angry for cool consideration.

He could not persuade himself that a boy like Harry, the son of a poor widow, who had to work for his own living, had equal rights with himself.

In the end he had to go home and bring back his father’s hired man to take charge of the wreck. He learned that the frightened horse had already found his way to the stable, terrifying the family with fears that Philip had been seriously hurt on the way.

Philip gave a garbled account of the affair to his father and mother, and excited the indignation of both, but especially his mother.

“I never heard of such an outrage—never!” exclaimed Mrs. Ross, emphatically. “To think that boy should deliberately run into you and endanger your life—my poor Philip!”

“That’s just what he did, mother,” said Philip, enjoying the indignation he had aroused.

Colonel Ross was not quite so thoroughly convinced that his son was right.

“Did you give Harry half the road?” he inquired.

“I gave him room enough to get by,” answered Philip, evasively.

“The law requires that you should give him half the road.”

“I hope, Mr. Ross, you don’t justify that horrid boy in running into Philip?” said Mrs. Ross, sharply.

“No, my dear; I consider that he acted very badly. But, in order to make him amenable to the law for the damage Philip’s team suffered, it must appear that Philip gave him half the road.”

“Then the law ought to be altered,” said Mrs. Ross, with more anger than reason. “I’ve no doubt that Philip gave him all the room he needed.”

“When you were thrown out, did the heartless boy ride on and leave you to your fate?” asked the mother.

“No; he got out and asked me if I was hurt,” Philip admitted, reluctantly.

“Much he cared!” said Mrs. Ross, contemptuously.

“I suppose he was afraid he would be put in prison if I was killed,” said Philip.

“Yes, that was his motive, undoubtedly. He didn’t offer to help you, I suppose?”

“No; I asked him to, and he wouldn’t,” answered Philip, glad that he could blacken poor Harry’s character.

“The unfeeling young villain!” ejaculated Mrs. Ross. “He ought to be put in the State’s prison!”

“Do you think he can be?” asked Philip, eagerly.

“Of course he can, if your father exerts himself as he ought.”

“Nonsense, Lucinda!” said Colonel Ross, who was not a fool. “It was a boyish misunderstanding.”

“You may call it that,” retorted Mrs. Ross, raising her voice. “I call it a high-handed outrage. The boy ought to be arrested. Are you going to do anything about it, Philander Ross?”

Mrs. Ross generally addressed her husband by his Christian name when she was angry with him.

“I will tell you what I will do, Lucinda. I will see Mead, and tell him that a boy who acts in that way is not fit to drive for him.”

“That’s right, father. Make him discharge Harry. Then he’ll have to go to the poorhouse, or beg.”

“And a very suitable punishment for him,” said Mrs. Ross, approvingly.

“I don’t quite like to take the boy’s means of living away from him,” said Colonel Ross, who was by no means as unfeeling as his wife and son. “That would make his mother suffer, and she has been guilty of no crime.”

“She will uphold him in his iniquity, you may rest assured, Mr. Ross,” said his wife, nodding emphatically. “If she had brought up the boy to be respectful to his superiors this would not have happened.”

“He won’t be able to pay damages if he loses his place,” said Colonel Ross.

“I don’t care. I want him discharged from his situation.”

“Well, Lucinda,” said her husband, shrugging his shoulders, “you had better undertake the management of the affair. I am very busy, and can’t spare the necessary time.”

“I will!” said Mrs. Ross, with alacrity. “I will call on the boy’s mother, and also on Mr. Mead.”

“Don’t be too extreme, Lucinda. Remember, it isn’t a hanging matter.”

“I am not so sure but it ought to be. My poor child might have broken his neck. Oh, it makes my blood run cold when I think that he might be lying lifeless before me at this moment.”

“Don’t say such things, mother,” said Philip, nervously, unpleasantly affected by the picture his mother had drawn.

“I can’t help saying it, for it might have happened.”

“Where are you going to first, mother?” asked Philip.

“I will go first and call on Widow Gilbert. I consider her responsible, for if she had brought up the boy better this would never have happened.”

“May I go with you?”

“No; I would rather go alone.”

If Philip had only been scarred, or had a wound to show, his mother would have taken him with her, to make her reproof more effective, but, as he showed no marks of the encounter, she saw no advantage in his presence.

