The Project Gutenberg eBook of Frank and Fearless, by Horatio Alger, Jr.

A dozen boys were playing ball in a field adjoining the boarding-school of Dr. Pericles Benton, in the town of Walltham, a hundred and twenty-five miles northeast of the city of New York. These boys varied in age from thirteen to seventeen. In another part of the field a few younger boys were amusing themselves. All these boys were boarding-scholars connected with the school.

The ball had been knocked to a distance by the batter, and it was the duty of Nicholas Thorne, one of the oldest boys, to ran after it. But he thought of an easier way.

"Cameron, run for that ball!" he cried, addressing one of the smaller boys outside the game.

"Then you'd better go if you know what's best for yourself," said the bully, frowning.

"Run after it yourself, Thorne," said a lad named Davies. "It's your business, not Cameron's."

"It's his business, because I ordered him to do it," said Thorne, flushed and angry. "Do you think I will allow him to bully me?"

"The boot's on the other leg," said Davies, dryly. "Run after the ball, and don't keep the game waiting."

"I won't let him alone," said Thorne, who had by this time worked himself into a towering passion. "I'll give him the worst flogging he ever had, if he doesn't obey me!"

Thorne was the acknowledged bully of the school. He was a big, hulking fellow, with a heavy figure and a repulsive face, and small ferret eyes, emitting a cold and baleful light. He was more than a match for any of his fellow-pupils, and availed himself of his superior physical strength to abuse and browbeat the smaller boys. Knowing his strength he was not afraid of interference, and usually carried his point. If Cameron had not been particularly occupied playing marbles with a boy of his own age he would not have ventured to object to obey the despot. When he saw Thorne advancing toward him with a cruel light in his eyes he became frightened, and said, hurriedly:

"Yes," said Thorne, between his teeth, "you'll go; but you ought to have done so at first. I'll give you something to remind you to be more prompt next time."

"Don't hit me, Thorne!" pleaded the little boy, with tears in his eyes. "I'm going."

Davies was two inches shorter than Thorne, and by no means his equal. So, honestly indignant as he was, he didn't venture to say any more.

Little Cameron turned to run, despairing of help, and Thorne started to pursue him. Of course there was no chance of the smaller boy's escape, or would not have been, but for an unexpected incident.

Thorne turned in surprise. What boy (for it was a boy's voice) had dared to command him to atop?

Jasper Kent, a new scholar, who had only arrived the day before, advanced intrepidly to the rescue of the little victim. He was an inch shorter than Thorne, of a slight, elegant build, with a clear complexion and a bright, attractive face that would have been pronounced handsome by anyone. Judging from outward appearances, no one would have thought him the equal of Thorne in strength.

When Nicholas Thorne's eye lighted on his antagonist his lip turned in scorn and he paused.

"I thought so. If you had been here longer you would know better than to interfere with me."

"And of beating them if they dare to disobey your majesty's commands, I suppose?" continued Jasper, with sarcasm.

"Yes, I do. Have you anything to say about it?" exclaimed the young despot, in a swaggering manner.

"You won't allow it?" exclaimed Thorne, bursting into a brutal laugh. "And who are you, young poppinjay?"

"Then, Mr. Jasper Kent, I beg leave to suggest that you mind your own business."

"I generally do," said Jasper, coolly; "but that advice comes with a bad grace from you."

"And I order him not to go for it," said Jasper, resolutely, but without excitement.

"I've a great mind to send you for it," he exclaimed, his small eyes glaring at his opponent.

"Your turn will come," growled Thorne, "but just at present I've got Cameron's case to dispose of. Cameron, go for that ball!"

The little boy started, but his purpose was interrupted. Jasper Kent hurried forward and placed his hand kindly on his shoulder.

Cameron stopped, but looked apprehensively at Thorne. He evidently doubted the power of his young protector.

Thorne was now thoroughly exasperated. His authority was openly defied. He rushed at Jasper, intending to overwhelm him by the suddenness and momentum of his attack. But Jasper was prepared for him. He turned swiftly aside and planted a blow on Thorne's right ear which sent him staggering to the earth.

The bully was astonished, but rallied. Almost foaming at the mouth with rage, he sprang to his feet and renewed the attack. He attempted to throw his arms round the waist of Jasper and throw him. Had his tactics been successful, probably Jasper would have been borne to the earth by the superior weight of his opponent. But here, again, he was prepared. He stepped back and received Thorne with a blow on his breast, so firmly planted that he staggered again.

By this time he had lost all control of himself and was thoroughly under the dominion of passion. He "pitched into" Jasper, trying to get in a blow wherever he could, and in so doing exposed himself to the skilful blows of his slighter foe, who had some knowledge of boxing, while Thorne had none whatever.

Thorne rose sullenly, and without a word strode toward the large, square building, with an extended wing, which was used for the boarding-school.

"Oh, it's nothing," said Jasper, modestly. "You just send for me when you're in trouble, Cameron. I won't let him hurt you."

Entering the house, Thorne reported at the doctor's study. His flushed appearance attracted the teacher's attention.

But his sullen manner was so unlike that of a victor that the doctor shrewdly suspected that his statement was not wholly correct.

So Thorne left the presence of the principal and entered the opposite room. A lady, seated on a sofa, arose quickly, and advanced to meet him. She kissed the boy's cheek, to which he submitted without manifesting any responsive feeling.

"And are not six months long for a mother to be separated from her only child?" said the lady, tenderly.

"Yes, I've grown," said Nicholas, showing a little pleasure now. "I think I shall be a large man."

"Oh! I'm doing well enough," said the boy, indifferently, for Nicholas Thorne's taste for study was very moderate. "Did you bring me any money, mother?"

"It is a good deal for me to pay," said his mother. "Remember, I have to pay your school bills, and my means are but small."

"A dollar a week is very small for a boy of my age," grumbled Thorne. "Why, some of the little boys get more; and there's that new boy, Jasper Kent, gets five dollars, so they say."

"No," answered Nicholas, with hesitation. "That is, we were only half through the fight when a boy ran up and said you had come. So we had to stop."

"Humph! That is strange," said the lady, in a low voice, more to herself than to her son, "this sudden antagonism."

"Perhaps I may as well tell you," said his mother, thoughtfully, "but I wish you to keep the matter secret from him."

"You won't catch me telling him anything, except that he is a scoundrel!" muttered Nicholas.

"Then sit down by me, and I will tell you much that you do not know, but ought now to hear. Is the door shut?"

"To begin with, do you know where I get the money I pay for your schooling and clothes?"

"For your school bills, yes. Besides, I give you an allowance and buy your clothes."

"No. If I should do that, there would soon be nothing left. That was the problem I had to solve three years ago, when your father died."

"I felt that the property must not be touched, save the income. I saw that it was necessary for me to exert myself, or I should be unable to educate you as I desired. I had a good education, and I determined to avail myself of it. I therefore went to a teacher's agency in New York and set forth my desire to obtain the position of governess in some family in the country."

"Why not? It was the only way I could think of that would yield me an income. After waiting a few weeks I succeeded. A wealthy gentleman, living in a country town of moderate size, saw my testimonials, was pleased with them, and engaged me to superintend the education of an orphan niece resident in his family. He offered me a fair salary—enough, added to the rent which I received from the property left me by your father, to justify me in putting you at this boarding-school. That was three years ago."

"It would have done no good. I preferred that you should think of me as possessing an independent property. I felt that it would enable you the better to hold up your head among your school-fellows, as they could know nothing of your antecedents."

"No; he only knows that I am a widow, He supposes that I have sufficient means."

