Cover art

BUDD BOYD'S TRIUMPH;

OR,

THE BOY-FIRM OF FOX ISLAND.

By WILLIAM PENDLETON CHIPMAN,

Author of

"Roy Gilbert's Search," "The Mill-Boy of the Genesee,"
"The Black Forge Mills," etc., etc.

ILLUSTRATED.

NEW YORK:

A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.

COPYRIGHT 1890, BY A. L. BURT.

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CONTENTS

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BUDD BOYD'S TRIUMPH.

[CHAPTER I.--BUDD SEEKS EMPLOYMENT.]

It was a raw, cold, day in the month of March. Since early morning the clouds had been gathering, and they now hung dark and heavy over both land and sea. The wind, too, which had for hours been steadily increasing in violence, now blew little short of a gale. It evidently was going to be a terrible night, and that night was near at hand.

No one realized this more than the young lad, who, with a small bundle in one hand and a stout staff in the other, was walking rapidly along the highway that runs near the west shore of Narragansett Bay. He was a lad that would have attracted attention anywhere. Tall for his age, which could not have been far from sixteen years, he was also of good proportions, and walked with an ease and stride which suggested reserved strength and muscular development.

But it was the lad's face that was the most noticeable. Frank, open, of singular beauty in feature and outline, there were also upon it unmistakable evidences of intelligence, resoluteness, and honesty of purpose. A close observer might also have detected traces of suffering or of sorrow on it--possibly of some great burden hard to bear.

The lad was none too warmly clad for the chilly air and piercing wind, and now and then drew his light overcoat about him as though even his rapid walking did not make him entirely comfortable. He also looked eagerly ahead, like one who was watching for some signs of his destination. He drew a sigh of relief as he reached the foot of a steep hill, and said aloud:

"I must be near the place, now. They said it was at the top of the first long hill I came to, and this must be the hill."

As he spoke he quickened his pace to a run, and soon reached the summit, quite out of breath, but with a genial warmth in his body that he had not experienced for some hours.

Pausing now a moment to catch his breath, he looked about him. Dim as was the light of the fast-falling evening, he could not help giving an exclamation of delight at the vision he beheld. To the north and west of him he saw the twinkling lights of several villages through which he had already passed. To the east of him was the bay, its tossing waves capped with white, its islands like so many dark gems on the bosom of the angry waters. To the south there was first a stretch of land, and then the broad expanse of the well-nigh boundless ocean.

"It must be a beautiful place to live, and I hope to find a home here," he remarked, as he resumed his journey.

A few rods farther on he came to a farm-house, and turned up to its nearest door. As he was about to knock, a man came from the barn-yard, a little distance away, and accosted him:

"Good-evening!"

"Good-evening!" responded the lad.

Then he asked:

"Is this Mr. Benton?"

"No; I'm Mr. Wright," answered the man, pleasantly. "Benton lives on the next farm. You will have to turn into the next gateway and go down the lane, as his house stands some distance from the road."

"I was told," explained the lad, "that he wished to hire help, and I hoped to get work there. Could you tell me what the prospect is?"

The man had now reached the boy's side, and was looking him over with evident curiosity.

"Well," he replied, slowly, "I think he wants to get a young fellow for the coming season, and hadn't hired anyone the last I knew. But I guess you must be a stranger in these parts."

"Yes," the lad answered, briefly; and then thanking the man for his information he turned away.

"I thought so," the man called after him, "else you wouldn't want to go there to work."

The boy scarcely gave heed to the remark then; but it was not long before he knew by hard experience the meaning of it.

A quarter of a mile farther on he reached a gate, and passing through it, he hastened down the narrow lane till he came to a long, low, dilapidated house; but in the darkness, which had by this time fallen, he was not able to form any definite idea of his surroundings.

A feeble light came forth from a back window, and guided by this, he found the rear door of the building. To his knock there was a chorus of responses. Dogs barked, children screamed, and above the din a gruff voice shouted:

"Come in!"

A little disconcerted by the unusual sounds, the lad, instead of obeying the invitation, knocked again. Then there was a heavy step across the floor, the door swung open with a jerk, and a tall, raw-boned man, shaggy-bearded and shock-haired, stood on the threshold.

Eying the lad for a moment in surprise, he asked, somewhat surlily:

"What do you want, youngster?"

"Are you Mr. Benton?" the lad asked.

"Yes; what of it?" the man answered, sharply.

"I was told you wanted help, and I have called to see about it," explained the boy.

"Come in, then," said the man, and his tones were wonderfully modified.

The lad now obeyed, and found himself in a large room, evidently the kitchen and living-room all in one. There was no carpet on the floor, and a stove, a table and a half-dozen chairs constituted its furniture.

Two large dogs lay before the fire, growling sullenly. A woman and four small children were seated at the table. An empty chair and an unemptied plate showed that Mr. Benton had been eating when he was called to the door.

There was food enough upon the table, but its disorderly arrangement, and the hap-hazard way in which each child was helping itself, caused the lad to give an involuntary shudder as his host invited him to sit down "an' take a bite while they talked over business together."

Mr. Benton evidently meant to give his caller a most flattering impression of his hospitality, for he heaped the lad's plate with cold pork, brown bread, and vegetables, and even called on his wife to get some of that "apple sass" for the young stranger.

The boy was hungry, and the food was, after all, wholesome, and he stowed away a quantity that surprised himself, if not his host. When supper was eaten, Mr. Benton pushed back his chair and abruptly asked his guest:

"Who are ye?"

"Budd Boyd," promptly answered the lad.

"That's a kinder cur'us name, now ain't it?" questioned Mr. Benton. "I dunno any Boyds round here. Where be ye from?"

"I came from Massachusetts," replied Budd, with the air of one who had studied his answer; but it seemed for some reason to be very satisfactory to his questioner.

"Any parents?" next inquired Mr. Benton.

"My mother is dead, and my father is not keeping house now. I'm to look out for myself," said the lad, somewhat hesitatingly.

"I guess ye ain't used to farm work, be ye?" now inquired Mr. Benton, doubtingly, and looking at Budd's hands, which were as white and soft as a lady's.

"No, sir; but I'm willing to learn," said the lad.

"Of course ye can't expect much in the way of wages," remarked Mr. Benton, cautiously.

"No, not until I can do my full share of work," said Budd, indifferently.

A light gleamed for a moment in Mr. Benton's eyes.

"I might give ye ten dollars a month an' board, beginnin' the fust of the month, ye to work round for yer board till then," he ventured.

"Very well," responded the lad; and immediately after he added:

"I've walked a good ways to-day, and if you don't mind, I'll go to my room."

"Purhaps we'd better draw up a paper of agreement, an' both of us sign it," suggested Mr. Benton, rubbing his hands vigorously together, as though well pleased with himself and everybody else.

"All right, if that is your custom," said Budd. "Draw up the paper, and I'll sign it."