“You just give it to her, mother,” said Philip, in a tone of satisfaction.

“I shall know what to say, my son.”

“Just frighten her, and make her think we are going to have Harry arrested.”

“I shall make her understand that the boy has done a very serious thing, and has made himself amenable to the law.”

“That’s right, mother. Harry is too airy altogether. He seems to think that I am no better than he is—a common working boy like him!”

Mrs. Ross sailed out of the room, and dressed herself with unusual care, not out of respect for Mrs. Gilbert, but rather with the purpose of impressing her with her grandeur.

CHAPTER III — MRS. ROSS MAKES TWO UNSATISFACTORY VISITS

It was very seldom that Mrs. Ross condescended to visit her poorer neighbors, and it was, therefore, not without considerable surprise that Mrs. Gilbert called to the door about eleven o’clock, just as she had put on the potatoes to boil for dinner—recognized in the visitor on the doorstep Mrs. Colonel Ross.

“Pray come in, Mrs. Ross. I am glad to see you,” said the widow.

“I will come in for five minutes,” said Mrs. Ross, carefully gathering up her skirts, lest they should be soiled as she entered the humble cottage. She need not have been alarmed, for there was not a cleaner house in the village.

Mrs. Gilbert brought forward the most comfortable chair in her little sitting-room, and the visitor seated herself.

“I am come on an unpleasant errand, Mrs. Gilbert,” she commenced, frigidly.

“Unpleasant!” repeated the widow, with quick apprehension. “Has anything happened to my boy—to Harry?”

Improbable as it seemed that in such an event Mrs. Ross should be the messenger of ill tidings, it occurred to Mrs. Gilbert that she had come to inform her of an accident to Harry.

The visitor’s lips curled. What did it matter, she thought, whether anything happened to him or not?

“Something has happened to my boy!” she said, with emphasis.

“I am very sorry,” said the widow, with quick sympathy. “I hope he is not hurt.”

“He might have had his neck broken,” said Mrs. Ross; “and by your son,” she added, spitefully.

“They haven’t been fighting, have they?” asked Mrs. Gilbert, nervously.

“No; but your son deliberately and maliciously, while driving Mr. Mead’s store wagon, drove into my son’s light buggy, damaged it seriously, and my poor Philip was thrown out. Your son drove off, leaving him insensible by the roadside.”

It will be perceived that Mrs. Ross had somewhat embellished the story, with the intention of producing a greater effect.

“Was Philip much hurt?” asked the widow, anxiously.

“He providentially escaped any serious injury, so far as we know. He may have suffered some internal injuries.”

“I am sorry to hear that there has been any difficulty,” said the widow, regaining her composure when she learned that neither of the two boys were hurt; “but I cannot accept your account. Harry is quite incapable of deliberately and maliciously running into Philip.”

“I regret that you uphold your son in his wickedness,” said Mrs. Ross, coldly; “but I am not surprised. I told my husband before I set out that you would probably do so.”

“Mrs. Ross,” said the widow, in a dignified tone, “I have known my boy for fifteen years, and watched him carefully, and I tell you positively that he wouldn’t do what you have charged upon him.”

“Do you question my statement?” demanded Mrs. Ross, haughtily.

“Did you witness the encounter?”

“No; but my son, who is the soul of truth, told me all the circumstances.”

“Your son was probably angry with Harry, and could not be depended upon to give an impartial statement.”

“Slander him as much as you please,” said the visitor, angrily. “I have acquainted you with your son’s outrageous conduct, and this is all I proposed. Of course we shall expect you or your son to pay for the damage done to the buggy, and he will be fortunate if we do not have him arrested for assault and battery.”

Mrs. Gilbert did not look as much terrified as Mrs. Ross expected.

“I am very poor, as you know,” she replied; “but if Harry is really to blame for what has happened, I will do all that I can to repair the injury.”

“I am glad to see that you are talking more sensibly.”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” said the widow. “I have not heard Harry’s statement yet. From what I know of him, I presume that Philip was more in fault than he. Of course, in that case, I shall not feel called upon to pay anything.”