Nicholas Thorne sat by his mother's side thoughtful. He was disappointed to think that his mother's means were so limited, since it curtailed his future expectations. The thought of that mother working patiently to defray his expenses at school made comparatively little impression. He was essentially selfish, and, so long as his wants were provided for, he cared little who labored for him.

"You work for Jasper Kent's father!" exclaimed Nicholas in unbounded astonishment. "Does he know it?"

"Yes, he knows that I am, or have been, governess in his father's family. But he knows nothing of my connection with you."

"If he knew, he'd taunt me with my mother's being obliged to work for a living," said Thorne.

"I don't think he would. At any rate, the time is coming very soon when he will have no advantage over you."

"Listen, and keep secret what I tell you. Next week I become his father's wife."

"Yes, he is rich; that is, for the country. He is in poor health, too," she added, significantly.

"Good!" said Nicholas, with satisfaction. "You know how to play your cards, mother."

"My days of dependence are drawing to an end," she said. "Some time I can do better for you than I am doing now."

"Will the old man do anything for me after he marries you, mother?" asked Nicholas, who never failed to look out for his own interests.

"It seems to me," grumbled Nicholas, "you only thought of yourself. You didn't care what became of me."

"That is unjust, Nicholas. You must see that it is. Once we are married I shall have more control of money, and if Mr. Kent dies I shall be entitled to a third of his property."

"I wish he'd leave you the whole, and cut off that upstart Jasper," said Nicholas, frowning.

"There is not much chance of that. He thinks everything of Jasper. However, I don't think he'll live long, and I shall induce him, if possible, to name me as Jasper's guardian."

"That would be a good job for you, mother—not so good for Jasper, I'm thinking."

"I'll tell you. From my entrance into his father's family he has never treated me with any cordiality. Evidently he didn't like me. I think, indeed, he mistrusted me, though I never gave occasion for any suspicions. If he should learn now that I am to marry his father, he would move heaven and earth to prevent the marriage."

"No; I was opposed to it, but Mr. Kent was recommended by a friend to send his son here. I did not venture to say much, lest I should be asked how I came to know anything of the school. I was afraid you and he would meet, and he would learn the connections between us."

"Remember what I told you, that Mr. Kent is in poor health. He may not live six months. We can keep the matter secret for that time, can't we, Nicholas?"

"Oh, you're a deep one, you are," said Nicholas, winking in a way to indicate his shrewd insight into his mother's motives.

"I have to be, Nicholas. There's no getting on in this world without it. But I think I shall have to leave you now."

"His father was anxious to have him at home. Indeed, I have had a great deal of trouble to prevent his sending for him, but at length I have succeeded. I know too well the danger. The boy has a great influence over his father, whose mind is weakened with his body, and I should be afraid that the match would be broken off even at the last moment if the boy got wind of our plan."

"How mad Jasper will be when he hears of it!" said Thorne, laughing with malicious enjoyment. "I wish I could tell him."

"Oh, I'll keep the secret. But it won't do any harm when it's all over, will it?"

"Well, I won't, then, if I can help it. But I say, mother, the old gentleman will come down handsomely when you're married. You ought to raise my allowance to two dollars a week."

"I will if I can afford it," said his mother. "But I must leave you now, Nicholas. I shall have about time to go to the station and meet the next train."

"I should like your company, my dear boy, but we must be prudent. We might meet Jasper Kent."

"Good-bye, Nicholas," and his mother pressed her lips upon the cheek of her son.

He tolerated the kiss, but did not return it. His heart was not very impressible, and he cared for no one except himself.

"I won't stop to see Dr. Benton," she said, at parting. "You may tell him that I was in haste."

Mrs. Thorne emerged from the parlor and from the house. She was tall and erect in figure, and walked rapidly. Her face was concealed by a thick veil, but, for the information of the reader it may be described as narrow and long, with small eyes, like those of Nicholas, and thin, tightly-compressed lips. She was not a woman to yield to misfortune or give way to sentimental sorrow. She looked rather like one who knew how to face fortune and defy it. It was not a pleasant face, but it was decidedly a strong one.

The grounds of the school were extensive, and the house stood back two or three hundred yards from the street. A long avenue led from the house to the main thoroughfare.

"I shouldn't like to meet Jasper Kent," she said to herself. "It might lead to unpleasant questions and suspicions on his part, and I don't want anything to happen before I am married."

It seemed likely that she would escape the encounter which she dreaded. Had there been no interruption or delay she would have done so; but it was not so to be. She met Dr. Benton in front of the house, and was compelled to stop and speak to him.

"Oh, yes, doctor," she answered, softly. "I have no anxiety on that subject, as long as he is under your care. I know that he cannot fail to do well."

"Ahem! Mrs. Thorne," he said, pompously, "we try to do our duty by the young people intrusted to our charge. We do not limit our endeavors to their mental culture, but strive to promote their physical well-being also."

"And you succeed remarkably well, Dr. Benton. But you must excuse my leaving you abruptly. I wish to catch the next train."

Mrs. Thorne adjusted her veil and swiftly resumed her course. Her heart gave a bound when, just outside the gate, she espied the well-known figure of Jasper Kent.

But she forgot her peculiar gait, and the quick, rapid step, which were likely to identify her in the eyes of anyone who had seen her often. Jasper Kent's attention was drawn to her, and he observed these peculiarities.

Still, having no reason to suspect the presence of Miss Thorne, as he called her, at the school, he would have thought the resemblance only accidental, but for a whiff of wind which blew the veil aside from her face. That face there was no mistaking.

"Why have I come? I see that is what you wish to ask. I have not come on your account at all. I came to see a nephew of my own."

"Poor fellow! He has neither father nor mother to look after him, only myself. I am his only relative living."

"No; I have not cared to intrude my private concerns upon your father or yourself. But I must hurry, or I shall be late at the station. Have you any message to send to your father?"

"I hope he will do that for all our sakes," said the lady, with affected warmth. "Good-bye."

"Why is it that I distrust her so much?" he thought to himself. "So she is Thorne's aunt. Well, he is not a relation to be proud of."

"How vexatious that I should meet him," thought Mrs. Thorne. "I ought not to have run the risk of coming. If he tells Nicholas that I have admitted a relationship it may do harm. Once the wedding is over I shall feel more secure."

The unexpected communication which Thorne had received from his mother influenced his treatment of Jasper. Under ordinary circumstances he would have resented bitterly the humiliating defeat he had received at the hands of the "new boy." Now, however, he felt sure of ultimate revenge, and was willing to "bide his time."

"Just wait till his father is dead, and mother is his guardian!" he said to himself. "Then, my young gentleman, your pride'll be taken down, see if it ain't!"

His politic forbearance surprised the other boys, who did not understand the secret cause.

"Ain't you goin' to lick that new boy?" asked Tower, a sycophantic follower of Thorne.

"Lucky you don't," said Thorne, significantly. "I'll lick any boy that tells such a lie about me."

"The fact is," he continued, in a milder tone, "we were stopped in the middle of the fight. I was called to see a lady visitor. But for that I should have licked him in the end."

"Why should I? I haven't anything against him. We came out even. What's the use of bearing malice?"

Tower was astonished to hear such sentiments from Thorne. It did not sound at all like him. He was about the last boy who would be singled out for forbearance or forgiveness of injuries. So the younger boy concluded that his leader was afraid of Jasper. But here he did him wrong. Thorne had learned to respect his adversary's strength and skill, but he would have hazarded a second encounter but for the prudential reasons already suggested. For the present he thought it best to keep quiet.

Jasper also had made a discovery, though, as we know, the information he had received was not correct. He supposed Thorne to be a nephew of his father's governess, whereas she was his mother.