After considerable effort, Mr. Benton produced the following document:

On this 20 day of March Budd Boyd, a miner of Mass., agres to work for me, John Benton. He's to begin work April fust, an' work 6 munths, at 10 dollers an' bord. He's to work til the fust for his bord. If he quits work before his time is up he's to have no pay. To this I agree.

JOHN BENTON, on his part.

Budd read the paper, and could scarcely suppress a smile as he signed his name under Mr. Benton's, and in imitation of him, added the words "on his part" after the signature. He knew, however much importance Mr. Benton might attach to it, that as a legal document it had no special force. He simply set the whole act down as one of the whims of his employer, and gave no more thought to the matter. But it was destined to serve that gentleman's purpose, nevertheless, until taken forcibly from him.

Mr. Benton now showed Budd up to a back room on the second floor, and telling him that he would call him early in the morning, bade him good-night.

The room the lad had entered was bare and cold. A single chair, a narrow bedstead, a rude rack on the wall to hang his garments upon, were all it contained. Yet it was evidently with some satisfaction that the lad opened his bundle, hung up the few clothes it held, and prepared for bed. As he drew the quilts over himself he murmured:

"I don't think I ever had more uncomfortable quarters in my life, and the outlook for the next six months, at least, is far from encouraging. Still, I would not go back to what I have left behind for anything."

He was tired. The rain that was now falling heavily upon the roof just over his head acted as a sedative and lulled him to sleep. But his was not an unbroken rest, for at times he tossed to and fro, and muttered strange sentences. One was, "Father never did it; how could they treat him so?" Another, "I can never face them again; no, never!" Still another, "Thank Heaven, mother never lived to know the worst!" After that the troubled sleeper must have had pleasanter dreams, for he murmured the words, "Mother; father; a home at last!" From these, however, he was rudely awakened by a gruff call:

"Budd! Budd! get up and come out to the barn."

Dazed, bewildered, he arose, and groped about in the darkness for his clothing. By the time he was dressed a full consciousness of his situation had come back to him, and with a stout heart he went out, to begin what was to him equally new duties and a new life.

[CHAPTER II.--A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING.]

It was still dark, and the rain fell in torrents as Budd opened the kitchen door and ran hastily out to the barn, where Mrs. Benton, who was making preparations for breakfast, had told him he would find her husband. He noticed the kitchen time-piece as he passed through the room, and knew it was not yet four o'clock. Early rising was evidently one of the things to be expected in his new home.

Reaching the barn quite drenched, Budd found Mr. Benton engaged in feeding a dozen or more gaunt and ill-kept cows, who seized the musty hay thrown down to them with an avidity that suggested, on their part, a scarcity of rations. The same untidiness that marked the house was to be seen about the barn also, which, if anything, was in a more dilapidated condition than the former.

"Good-morning, Mr. Benton. What can I do to assist you?" asked Budd, pleasantly, as soon as he entered the barn.

"Hum! I don't suppose ye can milk?" was the rather ungracious response.

"No, sir; but I'm willing to learn," replied Budd, good-naturedly.

"Well, I'll see 'bout that after awhile. I suppose ye might as well begin now as any time. But fust git up on that mow an' throw down more hay. These pesky critters eat more'n their necks are wuth," said Mr. Benton, kicking savagely at a cow that was reaching out for the wad of hay he was carrying by her.

Budd obeyed with alacrity; and when that job was finished it was followed by others, including the milking, wherein the lad proved an apt scholar, until nearly six o'clock, when Mrs. Benton's shrill voice summoned them to breakfast. That meal, possibly on account of Budd's want of the good appetite he had had the night before, seemed to him greatly inferior to his supper. The coffee was bitter and sweetened with molasses, the johnny-cakes were burnt, and the meat and vegetables were cold. He did his best to eat heartily of the unsavory food, however--partly that he might not seem to his employer over-fastidious in taste, and partly because the morning's work had taught him that he should need all the strength he could obtain ere his day's task was over. Stormy though it was, he felt sure Mr. Benton would find enough for him to do.

In fact, long before the first of April came, Budd realized fully the force of the words Mr. Wright had shouted after him the night he stopped there to inquire the way to Mr. Benton's. Had he really known his employer and family, he certainly would not have been over-anxious to have hired out to him for the season; for the dilapidated condition of the buildings and the untidiness and disorder that marked everything about the place were not, after all, the worst features with which Budd had to deal. He soon found that his employer was a hard, cruel, grasping tyrant, while his wife was a complete termagant, scolding and fault-finding incessantly from morning until night. There was not an animal on the place that escaped the abuse of the master, and not even the master himself escaped the tirades of the mistress.

Budd, by faithfully performing every task assigned him, and thus frequently doing twice over what a lad of his age should have been expected to do, tried to win the approval of both Mr. Benton and his wife. He soon found this impossible, and so contented himself with doing what he felt to be right, and cheerfully bore the scoldings that soon became an hourly occurrence.

It was indeed astonishing with what good nature the lad bore both the work and the abuse put upon him. Mr. Benton attributed it to the paper he had asked the boy to sign, and chuckled to himself at the thought that Budd's fear of losing his wages kept him so industrious and docile. He confidentially admitted to his wife, one day, that the lad was worth twice what he had agreed to pay him; "only I ain't paid him nothin' as yit," he added, with a knowing look, which his wife seemed to understand, for she replied:

"Now ye are up to another of yer capers, John Benton. There never was a man on the earth meaner than ye are!"

But Mr. Wright, who knew his neighbors well, could in no way account for the lad's willingness to endure what he knew he must be enduring, and finally his curiosity got the better of him; for, meeting Budd one day as he was returning from the nearest village, he drew up his horses and said:

"Budd, do you know you are the profoundest example of human patience I ever saw?"

"No; is that so?" replied Budd, with a laugh. "What makes you think so?"

"Well," remarked Mr. Wright, leaning on his wagon-seat and looking down into the smiling countenance before him, "I have lived here beside John Benton and his wife ten years, and know them well enough to be sure that an angel direct from Heaven couldn't long stand their abuse; and yet you have actually been there four weeks, and are still as cheerful as a lark on one of these beautiful spring mornings. Will you just explain to me how you manage to stand it?"

While he was speaking a far-away look had come into the lad's eyes, and a shudder shook his robust frame as though he saw something very disagreeable to himself; but he answered, quietly enough:

"Mr. Wright, there are some things in this world harder to bear than either work or abuse, and I prefer even to live with John Benton's family than to go back to the life I have left behind me."

With these words Budd started up his oxen and went on, leaving Mr. Wright to resume his journey more mystified than ever.

On the first day of May Budd asked Mr. Benton for the previous month's pay.

They were at work putting in corn, and the lad's request took his employer so by surprise that his hoe-handle dropped from his grasp.

"Me pay ye now!" he exclaimed. "What are ye thinkin' of?"

Then, as though another idea had come to his mind, he said, persuasively:

"Ye don't need no money, an' 'twill be better to have yer pay all in a bunch. Jes' think how much 'twill be--sixty dollers, an' all yer own."