“Of course!” sneered Mrs. Ross; “your son will throw all the blame on my poor boy. Fortunately, we have laws; and it will be the law that must decide this matter. It isn’t for you to decide whether you will pay or not.”

This was meant as a threat, but Mrs. Gilbert answered, calmly:

“You won’t need to invoke the law, if you have a just claim.”

Mrs. Ross rose, for there seemed no more to say. She was considerably disappointed with the result of her mission. She supposed, as a matter of course, that the widow would defend her son; but she had not supposed that she would receive so calmly her threats of having recourse to the law.

Indeed, she had expected that the widow would beg and plead for mercy, and appear panic-stricken. As it was, she felt that she was retiring from the contest decidedly worsted. She would not leave without one parting shot.

“I regret, Mrs. Gilbert,” she said, seriously, “that you defend your son in this high-handed outrage. I had thought better of you. I knew you were poor, and I sympathized with you. Now I feel obliged to say that you will only have yourself to blame for the steps I am about to take.”

The widow bowed, but did not gratify Mrs. Ross by inquiring what those steps were.

It was very provoking, certainly.

“I shall call on Mr. Mead, and insist on his discharging your son.”

Knowing what a serious blow this would be, Mrs. Gilbert did look troubled for a moment, and her visitor sailed away, with a slight feeling of satisfaction, in the direction of the grocery store.

Meanwhile Harry, on his return to the store, had reported the accident, and submitted to a close cross-examination on the part of the storekeeper.

“Do you think I am to blame, Mr. Mead?” asked Harry.

“No; I don’t see how you could do otherwise than you did. Young Ross is a disagreeable young puppy; but his family trades with me, and I don’t like to offend them. Still, I shall not blame you.”

It will be seen that Mr. Mead was a just man, though a politic one.

“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, relieved.

“I am sorry this has occurred.”

“So am I, sir; but if I hadn’t done as I did I should have been there now, for Philip was determined not to budge.”

“Well, we must smooth it over as well as we can. I presume that I shall have a call from Colonel Ross or his wife. I hope it will be the colonel, for he won’t be so unreasonable as his lady.”

It so happened that the first person whom Mrs. Ross saw when she entered the grocery store was Harry.

Her eyes flashed with resentment as they fell upon the persecutor of her poor boy, but she would not waste any words upon him.

“Where is Mr. Mead?” she asked.

“I will call him, madam,” answered Harry, politely.

Mr. Mead came forward, and Mrs. Ross rehearsed her story, in terms which the reader can imagine for himself.

“I think you misapprehend the matter, Mrs. Ross,” said the storekeeper, politely. “Your son maintained his position in the middle of the road and required Harry to do all the turning out. Of course you are aware that the law will not sustain any one in this.”

“Who told you that my son did not turn out?” asked Mrs. Ross, hastily.

“Harry himself.”

“And do you credit his story?” demanded Mrs. Ross, with a sneer.

“I have always found him to be a boy of truth.”

“I believe he has wilfully deceived you. I believe he ran into my boy with the intention of injuring him,” said Mrs. Ross, violently.

Harry was about to speak up, when a young man who was standing by saved him the trouble.

“I was there, Mr. Mead, and heard the whole,” he said, “though neither of the boys saw me. I was in the piece to the left, behind the hedge. Phil Ross wouldn’t turn out a mite, and Harry had to do as he did. When Phil was thrown out Harry got down from his team and went to see if he was hurt.”

Mrs. Ross listened, pale with anger.

“I don’t believe a word of it!” she said angrily. “That man is in a conspiracy with the Gilbert boy against my poor darling. I demand that you discharge Harry Gilbert from your employment!”

“I am sorry to disoblige you, Mrs. Ross, but it would be unjust,” said Mr. Mead.

“Then we shall buy our groceries elsewhere!” said Mrs. Ross, spitefully tossing her head.

“I shall be sorry to lose your custom, but I see no good reason for discharging Harry.”

Angrily Mrs. Ross left the store, a second time mortified at her want of success.

“I am sorry, Mr. Mead, that you are likely to lose trade on my account,” said Harry, with sincere regret.

Mr. Mead smiled.

“If Mrs. Ross leaves me she will have to go five miles for her groceries,” he said quietly. “We shall have them back again before long.”