He could not feel quite satisfied on this point, nor could he determine precisely how far his feelings were affected by this discovery. He felt a dislike toward Thorne on account of his tyrannical disposition and ill-treatment of younger boys. He cherished a dislike for the governess, the cause of which he could not as well define. Now, it appeared that these two were allied to each other. I beg to say that Jasper was too sensible and gentlemanly to dislike the governess simply because she was poor. That he knew very well had nothing to do with the substantial worth of a person. But he could not rid himself of the feeling that Miss Thorne's residence in his father's family portended misfortune to the parent whom he loved so well.

So a week passed without any new disturbance or outbreak between the two boys. Jasper had been on the lookout, fearing that Thorne would take some opportunity to wreak vengeance on young Cameron when he was not present. But his fears were gradually allayed. Thorne seemed usually peaceable—so much so that his school-mates, who knew him well, thought he had turned over a new leaf, and speculated as to what had produced the change. But neither boys nor men change suddenly and completely, though policy and self-interest may for a time lead them to suppress the manifestation of their characteristic traits.

Nine days after the fight recorded in my first chapter, as Jasper was walking in the school-yard, Davies came up hurriedly.

"What! is Thorne at him again?" asked Jasper, stopping short and looking toward the house.

"Yes, Thorne's at his old business, bullying him. He took the opportunity when he thought you were out of hearing."

"I don't like fighting—it's brutal. Besides, I have another reason, which I don't care to mention."

By this time they had reached the scene of the difficulty, Little Cameron was half-crying, and Thorne stood over him with upraised arm.

"Do as I tell you, you little blackguard!" he was just saying, when a voice he well knew was heard, calm and resolute:

Nicholas turned and saw his old antagonist. He was sorry to see him, but he could not well withdraw now.

The little boy looked in terror from one to the other. Evidently he dreaded that the immediate result of his obeying Kent would be to precipitate a blow from the bully.

Jasper saw the little boy's quandary, and he quickly advanced to the rescue. Throwing one arm protectingly round Cameron's waist, he regarded Nicholas firmly.

Thorne had had time to think. He hated Jasper worse than ever, but he knew that our hero did not care for blows. Moreover, he was likely to give back better than he received. There was another way of wounding him, which prudence would have led him to hold in reserve. But he was too angry to be prudent. Moreover, he had had a note two days before from his mother, from which he learned that the wedding was to be solemnized on that very day. Probably at that moment his mother was Mrs. Kent.

"Relations!" repeated Jasper, with a look of surprise and inquiry. "I don't know what you mean."

"It appears you haven't heard the news," said Thorne, with malicious enjoyment. "Your father has married my mother. That makes us step-brothers, doesn't it?"

An hour later Jasper, having obtained special permission from Dr. Benton, was on his way home, sick with apprehension lest this threatened misfortune should prove real.

His father married again, and he left in ignorance of his intention! Jasper felt hurt that his father, for whom he cherished so deep and warm an affection, should have taken such a step without apprising him of it in advance. If he was to marry, certainly his only son ought to have been present at the wedding.

"But it isn't father's fault," he thought, bitterly. "It's the fault of Miss Thorne. She is more artful and designing even than I thought. She has married my father for his wealth and position, and she was afraid I would dissuade him from such a step."

It was certainly a bitter thought that he must look upon this woman as his step-mother—that she was to take the place of the mother whom he tenderly remembered, though six years had passed since she left him. But, after all, was it true? Might it not be the case that Thorne, who evidently disliked him, had fabricated the story in order to annoy him? There was a gleam of comfort in this, and he felt that he would willingly run the risk of being laughed at for having started on a "wild-goose chase" if only his fears could be relieved. But, after all, there was the possibility—nay, the probability, considering what he knew of Miss Thorne—that Thorne's story was all true.

The cars stopped for a brief minute at the depot in Morton, Jasper's destination, and he jumped out. He looked eagerly about him to see if there was anyone of whom he could ask information. To his joy he caught sight of John, a serving-man in his father's employ.

"Why, Master Jasper!" returned John, in evident surprise, "I didn't know you were coming home."

"For the wedding!" repeated Jasper, his heart sinking at this confirmation of his worst fears.

"No; your father and the governess walked over to the church, and were married private like. There was nobody invited, but we were all surprised that you didn't come to it."

"I know it, John. My father would not have treated me that way. How long has it been going on—the—"

"The courtship? Well, that was all on the side of Miss Thorne, I'm thinkin'. She wheedled your father into marrying her."

"Poor man! he felt too weak to resist, and he did it only because she teased him. I can take my oath of that."

"No; they ain't goin', I've heard. Your father don't feel able to travel, and the governess—I mean your step-mother—she don't care much. They're at home now."

"Yes, they will, but your father'll be glad. He sets the world by you, Master Jasper."

"I believe he does, John," said Jasper. "I wish I could have saved him from this misfortune."

"You are right. I don't know but it might be best for me to turn round and go back again to school without going to the house at all; but I must face this thing, and see for myself. If you've got nothing else to do, John, you may carry my valise."

"I'll do it, Master Jasper, directly. You go up to the house, and I'll be there in a jiffy."

In a sunny sitting-room on the second-floor sat Jasper Kent's father in a luxurious arm-chair. He was barely fifty, but evidently a chronic invalid. His constitution had been undermined years before by a residence of several years in Central America, where he had acquired a fortune, but paid a costly price therefor in the loss of his health.

For years he had done no business other than to take care of his property, which was amply sufficient to enable him to live luxuriously. Yet he did not find the time hanging heavily upon his hands. Of a studious taste, he had surrounded himself with books and pictures. He received regularly a New York daily paper, and the leading magazines and reviews, and barring his ill-health, and occasional seasons of pain, passed his time in a placid and agreeable manner. Circumstances, perhaps, had fostered a disposition to indolence, and made it more difficult to resist the artful schemes of Miss Thorne, whom he had admitted into the house as governess of his little niece, Florence Grantley, but who had from the first cherished the ambitious design of making herself mistress of the establishment.

It is needless to recapitulate the steps she took in this direction. It is enough to chronicle her ultimate success.

We introduce the newly-married pair, as they sit conversing in the pleasant sitting-room already referred to.

"Indeed, he ought to have been present at the ceremony. I am afraid the poor boy will feel hurt that I should have left him wholly in the dark."

Mrs. Kent's lip curled. Evidently she had no particular feeling for the "poor boy."

"Lay the whole blame upon me, Mr. Kent," she said. "It was I who advised it, and I am willing to take the responsibility."

"I know you advised it, my dear," said Mr. Kent, to whom this phrase was yet new; "but I could not understand why."

"I will explain, and I think you will consider my explanation a good one. It would have taken Jasper's attention from his studies, and it might have been some time before he would have been able to resume them to advantage."

"If the ceremony had not been so private—wholly out of regard to your health—of course he should have been recalled. As it is, it is better on all accounts not to disturb him. Did I tell you that I saw him last week?"

"At his school! How came you to go there?" inquired her husband in still greater surprise.

"I will tell you, though I have hitherto kept it a secret, as a matter of my own. Now, since I am your wife, it is only proper that I should acquaint you with it. I have a nephew at the same school."

"Yes," answered Mrs. Kent, lowering her voice to a compassionate inflection. "Poor boy! he has neither father nor mother! He is entirely dependent upon me. Out of my salary I have paid his expenses ever since I entered your employ."

"That was generous and kind of you," said her husband, approvingly. "What is the boy's name?"

"Sixteen. He is about the same age as Jasper. Do I venture too much in asking you to become his friend?"

Mrs. Kent modulated her voice, as she well knew how to do, to counterfeit warm and tender feeling, as she proffered this request. Her nature was feline, and she knew how to conceal her claws.