"But I have a special use for the money," persisted Budd; "and as I have earned it, I should think you might give it to me."

He spoke all the more emphatically because he knew that Mr. Benton had quite a sum of money by him, and that he could easily pay him if he chose to do so.

For reply, Mr. Benton put his hand into his pocket, and taking out his wallet, opened it. From it he then took the paper of agreement that Budd and he had signed. This he slowly spelled out, and when he had finished, asked:

"Does this here paper say anythin' 'bout my payin' ye every munth?"

"No, sir," Budd reluctantly admitted.

"But it does say, if ye quit yer work 'fore yer time is up ye are to have no pay, doesn't it?" inquired the man, significantly.

"Yes, sir," the lad replied, now realizing how mean and contemptible his employer was, and what had been his real object in drawing up that paper.

"Well, how can I know ye are goin' to stay with me yer whole time till it's up?" he asked, with a show of triumph in his tones.

"Do you mean to say you don't intend to pay me anything until October?" asked Budd, indignantly.

"That's the agreement," replied Mr. Benton, coolly, returning the paper to his wallet and placing it in his pocket. "If ye'll keep yer part, I'll keep mine."

He now picked up his hoe and resumed his work.

For the first time since he came to the farm Budd felt an impulse to leave his employer. It was with great difficulty indeed that he refrained from throwing down his hoe, going to the house after his few effects, and quitting the place forever. But he did, and went resolutely on with his work. Fortunate for him was it, though he did not know it then, that he did so. Later on, he could see that the ruling of his spirit that day won for him, if not a city, certainly the happiest results, though severe trials stood between him and their consummation.

That night, at as early an hour as possible, Budd sought his little room. Closing the door carefully after him, he walked over to the rude rack on the wall and took down his light overcoat. From an inside pocket he took a long wallet, and from the wallet a postal card. Addressing it with a pencil to "N. B. Johnson, Esq., No. 127 Sumner Street, Boston, Mass.," he wrote rapidly and in tiniest characters, on the reverse side, without giving place or date, the following words:

DEAR SIR:--I promised you last March to send you some money each month until the total amount remaining due to you was paid. I have secured work at a small compensation, but find, through a misunderstanding with my employer, that I am not to have my pay until the six months for which I have hired out are ended. At that time you may expect a remittance from me. I am very sorry to make this change in my original plans, but cannot help it, and trust you will be satisfied with this arrangement. Truly yours,

BUDD BOYD.

It was several days later, however, before Budd had an opportunity to go up to the neighboring village. When he did go, he took care not to drop the postal into the post-office, but handed it directly to a mail agent upon a passing train. His reason for this act could not be easily misunderstood. Evidently he did not care that the Mr. Johnson to whom he had written should know his exact whereabouts. But his precaution was unnecessary, for before the summer months had fairly come he was to see Mr. Johnson under circumstances most trying to himself.

[CHAPTER III.--AGAINST WIND AND TIDE.]

Not a great distance north of the farm of Mr. Benton, and stretching some distance along the shore of the bay, there is a singular formation of sand and rocks known as "The Hummocks." A small cove lies south and west of the formation, while the main bay stretches out to its widest extent from the east. The only point, then, where "The Hummocks" touch the main-land is at the north; and even this point of contact is so narrow as to simply furnish a roadway down onto "The Hummocks" themselves.

Of these hummocks, for there are but two, the northern one is much the smaller, embracing perhaps an acre of rough soil, covered with a stunted grass, and dotted here and there with red cedars. The southern one, on the other hand, covered like its smaller mate with a scanty vegetation and scattered trees, broadens out so as to nearly land-lock the cove behind it, and causes its waters to rush in or out, according to the tide, through an exceedingly contracted passage-way at its extreme southern end, popularly called "the narrows." The point of contact of the southern with the northern hummock, like the northern hummock with the main-land, is also very narrow; and to its narrowness is added another feature: it is so low, or in more technical language it is so nearly on a level with the high-water mark, that when there happens to be a strong wind from either the northeast or the southeast, the waters of the bay, on the incoming tide, will rush with great force over the slight barrier and mingle with the waters of the cove, making an island, for the time, of the larger and more southern hummock.

Perhaps half or three-quarters of a mile off shore, and a little to the northeast of these hummocks, there is an island of an irregular shape, and a few acres in extent, that bears the name of Fox Island. The name has belonged to it since Colonial days, but the reason therefor is unknown, unless at some remote period some solitary animal of that specific genus which gives the island its title may have there made its home.

This island had in later years, however, a more illustrious if not less solitary inhabitant. A gentleman of some means, tired of society, or for some reason at enmity with it, crossed over from the main-land, erected a small house, dug a well, set out trees, planted a garden, and built a wharf--in fact set up thereon a complete habitation. Not long, however, did he endure his self-imposed solitude. Scarcely were his arrangements completed when an unfortunate accident caused his death, and the island and its improvements were left to be the home of the sea-fowls or the temporary abode of some passing fisherman.

This extended description has been given here because it is essential that the reader should form some definite idea of the island and its relation to "The Hummocks," for on and about them no small portion of our young hero's summer was destined to be spent.

Mr. Benton owned what is termed "a shore privilege" on the lower half of the southern hummock, and the peculiar situation of that rocky formation to the bay made it a valuable one, for heavy winds from any eastern or southern quarter brought onto the beach there immense quantities of sea-weed, so highly prized by the farmer as a fertilizer.

During the fall and winter months previous to Budd's coming to the farm, owing to the repeated storms there had been landed on "The Hummocks" so large and unusual an amount of this weed that Mr. Benton had contented himself with simply gathering it into a huge pile on the summit thereof, above high-water mark, intending to remove it to the farm in the spring. So it fell to Budd's lot to cart from the heap to the farm as the weed was needed, and one day near the middle of May found him engaged in this work.

It was a cloudy, threatening day. The wind was from the southeast, and blew with a freshness that promised a severe storm before the day was over. Perhaps it was on this account that Mr. Benton had directed the lad to engage in this particular work. He was himself obliged to be off on business, and this was a job at which Budd could work alone, and the weather was hardly propitious for any other undertaking. So immediately after breakfast Budd yoked the oxen to the cart and started for his first load.

"There ain't over four loads more down there, an' if ye work spry ye can git it all up by nite," Mr. Benton shouted after him as he drove off.

The distance to "The Hummocks" from the farm was such that with the slow-walking oxen one load for each half-day had been regarded as a sufficient task. But Budd knew he had an early start, and he determined to do his best to bring all the weed home that day. He therefore quickened the pace of the oxen, and before nine o'clock had made his first return to the farm. Unloading with haste, he immediately started back for his second load. When he crossed from the north to the south hummock he noticed the incoming tide was nearly across the roadway, but thought little of it.