CHAPTER IV — HARRY LOSES HIS PLACE, AFTER ALL

Mrs. Ross carried out her threat, and transferred her trade to a grocery in the neighboring village, but not without considerable inconvenience.

Her pride compelled her to the course, notwithstanding the extra trouble she incurred, and this, also, she laid up against Harry. Her husband was opposed to any change, not being so spiteful as his wife, but allowed her to have her way.

Meanwhile Mr. Mead, though he regretted to lose a good customer, did not show any signs of financial weakness, and there seemed to be no prospect of his failing.

Had he done so Mrs. Ross would have been overjoyed, for she was very angry at all who upheld “that low Gilbert boy,” as she designated him.

It is said that all things come to him who waits, and circumstances were shaping themselves in a very gratifying way to Mrs. Ross and her schemes of revenge.

One day as Harry was driving the store wagon which bore the name of his employer he was hailed, about a mile from the store, by a boy about his own age, who carried in his hand a carpetbag, and appeared to be making a journey on foot.

“Hello!” said the traveler.

“Hello!” returned Harry.

“Are you working for my uncle?” asked the stranger.

“I can tell you better when I find out who your uncle is. If you are the nephew of General Grant, or the czar of Russia, I am not working for him.”

“I see you like to joke,” said the stranger. “My uncle is Mr. Mead, the storekeeper.”

“That is the name of the man I work for.”

“Then I guess you had better give me a lift, for I am going to my uncle’s.”

“All right! Glad to have your company.”

“What’s your name?” asked the stranger.

“Harry Gilbert. What’s yours?”

“Howard Randall.”

“Where do you live?”

“I used to live at Upton, but my father is dead, and mother—she’s Mrs. Mead’s sister—told me I’d better come to see if Uncle Reuben wouldn’t give me a place in his store.”

Instantly it flashed upon Harry that this new boy’s arrival was likely to endanger his prospects. Mr. Mead, as he knew, had no occasion for the services of two boys, and he would naturally give his nephew the preference. He was not unjust enough to take a dislike to Howard in consequence. Indeed, the new boy had a pleasant face and manner, which led him to think he would like him for a friend.

“If I do lose my place,” thought Harry, “I will put my trust in God. I don’t think He will see me or mother suffer, and I won’t borrow trouble until it comes.”

“Were you ever employed in a store?” he asked, pleasantly.

“No; that is, not regularly. I have been in our grocery store at home for a few days at a time, when the storekeeper’s son was sick.”

“You look as if you were about my age.”

“I am sixteen. My birthday came last month.”

“Then you are a little older. I am not sixteen yet.”

“You look stronger than I. I should think you were older.”

Harry felt flattered. All boys like to be considered strong and large for their age, and our hero was no exception to the general rule in this respect.

“I don’t know about that,” he answered. “I guess we are a pretty good match. How far off is Upton?”

“Fifty miles.”

“You haven’t walked all the way, have you?” inquired Harry, in surprise.

“Every step,” said Howard, proudly. “You see, money isn’t very plenty with us, and I told mother I didn’t mind walking. I got a lift for a few miles the first day, so I haven’t walked quite all the way.”

“You and I seem to be situated pretty much the same way,” said Harry. “I have no father, and we have hard work to get along.”

“You seem like a tiptop fellow. I think I shall like you.”

“The same to you,” said Harry, smiling. “I am glad you are coming to Greenville to live.”

Harry was sincere enough in his words, so far as his impressions about the boy went, but when he reflected that through him he was likely to lose his place he felt a little troubled.

“Look here!” said Howard, suddenly; “will you lose your place if uncle takes me into his store?”

“I don’t think he will need two boys,” replied Harry, soberly.

“Then I’d better see if I can’t find a place somewhere else. I don’t want to take away your place, if you are poor and need the money uncle pays you.”

“I do need it, but I guess something else will turn up for me. You are Mr. Mead’s nephew, and ought to have it.”

“I hope we shall be friends, at any rate,” said Howard, warmly.

“I am sure we shall, Howard,” returned Harry, cordially, who felt attracted toward his new friend, in spite of the misfortune which his arrival would bring to him personally.

Just then, within a quarter of a mile of the store, Harry saw his young enemy, Philip Ross, approaching him.