"You may rely upon my co-operation, my dear," said Mr. Kent, kindly, "in your noble task."

There was a latent gleam of triumph in Mrs. Kent's eyes as she heard this promise, which transferred to her husband a burden which had long been a drain upon her own slender purse. She had dreaded the effect of this announcement upon her husband, and finally, as we have seen, thought it best to change the relationship and call Nicholas her nephew, and not her son. So that difficulty was well surmounted, and the effect had been to impress Mr. Kent with a sense of her generous and unselfish devotion.

But her exultation was short-lived. A bustle was heard outside. An instant later the door was thrown open, and Jasper entered the room, flushed and excited.

"Jasper!" exclaimed his father, in surprise, but showing pleasure, nevertheless, at his son's unexpected presence.

The boy went straight up to his father, passing within two feet of his father's wife, but without even looking at her.

"Is what true?" asked his father, embarrassed, for he guessed what Jasper meant.

"Are you married—to her?" pointing to Mrs. Kent, who looked indignant at the reference.

"Yes, Jasper," answered his father, nervously. "Shake hands with your—with Mrs. Kent."

He was about to say "your mother," but something in his memory, perhaps something in his son's face, led him to change the expression.

"You were very considerate, madam; but it seems to me that such an important event in my father's life would justify an interruption."

Mrs. Kent repressed her real feelings of anger and vexation, and answered mildly, and with an affectation of good humor:

"I don't know but you are right, Jasper, and we were wrong. At any rate, since you have come it is a pity you were not here earlier, so that you could have been present at the ceremony. It was quite private, as your father can tell you."

"At any rate, now that you are here," said Mrs. Kent, with well-feigned cordiality, for it was politic to keep on good terms with Jasper, since he was his father's favorite, "you will stay a day or two."

"I should like to wring the boy's neck," thought Mrs. Kent, her eyes contracting slightly, but she answered, amiably: "I am afraid I have thought too much of that already. Let me make amends by welcoming you, and asking you to stay as long as you can."

"I ought not to complain," said Jasper, "since you treated me no worse than you did your own son."

"What are you talking about, Jasper?" demanded Mr. Kent, surprised. "My wife has no son."

"Yes," said Mrs. Kent, with admirable composure, "the poor boy has always looked upon me as a mother, though such is not our relationship. Indeed, I may say, orphan as he is, I have been a mother to him."

"And it is very much to your credit, my dear," said Mr. Kent, kindly. "We must have him here on a visit. As Jasper's schoolmate, and your nephew, he shall be doubly welcome."

"You are very kind, Mr. Kent," said his wife, in a tone which might well be mistaken for that of grateful emotion. "It will, indeed, be a treat to my poor Nicholas to come here, even for a day."

"He must spend his next vacation here, eh, Jasper? It will be pleasant for you to have a boy of your own age here."

"Do as you like, father," said Jasper, who didn't care to say how distasteful the proposition was to him, or to explain the nature of the relations between Nicholas and himself.

Mrs. Kent looked at him sharply as he spoke, and understood better how he felt. But, as he did not openly object, she was satisfied. It was what she had wished to bring about, and she felt pleased that the proposal had come from Mr. Kent, and that Jasper had not spoken against it.

"I will go and order your room to be made ready for you, Jasper," she said. "You had better write to Dr. Benton that you will stay with us a day or two."

"Don't you like this marriage, Jasper?" asked his father, anxiously, seeing that his son looked sober.

"No, father," answered Jasper, frankly. "I have not yet got over the shock of the first news."

"I did it for the best, Jasper; I wanted to tell you, but she—Mrs. Kent—thought it best not."

"I am afraid, father," said Jasper, sadly, "it will not be the only time that she is destined to come between us."

"No, Jasper," answered his father, with more energy than was usual with him, "that shall not be. I am sure she would not wish it, and I know I wouldn't permit it. I hope, my dear boy, that you will become reconciled to the new state of things."

"I feel sure that it will," said Mr. Kent, but he did not speak very confidently.

"I am too old for that, Jasper," he answered, pleasantly. "The fact is, I need a nurse and Miss Thorne needed a home; and, in fact, without pretending to any sentimental reason, we concluded that it would be the best thing under the circumstances."

"Was she very much surprised when you made the proposal, father?" asked Jasper, significantly.

"It is as I thought," Jasper said to himself; "she inveigled my father into the marriage."

"Well, father, I heartily hope it will be for your happiness; and now let us talk about something else. Shall I tell you about the school?"

So Jasper gossiped about school matters in a way that interested his father, and the two forgot for a time that a new tie had been formed that might possibly make a difference between them.

Meanwhile Mrs. Kent, instead of giving directions about Jasper's room, opened her writing-desk and wrote a hurried note to Nicholas. In this she said:

"Remember, Nicholas, you are to pass for my nephew. Why were you so imprudent as to tell Jasper I was your mother? I have explained that you regard me as a mother, though really my nephew. You must give the same explanation. Jasper is at home now, not very well pleased to find that he has a step-mother. But it is done, and he will find it can't be undone. Be prudent, follow my directions implicitly, and you will find it to your account.

"P.S.—I have told Mr. Kent about you, and he authorizes me to invite you here to spend the next vacation."

Jasper remained till the next afternoon. His father urged him to stay longer, and his step-mother, with apparent cordiality, seconded the invitation; but Jasper felt that the charm of home was gone. The new wife had stepped in between his father and himself. He felt sure that the marriage had not been of his father's seeking. To him it was no object. To the former governess it was a matter of importance, since it secured her a permanent home and position, and a share of Mr. Kent's property.

There was an old servant in the family, a trusty maid, who had been in it before Jasper was born. With her he could speak confidentially.

"I don't want her to hear what I say," she commenced, when convinced that they were in no danger of listeners, "but it's my belief she asked your father to marry her."

"Yes, I do, Master Jasper. She's that bold she wouldn't mind it, not a bit. Only she'd do it sly-like. I know just how she'd do it. She'd tell him how she hadn't got a home, and must go out into the wide world, and get him to pity her. Then, you know, he'd got used to seeing her round, and a sick man don't like changes."

"According to her father's will Florence is to pass the next four years in the family of his sister, and she—that's her aunt—has a governess for her own children that'll do for Florence, too. So there wasn't no need of Miss Thorne staying here any longer. Your father asked her to stay a while, till she could find another place. It's my belief she didn't try, being bent on staying here as the mistress. At any rate, she told your father she couldn't get a place, and he offered her the one she wanted, that of his wife."

"Me like her! That's what I never did. She's like a cat—soft-spoken enough when she has her own way, but she's got claws, and you may depend she'll show 'em. I hope she won't do anything to harm you, Master Jasper."

"Me!" said Jasper, with the bold confidence of a boy, laughing at the thought. "What can Mrs. Kent—a woman—do to injure me? I'll risk that, Margaret. It's of my father I'm thinking. Will she treat him well?"

"I think she will, for it's her object to, Master Jasper. She's married him for money, you know."

"I don't mind her benefiting by my father's property, if she will make him comfortable during his life."

"Then you don't think you can stay, Jasper?" said Mrs. Kent, softly, when he announced his determination.

"I will write you often, father. If you are not feeling well at any time, write and let me know."

"I will do so, Jasper," said his step-mother, promptly; "but I shall have better news to write. Your father shall have the best of care."

"Thank you, madam. If you can contribute to his comfort, you will place me under obligations to you."

"As a wife, it will be my duty as well as my pleasure to do so," said Mrs. Kent.

Jasper bowed. The suggestion of the relationship always fell unpleasantly on his ears.