On examining the heap of weed, he became convinced that by loading heavily he could carry what remained at two loads. He therefore pitched away until in his judgment half of the heap was upon his cart. It made a tremendous load; but the oxen were stout, and bending their necks to the yoke, they at Budd's command started slowly off.

As he approached the narrow passage-way he noticed the tide had gained rapidly, and was now sweeping over it with considerable force and depth. Jumping upon the tongue of the cart, he urged his oxen through the tossing waves. To his consternation the water came well up around the oxen's backs, and had he not quickly scrambled to the top of his load he would have got thoroughly drenched.

The cattle, however, raised their noses as high as possible and plunged bravely through the flood, and soon emerged on the other side with their load unharmed. The rest of the journey home was made without difficulty, and Budd at dinner-time had the satisfaction of knowing that two-thirds of his appointed work was already accomplished.

Mr. Benton had not yet arrived home, and hurrying through dinner, the lad hastened off for his third and last load, hoping to get back to the farm with it before his employer came. Hardly had he started, however, when it began to rain, and as he passed down onto the first hummock the wind was blowing with a velocity that made it almost impossible for the oxen to stand before it.

Slowly, however, the passage across the first hummock was made, and Budd approached the narrow roadway leading to the other; then he stopped the oxen in sheer amazement. In front of him was a strip of surging and tossing water of uncertain depth, and he instinctively felt that there was a grave risk in attempting to push through to the other side. But he was anxious to secure his load. He had passed through safely enough before, and he resolved to attempt the crossing now, counting on nothing worse than a severe drenching.

This was a grave mistake, and Budd would have realized it had he only stopped to think that there was quite a difference between his situation now and when he had made his successful crossing before dinner. Then he had a loaded cart, the wind and tide were both in his favor, and the water had not reached either its present depth or expanse. Now his cart was empty, a significant and important fact; the wind was blowing with greater force and directly against him; while the tide, as he would have seen had he watched it closely, had now turned, and was rushing back from the cove and out into the open bay with a strength almost irresistible.

But unmindful of these things, Budd bade his oxen go on; and though they at first shrunk from entering the angry waters, he plied the stinging blows of the lash until they began the passage. For a rod they went steadily on, though the waves dashed over their backs and rushed into the cart, wetting Budd to the knees. Then there came suddenly a huge billow, rolling outward, that lifted the cart and oxen from the road-bed and swept them out into the bay.

Budd plied the stinging blows of the lash until suddenly a huge billow lifted the cart and oxen from the road-bed and swept them into the bay.

The moment Budd realized that the cart was afloat and the oxen were swimming for their lives, his impulse was not to save himself, but the unfortunate beasts that through his rashness had been brought into danger. Springing, therefore, between them, he caught hold of the yoke with one hand, and with the other wrenched out the iron pin that fastened it to the tongue, and thus freed them from the cart. In the effort, however, he lost his hold upon the yoke, and the next minute found himself left alone, struggling with the angry billows.

He was now forced to look out for himself, and could not watch the fate of the oxen, even had he had an inclination to do so. Indeed, with his water-soaked clothing, which greatly impeded his efforts, there was already a serious question whether he would be able to reach the shore, good swimmer though he was. With a strength born from the very sense of the danger that overwhelmed him he turned his face toward the fast receding shore and swam manfully for it. For a time he seemed to be gaining, but both wind and tide were against him, and his strength was soon exhausted. Slowly he felt himself sinking. Already the waves were dashing over his head. He made one spasmodic effort to regain the surface; then he had a faint consciousness of being caught by a huge billow and hurled against some hard object, and all was blank.

[CHAPTER IV.--A NEW FRIEND.]

How long Budd remained unconscious he never exactly knew. It must have been some hours, however, for when he recovered sufficiently to look about him it was night; at least a darkness almost thick enough to be felt was all around him. He could hear the wind whistling fiercely above his head, yet he felt it not. He could hear the sound of dashing waves but faintly, as though some distance away. He was evidently lying upon a hard board or floor; yet to it there was a gentle, undulating motion, like that of a boat in some sheltered harbor, or drawn, bow up, onto a sandy beach.

With difficulty he sat up. His clothes were heavy with water, and he was stiff and numb from cold and exposure. He put out his right hand, and it rested upon a short board partition; he stretched out his left hand, and it touched a similar one, about the same distance away. Then he knew he was in the body of his ox-cart, which had in some way become detached from its wheels. It must have been this into which he had been providentially thrown just as he had lost consciousness. But where was the cart-body?

Certainly it was no longer tossed about by the angry waters of the bay. Where, then, had it landed? He rose up, and his head came so forcibly in contact with a heavy planking that he was thrown off his feet. Rubbing the bruised spot tenderly, he crept along to the side of the cart-bed and put out his hand as far as possible; but it touched nothing. Slowly stepping ever the side, he found himself standing in a few inches of water. Walking directly ahead a few steps, he came up against a solid wall, that extended either way farther than he could reach.

He now knew that he was under some wharf, where the waves had tossed the cart-bed. This accounted for the planking above his head, for his hearing the whistling wind without feeling it, for the sound of the dashing of the waves at such a distance from him, and for the heavy darkness settled around. But what wharf was it? Which way should he go to find the opening by which he had entered?

He straightened himself up and looked steadily first in one and then in an opposite direction. He soon became convinced that to the left he could see a little more clearly than to the right, and that it was from that direction that came what little air he could feel stirring. In that direction, then, he determined to go.

As he advanced the water deepened, and the roof became more elevated. Not only could he now stand erect, but the planking was higher above his head than he could reach. Soon the stone wall ceased, and wooden piles heavily boarded took its place. Now he saw a light space just ahead; the wind fanned his cheek; the opening was not far off; but the water was up to his neck, and he must swim for it. A few strokes, and he was in the open air. It was very dark, yet not with the intenseness he had experienced under the wharf. The wind and the rain beat fiercely upon him. Unless some house were near, he had better return under the dock for shelter and wait for morning.

With the little strength that remained to him he drew himself up onto the wharf and looked anxiously about him. As he looked, a great hope sprung up within his heart. Not far away, and gleaming brightly through the thick darkness, was a light. With a hoarse cry of exultation he staggered to his feet and went toward it. Brief as the walk was, it exhausted him. He was afraid that he would not reach the house from whose window he now knew the light shone forth, and in his despair he shouted:

"Help! Help!"

The next instant the door of the building swung open, letting out a flood of light upon the exhausted lad, and a voice asked:

"Who are you? Where are you?"

"Here!" answered Budd, feebly, stretching out his hands toward the stranger, who sprung forward and caught him just as he was falling helplessly at his feet.

The stranger was a youth no older nor larger than Budd himself; but he showed that he possessed enormous strength by lifting his helpless companion in his arms and carrying him into the house.