Philip was driving his buggy, which had been repaired since the accident.

“I wonder if he will turn out for me?” thought Harry.

Philip had learned wisdom from experience, and did turn out for the store wagon. He knew Harry’s firmness too well to put it to the test a second time at his own expense.

“Good-morning, Philip,” said Harry, in his usual manner.

Philip did not notice Harry’s salutation, but held his head very high, while his face reddened and his lip curled as he drove by his late antagonist.

“Who is that boy?” asked Howard, whose attention was drawn to Philip’s singular conduct.

“Philip Ross, son of Colonel Ross, a rich man in town.”

“Is he deaf?”

“No.”

“He didn’t seem to hear you say good-morning.”

“Oh, yes, he did,” answered Harry, laughing; “but Philip isn’t very fond of me.”

“Are you enemies?”

“We had a little difficulty lately, and Philip hasn’t got over it yet.”

“Tell me about it.”

Harry told the story, and Howard fully sustained him in what he had done.

“He must be a mean boy.”

“He thinks he has more rights than common folks, such as he considers me. He tried—or, at least, his mother did—to have Mr. Mead turn me off, but your uncle is too just a man to go against me for doing my duty.”

“I noticed he gave you half the road this time,” said Howard.

“Yes,” answered Harry, with a smile. “He doesn’t care to have his wheel taken off again.”

By this time they had reached the store, and Howard introduced himself to his uncle. The next day the blow fell.

“Harry,” said Mr. Mead, “I’ve got bad news for you. My nephew stands in need of a place, and I can’t afford to keep two boys. I wish I could keep you, too.”

“I see how it is, Mr. Mead,” said Harry, calmly, though his heart sank within him. “Howard has the best right to the place. I trust something will turn up for me.”

“I have been perfectly satisfied with you, and am ready to give you the highest recommendation for honesty and fidelity.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mead.”

“You will stay till Saturday night, of course, unless something else should offer before that.”

Poor Harry! His heart sank within him as he thought of the serious difference which the loss of his wages would make at home. The prospect of another situation was not very good, for Greenville was a small, quiet place, with very few places of business.

CHAPTER V — LOOKING FOR WORK

Harry shrank from telling his mother that he was about to lose his place, but he knew it must be done.

In the evening, when he got home from the store, he seemed so restless that his mother asked him what was the matter with him.

“This is my last week at the store, mother,” he answered, soberly. “I suppose that is what makes me feel nervous.”

“Has Mr. Mead been induced by Mrs. Ross to turn you away?” asked Mrs. Gilbert, beginning to feel indignant.

“No; he isn’t that kind of a man.”

“Isn’t he satisfied with you?”

“I ought to have told you at first that a nephew of his own needs the place, and he can’t afford to employ two boys.”

“I believe Mrs. Ross is at the bottom of it, after all,” said Mrs. Gilbert.

“No, mother; there you are wrong,” and Harry went on to explain that Howard’s appearance was a surprise to his uncle.

“What kind of a boy is he?” asked the widow, disposed to dislike in advance the boy who had been the means of depriving her son of a place.

“He’s a nice fellow. I like him already. Of course I am sorry to lose my place, but, if I must, I am willing he should have it. I think we shall be good friends.”

“But what are you going to do, Harry?” asked his mother, anxiously. “Your wages have been our dependence.”

“I am sure I shall get something else to do, mother,” said Harry, in a tone of confidence which he did not feel. “Tending store isn’t the only thing to be done.”

“I am sure, I hope so,” said Mrs. Gilbert, despondently.

“Don’t trouble yourself, mother, about the future. Just leave it to me, and you’ll see if I don’t get something to do.”

Nevertheless, the widow could not help troubling herself. She knew that employment was hard to find in the village, at any rate and could not conjecture where Harry was to find it. She did not, however, say much on the subject, fearing to depress his spirits.

Saturday night came, and Harry received his wages.

“I don’t know where my next week’s wages are coming from, Mr. Mead,” he said, soberly.

“You may be sure that I will recommend you for any employment I hear of, Harry,” said Mr. Mead, earnestly. “I really wish I could afford to keep you on. You mustn’t allow yourself to be discouraged.”

“I won’t—if I can help it,” answered Harry.