The carriage came round to take Jasper to the depot. His father and step-mother looked out of the front windows, and saw him off.

"Manly and high-spirited, too!" added his father, in a tone full of affectionate admiration.

"I'd like to break his spirit!" thought Mrs. Kent, spitefully. "Some time I may have the chance." Of course she didn't venture to say this. She only inquired, "Were you like him at his age, Mr. Kent?"

"I won't flatter myself so far," he answered. "Jasper is an improvement on the parent stock. I see in him more manliness and self-reliance than I possessed at his age."

"May it not be parental partiality?" asked Mrs. Kent, who by no means enjoyed hearing Jasper's praises.

"You must let me believe that it is your modesty then. Jasper may be a fine boy, but he will do well if he grows up as good a man as you."

"Now you flatter me, my dear," said Mr. Kent, smiling. "You have too good an opinion of me."

"I don't know about that," said Mrs. Kent to herself. "I think you are an addle-headed old fool, but I won't say so."

Aloud she said, with a smile: "My marrying you is a proof of my good opinion, Mr. Kent."

He was not a suspicious man—far from it—but even he knew that his wife only married him for a home and an establishment. But he never let his mind dwell on such things, and he quietly permitted his wife's assertion to go uncontradicted.

Meanwhile Jasper Kent had returned to his boarding-school. There was one who awaited his return with mingled curiosity and exultation.

He had received his mother's letter, from which he learned, first, that her plan had succeeded, and she was now the wife of a rich man, and, secondly, that his own relationship to her must be changed in the eyes of the world.

"I suppose mother knows what is best," he said to himself. "So I'm to be her nephew, am I? Well, it's all one to me, as long as I fare the better for her good fortune."

For the moment it occurred to him that his mother might intend to throw him off—in a measure—but he quickly laid it aside. Bad as his mother was, she was yet devoted to him, and in so far was superior to him, for he cared for himself first and for no one second. The thought originated in his own base selfishness, and was laid aside only because he had received too many proof's of his mother's affection to doubt her.

"Well, Kent," he said, with a show of intimacy which Jasper found very disagreeable, "what news from home?"

Jasper was about to reply abruptly, when it occurred to him that, after all, Nicholas had an interest in the matter.

"I suppose you mean to ask if your mother is well?" he said, eyeing Jasper keenly.

"I shall never call her so. You told me before I went that she was your mother."

"I have always called her so, because I have known no other," said Thorne, composedly. "She is really my aunt."

"It must be true, then," thought Jasper. "However, it is of little importance to me what the relationship may be."

"I don't know you well enough to desire so close a connection," said Jasper, in the same cold tone.

"We shall know each other well enough some time," said Thorne, with something of menace in his tone.

Two months later there was a vacation for a week. Nicholas expected to spend this with his mother, but for some reason Mrs. Kent gave him no invitation. Probably she thought that Nicholas, though a paragon in her eyes, was not likely to win favor in the eyes of Mr. Kent. His rough, brutal disposition would have repelled the sick man, who had become gentle in his enforced seclusion.

Thorne was disappointed, but his disappointment was softened by a timely remittance of ten dollars from his mother, which he spent partly in surreptitious games of billiards, partly in overloading his stomach with pastry and nearly making himself sick.

Jasper spent the week at home. His company was the source of great comfort and joy to his father, and this repaid him for the intrusion of his step-mother.

She treated him with politeness and apparent cordiality, but once or twice, when he chanced to look up unexpectedly, he detected her eyes fixed upon him with a glance that seemed to express detestation. On these occasions her expression changed instantly, and she addressed him in a soft, friendly voice.

"Does she hate me or not?" he asked himself. "I certainly don't like her. Still, I shall force myself to treat her politely as long as she treats my father well."

His father seldom spoke of his wife to his son, but sometimes Jasper noticed that he breathed a sigh of relief when she left the room, as if her presence had been a restraint upon him.

He didn't like to ask his father any question directly as to the relations between them. He hoped that at least they did not add to his father's discomfort.

"How long before you have another vacation, Jasper?" asked his father, wistfully.

"I won't let them be an interruption, father," said Jasper. "If you want me to come home, I will."

"I hope, Jasper, you will understand my motive for speaking," said Mrs. Kent, softly. "I should really be glad to see you, but sometimes we have to sacrifice our own inclinations—don't we, Mr. Kent?"

And he turned his eyes once more to Jasper, who had his overcoat on and was waiting for the carriage to convey him to the depot.

"Yes, I don't know but I do; perhaps a little more languid, but that is not unusual."

"Well, good-bye, father. If you want to see me at any time, write a line, and I'll come at once."

There was a slight smile on Mrs. Kent's thin lips. Jasper noticed and mentally resented it. But the time had come for leave-taking, and he hurried away.

Six weeks passed. Jasper heard from home that his father was about the same, and this assurance relieved him of anxiety. Still, he made up his mind that he would spend the next Sunday at home. He would go on Saturday morning and come back on Monday morning, and he knew that his father would enjoy even this brief visit. But he was destined to go home quicker.

On Thursday afternoon a boy came up to the main entrance of Dr. Benton's school.

"I wonder whether he's got a message for the doctor or one of us boys?" said Jasper, not suspecting that it was for himself.

"I am he," said Jasper, hurrying forward, with pale face and beating heart, for a telegram always inspires fear.

"What is it, Jasper—bad news?" asked Wilder; but Jasper did not wait to answer. He rushed to Dr. Benton's office, got his permission to go home, packed his valise, and in five minutes was on his way to the depot.

He was just in time for the afternoon train. At seven o'clock in the evening he entered the avenue that led to his father's house. Throwing open the front door, he met Margaret in the hall.

There were two persons there—the step-mother and a man of thirty, with black whiskers and sallow complexion, with whom she was talking earnestly. They, started when Jasper entered, and looked discouraged. Mrs. Kent looked displeased and annoyed.

"Hush! He is very low," said Mrs. Kent "You shouldn't have dashed in here so abruptly."

"No, my young friend," said the man, smoothly. "All has been done that human skill can do, but without avail."

"I dismissed him," said his step-mother, "He was not competent to attend so critical a case. This is Dr. Kenyon."

"I never before heard Dr. Graham's skill doubted," said Jasper. "Is my father conscious?"

His father lay unconscious, his form rigid, his face thin and betraying marks of weariness and suffering. The tears rose to the eyes of Jasper as he realized that his father was passing away. As he looked on there was a slight convulsive movement; then repose. In that one moment his father had passed on to another world.

"Well," she said, coolly, "we must all die. We have the satisfaction of knowing that we have done all we could do to preserve his life."

"Certainly, my dear madam; you may comfort yourself by that thought," said the physician.

"Why did you not send for me before?" asked Jasper, turning with moist eyes to his step-mother, "that I might see my father before he died?"

"We could not foresee his sudden death," said Mrs. Kent. "How do you happen to be here this afternoon?"

"Did Margaret take upon herself to telegraph to you?" asked Mrs. Kent, in a tone of displeasure.

"Yes," said Jasper, bitterly. "Did you mean to keep me wholly unacquainted with my father's illness?"

"No; I wrote a line this afternoon, which I should have sent to the office at once."

"Your reproaches are unseemly and uncalled for," said his step-mother, quite coldly.

"I think differently," said Jasper, bitterly. "You should have sent for me as soon as my father got worse than usual."

"In consideration of your grief I will overlook your impertinence," said Mrs. Kent, compressing her thin lips, as she left the room.

He did not realize it, but his father's death was to seriously affect his fortunes.

Half an hour later Jasper left the room where his father lay dead. He did not seek the presence of his step-mother, who, he felt, had done him wrong in keeping from him his father's condition. He went instead to the kitchen, where he found Margaret.