Closing the door against the storm, he went to work upon Budd with a directness and skill that showed he knew just what to do for an exhausted person. The wet clothing was stripped off; the numbed and chilled body was rubbed until the blood began to circulate freely through it; dry clothing and a warm blanket were then wrapped about the recovering lad, and he was laid upon a rude pallet of straw before the rusty stove, in which, however, a good fire was burning. Nor did the young stranger's attention to his unexpected guest end here. From some unseen quarter he brought forth a tin cup, and filled it with hot coffee from a pot on the stove. Milk and sugar were also fished out of their hiding-places and added to the beverage; then the whole was put to Budd's lips, with the simple comment:

"There; drink that down, and I'll warrant you'll be kicking round here as lively as a kitten, in a few minutes."

Budd drained the offered cup, and then said, gratefully:

"I don't know how I shall ever repay you for your kindness to me. I was pretty near used up, I declare."

The young host took the cup from his guest without a word and refilled it. Sipping this slowly off himself, he eyed his visitor until he had finished it; then he asked, abruptly:

"Will you tell me how you came here, Budd Boyd?"

"Where am I? Who are you?" asked Budd, surprised that the lad had called him by name, and sure that he had never seen him before.

The boy-host gave a comical shrug of his shoulders, and with a flourishing gesture answered:

"I am Judd Floyd, at your service. This is Fox Island, where I have for the present taken up my solitary abode, and am monarch of all I survey. But how came you here in all this tempest? Did you see my light streaming far across the watery deep, and attempt to walk over? Hanged if I wouldn't think so, from the looks of your clothes!"

Weak as he was, Budd could not help laughing at the serio-comic air of his companion, but as briefly as possible he related his adventure.

"'Twas a close shave, now, wasn't it?" Judd said, with a shrill whistle, as Budd concluded. "I don't want to try that sail, at least on that kind of a craft, such a night as this, you bet. Lucky for you I was here, else you might have perished from sheer exhaustion before morning."

Budd at once admitted this; then he asked:

"But how is it that you knew me? And how long have you been here?"

"Oh! I've seen you up at the village with Benton's ox-team, and inquired your name. I couldn't help remembering it, for it sounds much like my own. Yours is Budd Boyd, and mine is Judd Floyd. Guess we must be sort of second-rate twins," said the irrepressible Judd with a comical grin; and indeed the lads, in size, figure and features, were not unlike.

"How long have I been here?" he went on.

"Just a week to-night, by actual count. You see, I have lived, as far back as I can remember, in an old shanty just out of the village. Pop got drunk as a steady business, and ma took in washing and ironing to keep our souls and bodies together. I know now I didn't help her as much as I ought, but she would keep me in school, and I did try to help her, out of school hours. But last winter she got rather tired of this world, and went where I trust she has peace and rest. She deserves them, for she never had them here;" and the lad tried to keep back the tears that would gather in his eyes.

"Well, after her death pop carried on worse than ever, and so the town authorities sent him up to the State Farm for a six-month term as an habitual drunkard. Then the same worthy individuals that disposed of him talked of putting me on the Poor Farm down there on Quidnessett Neck; but I had a slight objection to the arrangement, and the next morning I was among the missing.

"I'd been over here before, and knew there was an old stove, a chair or two, and some other odd pieces of furniture in the house; so I packed up a few necessary traps at the shanty, stowed them aboard pop's old boat, and came over here by night. Here, too, I've remained in undisputed possession ever since."

"How do you live?" asked Budd, with a good deal of curiosity.

"Oh! that's easy enough," said Judd, with a laugh. "I catch fish and dig clams. Some I eat; the rest I sell. That enables me to purchase what groceries and provisions I may want. I was over to the village and made some purchases early this morning. By and by, when the watering-places open up, I can get odd jobs enough. I shall fare as well as I have ever done, I assure you. I'm no pauper--not if I know myself. By the way, won't you have something to eat?"

Without waiting for Budd to answer, he drew up before the fire a large box. On this he spread a cloth; then he brought out some cold ham, some fresh bread, butter, cookies, poured out another cup of coffee, and remarked:

"I've eaten supper already, but help yourself. There's more, when this is gone."

Budd accepted his host's hospitality and made out a comfortable meal.

Then Judd said:

"I'm sorry I've no bed for you to sleep on. That old pallet is all I brought over, but you are welcome to that. I'll roll up in a blanket and sleep on the floor. It won't be the first time I've done it;" and soon both boys were sound asleep.

The next morning Budd felt quite like himself; but the storm still raged, and he was obliged to remain quietly with his new friend. Toward noon, however, the force of the tempest was spent, and Judd announced his willingness to take the anxious lad over to the main-land after dinner.

So not far from one o'clock they embarked in Judd's boat, and a half-hour later landed safely on "The Hummocks." Budd could find no trace of either the oxen or the missing wheels of the cart, and with a heavy heart he started off for Mr. Benton's.

As Judd parted with him he remarked:

"I say, Budd, I wouldn't be in your shoes for a good deal. There is no knowing what old Benton will do to you for losing his cart and oxen. You'd better go back to the island with me, and let him think you are dead."

"No," said Budd. "My duty is to go to him and tell him the whole story, let the consequences be what they may, and I shall do it."

"I always did admire pluck," replied Judd, in undisguised admiration, "and you have it. I'd rather take your sail of last night than go back and face the old tyrant. Only, if he kicks you off of the farm, remember you are welcome to go pards with me on the island. It's better than no place to lay your head."

Thanking him for the invitation, which he knew was as genuine as it was rough, Budd turned away and walked slowly along the roadway leading to Mr. Benton's, wondering greatly what that cruel and grasping man would really say and do when he learned of the serious loss he had sustained. Doubtless the fact that he had been so long away had led Mr. Benton to believe that he had perished. Would not his providential deliverance from a watery grave awaken such feelings of gratitude, even in that stony heart, that the pecuniary loss he had experienced would be forgotten by the avaricious man? Budd hoped so; and yet it was with terrible misgivings he went bravely on, to meet whatever fate might be in store for him.

[CHAPTER V.--MR. BENTON'S WRATH.]

As Budd drew near to the farm of Mr. Wright he was greatly tempted to go in and talk over with him the unfortunate predicament into which his adventure had brought him; but he was saved that trouble, for as he got opposite that gentleman's residence he came out and hailed the lad.

"Hello, Budd!" he exclaimed. "You have, then, survived last night's storm. We are glad to know it, for we had given you up for lost."

His words re-assured Budd's troubled spirit somewhat, for he now knew that he had been missed, and possibly searched for. Anxious, therefore, to know just how his absence had been regarded, he went forward to meet Mr. Wright, saying:

"Yes, I pulled through, though at one time I did not expect to do so. What did you think had become of me and my team?"

"Oh, when night came and you didn't return home, Benton thought you probably had got shut onto the lower hummock by the tide, and would be around all right in a few hours, so he said nothing to any of us about your prolonged absence; but this morning, when the oxen arrived home without you or the cart, he was a little frightened, and came directly over here for me and my man to go with him to look you up. As we went along down to 'The Hummocks' we made inquiries about you, but could not ascertain that you had been seen since one o'clock yesterday, when you were on your downward trip for seaweed. Arriving at 'The Hummocks,' we carefully searched them from one end to the other, but found no trace of you or the cart, though we came across a sheltered spot, back of a clump of trees, where the oxen had evidently stayed all night. The sea-weed we saw had not been taken, and so we knew that you hadn't got across to the lower hummock. There was but one inference--that the wind and tide had carried you out to sea.