"But for your telegram, I should not have known even now that he was dangerously ill, I thought at first Mrs. Kent asked you to telegraph."

"No, she didn't. I asked her would she send for you, and she told me it was none of my business."

"It was lucky you didn't heed her," said Jasper. "She is a cold, unfeeling woman."

"For a week or more, but he took a sudden turn at the last. I think he got worse after the new doctor came."

"I wanted to ask you about that. Why was Dr. Graham dismissed? He has attended my father for years."

"Shall I tell you what I think, Master Jasper?" said Margaret, stopping short in her work, and looking mysterious.

"It's my belief," she whispered, "that your step-mother didn't want your father to get well."

"A month ago she got your father to make his will. What there is in it I don't know, but it is likely it suits her. After that she had nothing to gain by his living."

"Poison him? No, I don't. It wasn't needful; but your papa was that delicate, it would be enough if he was not rightly treated, and I don't believe this new doctor did the right thing by him. Dr. Graham and Mrs. Kent never could agree, but she and the new doctor have been as thick as can be. They understand one another, I'll be bound."

"I don't like Mrs. Kent," he said, "but, Margaret, I hope you're wrong in this. That any one could wish my dear, gentle father dead I find it hard to believe."

"Heaven grant you are wrong, Margaret! If I thought it were true I should never want to look at the woman again."

Jasper understood her caution, when he saw his step-mother enter the kitchen. She looked from one to the other with a suspicious glance.

"With a trusted servant, who has been in our family for years. Nothing could be more natural."

"I am unfortunate in not winning your approbation," said Jasper, not caring to suppress the sarcasm.

She had thrown off the mask. During her husband's life she had taken special pains to be polite to Jasper, though in so doing she did violence to her feelings. There was no more to be gained by it, and she had changed suddenly. Jasper could not help alluding to it.

"How happens it, madam," he said, "that your treatment of me has changed so entirely since my father's death? Brief as the interval is, you have lost no time."

"I was silent out of regard to your father, who was blind to your faults," she answered. "You must not expect me to be equally blind."

"Mrs. Kent, I will take you at your word. How does it happen that you dismissed Dr. Graham, my father's old family physician?"

His step-mother hesitated and looked angry, but she replied, after a brief pause:

"What makes you think so? He certainly ought to understand my father's constitution."

"I didn't need to ask Margaret," said Jasper, "when my father lies dead after a week's treatment by this skilful physician."

"You ought to know that life and death are in the power of no doctor," she said, for, angry as she was, she saw that it was necessary to reply to what Jasper said. "In sending for Dr. Kenyon I did not much expect that he would cure your father, but I felt that it was my duty to give him this last chance. Unfortunately he was too far gone."

"You thought that matters were as bad as that a week ago, and yet you didn't send for me?" exclaimed Jasper.

"But it would have been a satisfaction to me to see something of him in his last sickness. Mrs. Kent, you haven't treated me right in this matter."

"I shall not continue this conversation," said Mrs. Kent, haughtily, "nor shall I submit to be talked to in this style. It is not for your interest to make me your enemy," she added, significantly.

Jasper was frank and fearless by temperament, and anything in the shape of a menace roused his high spirit.

"Margaret," said Jasper, abruptly, "did you go into my father's sick-chamber at any time?"

"She always opposed it, saying it wouldn't do no good, and would only take you off your studies."

"Much she cared for my studies! Margaret, I will never forgive that woman, never!"

"She wants to separate us," thought Jasper, as he slowly and sadly went up to his own chamber.

The funeral was over. Mrs. Kent was considered by those present to display a great deal of fortitude. As she felt no real grief for the death of her husband, this was not remarkable. Jasper looked pale and sorrowful, but gave way to no violent demonstrations of sorrow, though he began to understand that he had not only lost his best friend, but become at the same time exposed to the machinations of a resolute and relentless enemy.

To Mrs. Kent was left one-third of the estate, real and personal, of which the deceased was possessed, and the balance was willed to his only child and dear son Jasper, of whom his step-mother was left guardian.

When this clause was read Mrs. Kent directed a brief and triumphant glance at Jasper. He met the glance, and understood what it meant. He knew that it boded him no good.

The company assembled gradually dispersed, and Jasper was left alone with his step-mother.

"Perhaps you would have chosen a different one if the choice had been left to you," she continued, with a sneer.

"You are mistaken, madam. I am ready to treat you as well as you treat me. I won't pretend that I like your guardianship, as I fear that we shall not agree."

"I would rather not dispute till it is absolutely necessary," said Jasper. "May I ask whether you desire me to return to school?"

Jasper bowed and turned away. He went down stairs into the hall just as the front door was opened, and the familiar voice of Nicholas Thorne was heard. Jasper stared in some surprise at the intruder, not knowing that he was expected.

"Policy," said Thorne, laughing. "Your father might not have liked it. Now it's all right."

Jasper made no comment. What could he say? If Thorne were his step-mother's son, it was only natural that he should live in the house of which she was mistress.

But it seemed to him as if he were being pushed out of his own father's house, and these strangers were coming in to occupy it He felt that it would no longer seem like home to him.

"What a detestable fellow!" thought Jasper. "I am afraid we shall quarrel soon."

This uncouth boy was the one object this selfish woman loved. She uttered an exclamation of delight.

"Welcome home, my dear Nicholas!" she exclaimed, advancing hastily and throwing her arms round his neck.

He received the embrace apathetically, but made no opposition, as at another time he might have done. He felt on good terms with his mother and the whole world, in the face of the brilliant improvement of his prospects.

"I shall have control of the whole till Jasper is of age. I am left his guardian."

"He's always had his own way, and he may give you trouble. He feels high and mighty. I can tell you."

"I shall know how to deal with him," said Mrs. Kent, closing her thin lips resolutely. "He will find me as firm as himself."

"I don't expect to need any help, Nicholas; but I am glad to find I have a brave son, who will stand by his mother."

Certainly no one believed in Nicholas so thoroughly as his mother. To the world generally he was a cowardly bully, rough, brutal, and selfish. In his mother's eyes he was manly and a paragon of youthful virtue. I have already said that Thorne's affection for his mother was far less disinterested, as is very apt to be the case with boys. His intention to benefit by the change of circumstances was shown at once.

"You shall receive as much," said his mother, promptly. "Do you know how much he has received?"

"Won't he be mad!" exclaimed Nicholas, with malicious satisfaction. "What'll you say to him about it?"

"I shall merely announce my decision," said Mrs. Kent, coolly. "I am not bound to assign any reasons."

"I presume he will complain, but he has not conducted himself toward me in a manner to secure any favors."

"I say, mother, can you give me my first week's allowance in advance? I'm awful hard up."

"Here, my son," said Mrs. Kent, drawing out her pocket-book and placing a five-dollar bill in her son's hand.

"The estate is probably fully up to one hundred thousand dollars. This place is worth fifteen thousand. The rest is in good interest-paying stocks and bonds."

"And a third belongs to you! I say, mother, you've feathered your nest well. I guess I'll go out and take a look round."

In the rear of the house, in front of the stable, Nicholas caught sight of Jasper.

"I'll go and tell him about the reduction in his allowance," he said to himself.

Jasper was quietly thinking over his change of circumstances when he was roused by a rather violent slap on the shoulder.

"That's where you have the advantage of me, but after all it doesn't make much difference, as long as it's going to be my home now."

"I say, Kent, it seems odd that me and you are brothers," said Thorne, not very grammatically.

"That's very different. Besides, the relationship is so very recent that I find it hard to think of your mother as any relation at all."

"I don't know what my future plans will be," said Jasper, not very much elated by this prospect.

"No, I suppose not. Mother'll arrange about them. How much allowance did your father use to give you?"

Jasper thought at first of refusing to reply, but it occurred to him that under the new and strange circumstances it was not an improper question for Nicholas to ask. He therefore decided to reply.

"See here," said Thorne, drawing from his vest pocket the five-dollar bill his mother had given him.

"That's kind in you," returned Thorne, with a sneer, "especially as you are cut down."

"Mother says five dollars a week is too much for you. She's going to cut you down to three."

The indignant color came to Jasper's cheek. Was this interloper—this stranger—to be preferred to him in his own father's house? He was not excessively fond of money, and had there been need would not have objected to a reduction of his allowance. But to be deprived of his rights in favor of a fellow like Thorne was intolerable. If Nicholas wished to annoy and anger him, he had succeeded.

"So have I," said Jasper, his face hardening. "If your mother undertakes to wrong me she will repent it."

"I shall when the proper time comes. My allowance is not due yet. I don't care for the money, but my father knew what it was proper for me to have."

"There's going to be a row," thought Nicholas, with satisfaction. "I'll bet on mother. She'll put down this whipper-snapper."

"Excuse me," said Jasper, with the instinct of a gentleman. "You would find me very poor company. Another time we will walk together."

They did not meet again till supper. Mrs. Kent presided. On one side sat Nicholas, on the other Jasper. Our hero looked sad. The kind, worn face he was accustomed to see at the head of the table was gone forever. He felt that he was indeed desolate. His appetite was very small, while, on the other hand, Nicholas seemed to be famished. His mother kept plying him with dainties and tidbits, and he appeared to like the treatment amazingly.

"I wasn't thinking about that particularly. Besides, you are not the one from whom I expect to receive such communications."

"It's all true, though, as you will find. Ain't it, mother?" persisted Nicholas, who was anxious to have the row come off as soon as possible.

"You needn't have introduced the subject, Nicholas," she said, with slight reproof.

"Am I to understand that my allowance is reduced to three dollars a week?" asked Jasper, who felt that he had been dragged into the discussion.

"Yes. I consider that three dollars a week is a liberal allowance for a boy of your age."

"Your father acted according to his judgment," said Mrs. Kent, coldly. "On some points I differ from him in judgment. I think that he indulged you too much, probably because you were his only child."

"You will find me kind, too, if you deserve it," said his step-mother. But her tone belied her words.

"I conceive that the amount of his allowance has nothing to do with yours," said Mrs. Kent.

"It is," said Mrs. Kent, with a defiant look, which Jasper interpreted to mean "What are you going to do about it?"

"You have answered rightly," said Jasper, scornfully. "Even you are unable to defend it on the score of fairness or justice."

"I am not aware of any impropriety, madam. I am protesting against your unjust partiality for Nicholas."

"I am aware of that; but the money out of which the allowance is paid came to you from my father."

"Do you dare to continue your impertinent remarks?" exclaimed his step-mother, pale with rage.

"Madam, I am only stating the truth," said Jasper, sturdily. "You cannot expect me to submit tamely to such an injustice. Had you reduced my allowance and given Nicholas no more I would have let it pass."

"I won't submit to this impertinence!" exclaimed Mrs. Kent, furiously. "Nicholas, will you sit there and see your mother insulted?"

"What do you want me to do, mother?" asked Thorne, not exactly liking the turn matters had taken.

"Oh, there ain't any need of that," said Thorne, who knew by experience Jasper's strength.

"Do as I say, or I will give you no allowance at all!" said Mrs. Kent, stamping her foot angrily.

"Do you hear that, sir? He has insulted you, too," said Mrs. Kent, in a furious passion.

It was these words, perhaps, that spurred Nicholas to his task. Jasper had now risen, and Thorne threw himself upon him.

But Jasper was prepared. In less time than I have required to tell it, Thorne found himself prostrate on the floor.

"Madam," said Jasper, turning to his step-mother, "I am ready to leave your presence now, but of my own accord."

He left the room. Mrs. Kent was too astonished to speak. She had felt no doubt that Nicholas was more than a match for Jasper, as he certainly was bigger, and weighed twenty pounds more.

"Well, don't set me to doing it again," said Thorne, sulkily. "I didn't want to fight. You made me."

"I'll put on some cologne. I'll give you an extra five dollars, too, for standing by your mother."

"All right, mother," said Thorne, in a more cheerful tone. "That's the way to talk. Give it to me now."

Jasper did not see either of them again that evening. He called on a friend, and, entering the house at ten o'clock, went directly to his own room.

Mrs. Kent had never cared for Jasper. Since the marriage she had disliked him. Now that he had struck down Nicholas in her presence, she positively hated him. She did not stop to consider that he was provoked to it, and only acted in self-defense. She thirsted for revenge—more, indeed, than Nicholas, who, bully as he was, having been fairly worsted, was disposed to accept his defeat philosophically. If he could annoy or thwart Jasper he would have been glad to do it, but he did not desire to injure him physically.

Her darling had been assaulted and defeated in her presence. She did not again wish to put him against Jasper lest he should be again defeated, but she wished Jasper, her detested step-son, to drink the same cup of humiliation which had been forced upon Nicholas.

So she sat pondering how to accomplish the object she had in view. She could not herself beat Jasper, though, had he been younger and smaller, she would certainly have attempted it. She must do it by deputy.

Under the circumstances she thought of Tom Forbes, a strong and stalwart hired man, who had been for some months working on the place. Probably he would not like the task, but she would threaten to discharge him if he refused to obey her commands, and this, she thought, would bring him around.

"I wonder where Jasper is?" said Nicholas, about eight o'clock, as he sat opposite the little table where his mother was sewing.

"He certainly will if he conducts himself in the future as he has already done. He makes a mistake if he thinks I will tolerate such conduct."

"It's because you're a woman," said her son. "Boys of his age don't make much account of women."

"Of course not," said Nicholas, whose interest it was to keep on good terms with his mother. "Of course not; besides, you are my mother."

"So he is," said Thorne, who was ready to assent to anything that his mother might say.

"And yet his father thought him a paragon!" continued Mrs. Kent, her lip curling. "It is strange how parents can be deceived!"

Unconsciously she illustrated the truth of this remark in her own person. She considered Nicholas handsome, spirited, and amiable—indeed, as an unusually fascinating and attractive boy. To others he was big, overgrown, malicious, and stupid. But then mothers are apt to look through different spectacles from the rest of the world.

"I guess Jasper'll want to change his guardian," said Thorne, laughing. "You and he won't hitch horses very well."

"Don't use such a common expression, Nicholas. I want you to grow up a well-bred gentleman."

"Oh, well, I mean to. But I say, if his father liked him so much, what made him appoint you to take care of him?"

"He didn't know how I felt toward Jasper. I humored his fancies, and treated him better than I felt toward him."

"Yes, I wanted to pay off old scores," said Mrs. Kent, again compressing her lips with unpleasant firmness.

"He was opposed to my marriage. He would have stopped it if he could, but there I got the better of him. When he found that he was too late he treated me with coldness. He never liked me."

"By Jove! I don't think he's had much reason," said Nicholas, laughing boisterously.

"He'll regret not having treated me with more attention. I can thwart all his plans and make his life very uncomfortable."

"There is a choice in words. Remember, my dear boy, I want you to be a refined and cultivated gentleman."

"Well, I can be, now you're rich. But I say, mother, what are you going to do? You ain't going to stick down in this dull place all your life, are you?"

"No," said Mrs. Kent, decidedly. "I certainly shall not give him so much pleasure."