"'Benton,' says I, 'the oxen, cart and lad were all taken off the roadway by some huge billow, and the first thing the lad thought of was to free the oxen, and they got ashore; but the cart and boy have gone no one knows where. Just as likely as not they are lying out there under the tossing waves. I guess we'd better go up the shore a piece, however, and see if we can find anything of them.' So we went up the coast as far as the village, but saw nothing of you, and could find no one that had. Finally we gave up the search and came home. Tell me, though, how you escaped?"

Budd related in substance the story already familiar to the reader--not, however, without frequent interruptions from Mr. Wright, who seemed anxious to know more of the details, and also repeatedly declared it was the most marvelous escape he ever heard of. At length Mr. Wright seemed satisfied, and Budd was permitted to ask the question he cared most of all to ask:

"How did Mr. Benton seem to feel when he came to the conclusion that I and the cart had been swept out to sea?"

"Well, to tell you the truth," replied Mr. Wright, bluntly, "he seemed to care a good deal more for the loss of the cart than he did for you. He danced around there on the beach, cursing what he called your folly, and telling how much the cart had cost him only last fall. I at last got tired of his talking, and told him you were of more account than all the carts that had been made since the world began, and that if he had a spark of decency about him he would shut his mouth. I suggested, also, that you would never have been lost if he hadn't set you to drawing sea-weed on a day that he was old enough and experienced enough to know it wasn't a safe thing to do in that particular locality, and that I wasn't sure but he could be held accountable to the law for your death. That scared him, so he came right off home, and was as dumb as a beast all the way."

"What do you think he'll do when he finds I'm alive, but the cart is lost?" asked Budd, a little anxiously, it must be confessed.

"Well, he ought not to say or do anything," answered Mr. Wright, with a little show of indignation in his tones. "The body of the cart can be towed back to 'The Hummocks,' and it is possible that the wheels and under-gear may yet turn up. But even if they are not recovered, what does the loss amount to compared with your safety? Still I have already learned that you can never know what John Benton may do, and I guess I had better be somewhere around when you tell him your story. You go on over and face the music, and I'll follow along in time to interfere if there is any serious trouble between you."

Thanking Mr. Wright for his kind offer, Budd, with a much lighter heart than he had had for twenty-four hours, went on toward home. He went directly into the house, on arriving there, and almost frightened Mrs. Benton to death by his sudden and unexpected appearance. He succeeded in convincing her, however, that it was really he, and that he had providentially been saved. Nor could he help noticing that she seemed greatly relieved in mind to find that he was really alive and unharmed; and taking encouragement from that fact, he went off to the barn, where he had learned Mr. Benton was.

The farmer was down upon his knees on the threshing-floor mending a horse-cultivator when the lad entered and said:

"Well, Mr. Benton, I'm back at last, and ready to report for my prolonged absence."

At his words Mr. Benton leaped to his feet, and for a moment seemed not to know what to say. It was very evident that he had never expected to see the boy again. Taking advantage of his embarrassment, Budd went on:

"I'm glad, too, to learn that the oxen reached home unharmed. I did my best to save them, though I nearly lost my own life doing so."

Before he could say more Mr. Benton broke angrily in upon him:

"But ye lost the cart, ye little rascal, an' I gin twenty-five dollers fer it at auction only las' fall; an' I'd like to know who's goin' to pay me fer that?"

"I can, if it is necessary," replied Budd, swelling with indignation; "but before I do it I shall want some one else's opinion about it other than your own. Though I may have been a little rash in undertaking to cross the roadbed while the tide was so high, I am in no other sense to blame, and I would like to see anyone else do better than I did under the circumstances;" and Budd rapidly described the trying ordeal through which he had passed.

"Hum!" remarked Mr. Benton, sneeringly, as the lad finished his story. "Ye were sca't to death at a little runnin' water. If ye'd stayed in the cart an' let the oxen alone, they'd have fetched ye an' the cart out all rite. 'Twas all yer own fault."

Budd's cheeks burned with resentment.

"It was not," he emphatically declared.

"Don't ye tell me I lie!" said Mr. Benton, savagely, picking up one of the handles of the cultivator that had been detached from the machine and lay upon the barn-floor near him.

"I am sure the oxen would have drowned had I not freed them from the cart," answered Budd, firmly, "and any reasonable person would tell you the same thing."

"Take that, ye young whelp!" cried Mr. Benton, raising the cultivator-handle and bringing it down with a force sufficient to have killed the boy had it hit him.

Fortunately for Budd he saw the stick coming, and jumped quickly to one side. The force of the blow fell upon the barn-floor; but Mr. Benton immediately recovered himself and rushed down upon the lad. Seeing that there was no alternative, Budd grappled with him, and then began a terrible struggle for the mastery. Had the lad possessed his usual strength he might have come off victor, for he had caught his antagonist directly under the armpits with a powerful hug, and thus had decidedly the advantage in his hold. But he was still weak from his trying experience of the night before, and that more than counterbalanced the advantage he had secured in position.

Up and down the threshing-floor the contestants went; against stanchion and post and door were they hurled; over and upon the heterogeneous articles scattered about the floor they stumbled; finally Budd's foot struck upon some unseen object that rolled under it, and he fell heavily upon the floor, with Mr. Benton on top of him. With a shout of triumph the angry man sat down upon the lad's breast, and with his clinched fist began to pound him. He had struck but two blows, however, when he was caught by the collar, dragged unceremoniously off from the prostrate boy, and thrown with no gentle hand back against the nearest stanchion. Then the voice of Mr. Wright was heard sternly saying:

"Stand there, you miserable coward; and let me tell you, if you lay the weight of your finger on that lad again I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your life!"

At those words, Mr. Benton cowered back against the nearest mow and remained motionless. Experience had already taught him that he could not trifle with Peter Wright.

Helping Budd to his feet, Mr. Wright asked:

"Are you hurt? I was delayed longer at the house than I expected, or this miserable wretch would not have had a chance to lay his hand upon you. Tell me just what he has done?"

Budd gave a fair account of the contest from beginning to end, and declared that he was not seriously hurt, though he did not know what might have happened but for Mr. Wright's opportune arrival.

Mr. Benton sullenly admitted the truth of the boy's story, but whiningly declared he had not meant to hurt him, but only to give him a wholesome lesson, so that he wouldn't destroy any more property for him in such a reckless manner.

"I might believe your statement had I not caught you in the very act of pounding him," said Mr. Wright, with emphasis; "and surely striking at him with one of the handles of that cultivator looks almost as though you meant to kill him. This, too, when he is not your boy, nor bound out to you, and you had no more right to chastise him than you have to strike me. I don't know whether the boy has any friends or not, but as long as I am a member of the Town Council he shall be regarded as a ward of the town, and over him we shall throw our protection and care. I suspect you have imposed upon him ever since he has been with you. What kind of a bargain have you made with him, anyway?"

"I give him ten dollers a munth an' bord for six munths, which, as he knowed nuthin' 'bout farm in' when he come, is fair pay," explained Mr. Benton.

"No it is not, and you know it as well as anyone. He has done a man's work ever since he has been with you; and admitting his ignorance on some things, fifteen dollars a month is little enough. Does he pay you?"

This last question was addressed to Budd.

"No, sir," he said. "You see, the night I hired out to him he drew up a paper for me to sign, and in that, though I did not so understand it at the time, he is to pay me only at the end of the six months. At least that is his interpretation of the paper."

"Benton, let me see it," demanded Mr. Wright.

With evident reluctance Mr. Benton took the paper from his pocket-book and handed it to his neighbor.

Mr. Wright read it over carefully; then he deliberately tore it up, saying:

"The paper is worthless, for there are no witnesses; but even if there were, it could be set aside, as you have taken an unfair advantage of the lad. You meant to get rid of paying him anything, and I suspected it, for it is an old trick of yours."

Budd here explained how Mr. Benton had used the paper at the time he had asked for his first month's pay.

"Exactly," said Mr. Wright; "it served his purpose then, and would every time you asked for money until he had got ready to get rid of you. Then he would have seen to it that you quitted the farm before the six months were up, and so refused to pay you your wages. Now admit, Benton, that that was your game."

Mr. Benton, thus appealed to, looked sheepish enough, but would not admit that it had been his purpose to defraud the lad. He was afraid that Budd might demand the amount due him and leave at once. This he did not want the boy to do, for he preferred to have him remain, even though he should have to pay him full wages. He was hardly prepared, however, for Mr. Wright's next demand.

"Here, Benton," he said, as the man was about to return his wallet to his pocket, "before you put that away I want you to pay Budd twenty dollars."

"But his two months are not up yet," objected Benton.

"Never mind, he has earned it," said Mr. Wright; and as the man, to Budd's great astonishment, meekly handed over two ten-dollar bills, Mr. Wright with a twinkle in his eyes added:

"Now put another ten along with the others, Benton, for the assault you have made upon the lad. If you don't, I'll have you arrested before morning for assault and battery, and it will cost you twice that amount at least."

Mr. Benton refused; begged off; offered half the amount; but Mr. Wright was inexorable, and the miserable man finally handed Budd another ten-dollar bill.

"Now," said Mr. Wright to Budd, "go to the house and pack up your things, and get ready to go with me. I don't propose to leave you in Benton's clutches any longer; there is no knowing what he might do to you."

And notwithstanding the pleadings and promises of Mr. Benton, Mr. Wright fifteen minutes later departed, with Budd by his side.

[CHAPTER VI.--THE NEW FIRM.]

If Budd, as he walked along toward Mr. Wright's, was filled with secret exultation at the happy turn in his affairs, it was, to say the least, pardonable. Bruised and sore though he was from his struggle with Mr. Benton, he had nevertheless, through the opportune interference of Mr. Wright, come off victor. With two months' pay in his pocket, and ten dollars more for the assault to which he had been subjected, he was not disposed to grumble; in fact he was quite ready to forgive the miserable man who had so ruthlessly attacked him. But there was one thing that piqued his curiosity and led him soon to say:

"There is something I would like to have you explain, Mr. Wright."

"What is it?" Mr. Wright asked, pleasantly.

"Why was Mr. Benton so docile in your presence? I should never have believed that he would have cowered down so to any man."

Mr. Wright laughed.

"There are several reasons for it," he said. "Tyrants are almost always cowards at heart, and Mr. Benton is no exception to the rule. Ten years ago, when I came here, I was continually in trouble with him. First it was my cattle; then my children; at last our boundary line. I caught him one day actually setting over my fence. I remonstrated with him, and he, in his anger, struck me with his ox-lash. Snatching it from his hand, I whipped him until he begged for mercy. Of course he brought suit against me, and I brought a counter-suit. I was fortunate enough to win both cases, and the costs and fines that he had to pay amounted to over one hundred dollars. I also had him put under heavy bonds to keep the peace, and from that time have had no serious trouble with him. In fact he seems to both fear and respect me. Catching him to-night in the very act of assaulting you gave me a decided advantage; and though I have doubtless gone beyond any real right I possessed in my dealing with him, he was not in a condition to dispute it. You and I will have no further trouble with him."

But in this last assertion Mr. Wright was wrong, at least so far as Budd was concerned.

On reaching the house, Mr. Wright opened the door and motioned Budd to enter, at the same time saying to his wife:

"Here, Sarah, can you find a place for this lad for awhile? I've taken him out of Benton's clutches," and he related to her, in substance, the happenings at his neighbor's farm.

"Oh, yes, I think so," the lady replied, giving Budd a hearty and motherly welcome, which at once caused him to feel at home.

Budd was shown to a chamber, where he deposited his bundle. Though no larger than the one he had occupied when at Mr. Benton's, and containing scarcely more furniture, there was nevertheless an air of comfort and neatness about it that awakened old and sweet memories in the boy's mind. A bright bit of carpet was on the floor, a white curtain was at the open window, while snowy sheets and pillow-cases upon the bed suggested sweet repose. Tears stood in the lad's eyes as he returned down-stairs and tried to again thank Mr. Wright for the deep interest he had shown in him, an entire stranger.

"Well, well," said Mr. Wright, not without some emotion; "I don't know as I deserve any special thanks for what I have done. I couldn't leave you over there and have any peace of conscience. I don't know, any more than you do, what the outcome of my act will be, so far as your future is concerned. I would gladly hire you, but have now all the help I need. You are welcome, however, to stay here until you can find a place. With what Benton has given you, you will be just as well off should you not get work under a month. I've no fear but what you'll do enough to pay your board, and we will both keep an eye out for something suitable for you to do."

Though Budd regretted greatly that Mr. Wright could not hire him, he gratefully accepted the arrangement proposed, and determined that his benefactor should have no cause to complain of either his want of gratitude or willingness to be of help.

With this idea in mind he followed Mr. Wright out to the barn, and helped him and his man do the chores. He seemed almost intuitively to know what was the next thing to be done; and so pleased was Mr. Wright with his readiness and tact that he confided to his wife, that night, that he didn't know but they had better try and keep the lad. The very next day, however, there was destined to come to Budd an opening which was to change measurably his life, and prove an important link in the solution of the mystery which was apparently hanging over him.

He worked all the forenoon of the next day for Mr. Wright, but at that gentleman's request went with him in the afternoon up to the village.

"Perhaps we shall be able to find some place for you," Mr. Wright had said as they drove off.

Reaching the village, Mr. Wright left Budd to look out for the team while he attended to some matters of business. As the lad sat in the wagon holding the horses Judd Floyd came hurriedly down the street on his way toward the wharf. He had a market-basket on his arm filled with bundles, and had evidently been purchasing provisions to take over to his island home. He readily espied Budd, and recognizing Mr. Wright's team, suddenly stopped, remarking:

"Hello! changed masters, have you? Shows your wisdom. But tell us about it."

Budd shook the speaker's extended hand warmly, and telling him to put his basket into the wagon, and to get up on the seat, he gave him a faithful account of himself from the time he had left Judd on "The Hummocks" until he had now met him again.

"So you are out of a job," he remarked, as Budd concluded. "Now, isn't that jolly! You can come over to the island with me, and we'll go into the fish and clam business together. I'll guarantee as good wages as you were getting, and you'll be your own boss at the same time."

"Is that so?" asked Budd, with some show of interest.

"Of course it's so," replied Judd, with remarkable emphasis on the first two words. "I've averaged fifty cents for every day I've been on the island; and so can you, if you'll come. We ought to do better, for with two we can enlarge our business many ways."

"How's that?" asked Budd.

Before Judd could answer, Mr. Wright came back to the wagon. That lad eyed him a little apprehensively at first, evidently fearing lest he might, as a member of the Town Board, call him to an account for his sudden disappearance from the shanty near the village a few days before. But Mr. Wright's words at once re-assured him, for he said:

"How do you do, Judd? I'm glad to see you, and to hear so good an account of you as Budd has given me." Then lowering his voice, so as not to be heard by anyone passing, he added: "You need have no fear of the Town Board, my lad, as long as you show a disposition to be industrious and take care of yourself. We wish you every success."

"He was just asking me to go over to the island and enter into partnership with him," explained Budd; "he says I can make as much as I was getting from Mr. Benton."

"And not have half as rough an experience," Judd chimed in, with a laugh.

"How do you expect to make it, Judd?" Mr. Wright asked, a little doubtingly.

"Selling fish and clams; taking out fishing-parties; doing odd jobs at the watering-places," answered Judd, pithily. "There's money in it."

"Do you think so?" asked Budd of Mr. Wright.

"There may be," he answered, musingly. "Judd knows better than I do. Of course it is now a little late to hire out among the farmers. You have some money as capital. I'm not sure but you could, if prudent and industrious, do as well at this as at anything else for the summer months."

"Come along over to the island with me and stay to-night. If I don't convince you this thing is practicable, then I'll set you ashore at 'The Hummocks' in the morning, and you can go back to Mr. Wright's until you find another job," said Judd, enthusiastically.

Mr. Wright laughed a little.

"Go on, Budd," he advised; "and if I can be of any help to either of you, call on me. All success to the new firm!"

Budd immediately leaped from the wagon, followed by Judd, and then the two boys went hastily down to the wharf where their boat was tied. Embarking therein, each took an oar and pulled for the island, their minds brimful of the prospective partnership.

It was not, however, until the island was reached and supper eaten that the lads settled themselves for what they called their "business" talk. The sun was just setting; the air was soft and balmy; scarcely a ripple was on the water. Taking seats upon the rocks south of the house, and where they could look for miles down the bay, they began the all-important conversation.

Budd was the first to speak.

"Here, Judd," he said, "let us begin at the very root of things. Who does this island belong to?"

"Why, I believe there are two or three parties claiming it," replied Judd. "But why do you ask? It has always been regarded as common property. Even the fellow that built the house here paid no rent for the island."

"That has nothing to do with our case," interposed Budd, promptly. "We must have a right to be here--a right we can defend against all comers. Who are the proper parties to see about leasing the island."

"A Mr. Fowler, who lives near Mr. Wright, and two men named Scott, over in the western part of the town; but I don't believe they will object to our staying here, if Mr. Wright will see them about it."

"We will find out in the morning," Budd said, decisively, "and I'll mark that as the first item of business to attend to. Now as to our stock in trade. I have thirty dollars that can go in as my part of the capital. What can you furnish?"

Judd looked a little crestfallen, at his companion's words.

"Why," he said, "I can't put in much. I have the boat----"

"Which is worth how much?" interrupted Budd.

"Perhaps ten dollars," replied his partner, with a look of encouragement. "It's a pretty good yawl; and then I have a little over five dollars in money; that is all."

"No, it is not," Budd said. "How about the things over at the shanty? They are yours, are they not?"

"Yes; and as the shanty don't belong to pop, they ought to be moved. If we get the island, we can bring everything over here, and set up housekeeping in pretty decent style."

"Exactly," went on Budd, smilingly; "and while they are yours, I shall be having the benefit of them, and that is worth considerable. But there is one thing you possess more valuable yet, and for which you ought to have full allowance."

"What do you mean?" asked Judd, in wonder.

"Knowledge of the business," responded Budd. "I can row or sail a boat--have been used to that all my life; but I know nothing of this bay, its fishing or clamming-grounds, and I am almost a stranger in the community, while you are well known. Now, I'll tell you what I'm willing to do, though to my mind I shall have the best of the bargain. I'll put in my thirty dollars against your boat, your household goods, and your fuller knowledge of the grounds on which we are to operate, and we'll be equal partners--provided, of course, we can hire the island. What do you say?"

Judd arose from his seat with a sparkling face and crossed over to where his chum was sitting.

"Here's my hand on it; and I say, Budd, you are a brick," was his rather ambiguous but expressive answer.

Budd had caught something of his companion's enthusiasm, and with intense eagerness he continued:

"Now as to our plan of operations. In this you must be the chief adviser."

"Thirty-five dollars in money as a basis," said Judd, slowly. "If we only had a hundred, I would say invest in a fish-pound. As it is, we will have to content ourselves with smaller operations at first. A gill-net would work nicely over in 'the narrows' at the south of 'The Hummocks,' and would cost about eight dollars. We must have that."

"How do you work it?" inquired Budd.

"It has large meshes, and you can stretch it right across 'the narrows,' fastening it to stakes on either side so as to keep it upright. The leads on the lower edge keep that down to the bottom. We will set it at night just at the turning of the tide to go out: then whatever fish are up the cove will come down against it, and more or less of them will get their heads through the meshes and be caught. Six hours after, the tide will turn, and all fish going into the cove will come up against the opposite side, and some of them will be caught. In the morning we will pull it, and leave it up until the next night. We ought to get as many fish that way as we can with our hooks--perhaps more; and thus we will have a double quantity to dispose of," exclaimed Judd.

"Good!" exclaimed his comrade. "What next?"

"We must put in some lobster-pots also; but those we can make, and two dollars will buy all the necessary lumber. That will take ten dollars, and leave us twenty-five. With that we must buy the sloop Sea Witch, and then we can take out sailing or fishing-parties in good shape, as well as make the wind do a large part of our work for us. It will save lots of time and labor, as well as add to our revenue."

"It can't be much of a boat for that money," remarked Budd.