"I don't know. I might like it better if I had a fellow of my own age to go around with."

"You can trust me to provide for your happiness, Nicholas. It is all I live for."

"I want you to be in the kitchen, provided with your whip, when breakfast is over."

Twenty minutes later, Jasper, unaware of his step-mother's benevolent intentions, took his seat at the breakfast-table.

Breakfast was a quiet meal. Mrs. Kent preserved a frigid silence toward Jasper, interrupted only by necessary questions. Nicholas, who understood that there was a row in prospect, occasionally smiled as he looked across the table at Jasper, but he, too, was silent.

When breakfast was over, and the three arose from the table, Mrs. Kent said, in a cold voice:

"I don't think you have any right to say that I insulted you, and you would not have any reason to complain of me if you would treat me with ordinary justice and politeness."

"I am telling the truth. I am sorry that it is the truth. I would prefer to live on good terms with you."

"And have your own way!" said his step-mother, sarcastically. "I understand you, but I will have you know that I am mistress in this house. Are you ready to apologize for having attacked Nicholas?"

"I did not wish to do it, especially as he didn't attack me of his own accord, but if he should do so again I should act in the same manner."

"You have peculiar ideas of insolence," said Jasper, quietly. "I believe in defending myself, but I shouldn't like to harm Nicholas."

"You have undertaken to rebel against my authority," said Mrs. Kent, "but you don't understand me. I am not to be bullied or overcome by a boy."

Jasper looked at his step-mother in amazement. What had Tom Forbes to do with their colloquy.

Nicholas opened the door of the adjoining room, the kitchen, and summoned the hired man.

Ignorant of why he was wanted, for Mrs. Kent had not informed him, he came into the room, and looked about with a perplexed expression.

He was a tall, strong-looking fellow, country-bred, of about twenty-five or six.

"I will tell you in a moment. Jasper Kent," said his step-mother, turning to him, "you have rebelled against my just authority, you have insulted me in my own house, you have made a brutal attack upon my son in my presence, and now I am going to have you punished. Tom, I order you to give Jasper half a dozen lashes with your whip."

It is hard to tell which looked the more surprised at this brutal command, Jasper or the hired man. They looked at each other in amazement, but Tom did not stir.

"Because," said Tom, with manly independence, "I didn't hire out to do anything of the kind."

"I'll follow your directions, ma'am, so far as they are in the line of duty, but I won't do that."

"As to that, ma'am, if I go, I'll let everybody in the village know why you sent me away."

For this Mrs. Kent was not altogether prepared. She knew that it was not prudent to defy public opinion. Perhaps she had already gone too far. She put a great constraint upon herself, and said:

Tom withdrew at once, glad of the opportunity. Thus far Mrs. Kent had been foiled, and she knew it. She could scarcely conceal her mortification.

Jasper, who had been passive thus far, now spoke. He felt outraged and disgusted by his step-mother's brutal purpose, though it had failed.

"Mrs. Kent," he said with quiet resolution, "after the scene of this morning I cannot remain in the same house with you. My father has not been dead a week, yet you have treated me in a manner which, though I never liked you, I could not have thought possible. You are left my guardian. I do not wish to remain another day in this house. Have I your permission to return to school?"

"With the opinion which you have of me, Mrs. Kent, I should hardly think this would be very agreeable to you."

"I am sorry for that, but I am not surprised. From the way you have treated me, I should think so. Won't it be better for as both to be separated?"

"No; I am determined to break your rebellious will, and teach you to obey me implicitly."

"I have only to ask if you have fully made up your mind," said Jasper, quietly, but with suppressed excitement.

"Then, madam, I shall have to leave this house and go out into the world. I shall find more kindness among strangers than here."

"I have heard boys talk like this before," said Mrs. Kent, with contemptuous incredulity.

"He won't run away from me as long as I have charge of his property, you may be sure of that. He'll be coming back and apologizing pretty soon."

"You may as well let him go back to school, mother. He'll be out of our way, and we can enjoy ourselves."

"I am not going to gratify him so far. He has defied me and insulted me, and he must take the consequences," said Mrs. Kent, with a compression of her thin lips.

When Jasper left the house he bent his steps to the dwelling of a friend of his father, Otis Miller, a man of considerable property and good position. He found Mr. Miller at home.

"You have met with a great loss," said Mr. Miller, attributing Jasper's serious expression to his father's death.

"I shall be glad to give you the best I can, Jasper. I was your father's friend, and I shall be glad to be yours also."

"Thank you, sir. My troubles are connected with my step-mother, who treats me like an enemy."

Jasper told the story briefly and without excitement. It was only in his step-mother's presence that he felt disturbed.

"I have met your step-mother, but I know very little of her," said Mr. Miller. "She never impressed me very favorably, but I never dreamed that she would act in such an unreasonable manner. Perhaps even now matters are not as bad as you think. Sometimes people say things in anger which they repent of in their cooler moments."

"There is one thing she cannot do, and that is, keep your portion of the estate from you when you become of age."

"In this way it will. Suppose I agree to pay your expenses at school—that is to say, advancing the money, to be repaid when you obtain yours?"

"That would be very kind, Mr. Miller; but I shouldn't like to subject you to that risk."

"You mean that a minor's promise would be invalid? Well, Jasper, I have too much confidence in you to have any doubt of your integrity."

"But I am willing to do so. However, it may be as well to ascertain definitely your step-mother's intentions first. I will call upon her in your interest and find out."

"Thank you, sir. I should like to have you do so, as I don't want to act too hastily."

When Mrs. Kent was told that Mr. Miller had called to see her she went down to meet him, not surmising his errand.

"Mrs. Kent," said he, after the ordinary greetings were over, "I have called with reference to your relations to your late husband's son, Jasper."

"No; but he came to ask my advice as to what he ought to do. I am sorry to hear that you are unfriendly."

"That surprises me. It is wholly contrary to his reputation with those who have known him from his infancy," said Mr. Miller, quietly.

"You will admit that it is aggravating to see a stranger—an intruder, I may say—preferred to him in his own home?"

"To pass on, then. Have you refused Jasper permission to return to the school at which his father placed him?"

"Mrs. Kent," said Mr. Miller, gravely, "I was the friend of your late husband. I am the friend of his son, Jasper. As the friend of both, I ask you your reason."

"I will answer you, though I do not acknowledge your right to ask. I refuse to let Jasper go back to school, because I wish to punish him for his insolence and disobedience."

"Do you think, Mrs. Kent, that you have any right to deprive him of the opportunity to obtain an education?"

"You know as well as I that there is neither a classical nor a high school here. He would be compelled to give up the course of study upon which he has commenced."

"For the present, yes. If Jasper repents his ill-conduct, and makes up his mind to yield me that implicit obedience which is my due, I may hereafter consent to return him to school. But he must turn over a new leaf."

"Madam," said Mr. Miller, disgusted at the woman's manner, "do you consider that you are carrying out his father's wishes in reference to his son?"

"That is a question for me to decide," said Mrs. Kent, coldly. "I have undertaken the responsibility, and I have no fears about carrying out his wishes. I must trust my own judgment, not that of others."

"Madam," said Mr. Miller, after a pause, "there is one other question which I should like to put to you."

"This guardianship imposed upon you is a certain amount of care. Are you willing to relinquish it to another?"

"I have no doubt you would, and I presume Jasper would be very glad to have you do so."

"I think he would, though he didn't authorize me to speak to you about it," said Mr. Miller.

"Then, sir, I refuse in the most emphatic terms. I shall not relinquish the power which his father's will gives me over him. He shall yet repent his insolence."

"I regret your animosity, Mrs. Kent," said Mr. Miller, with dignity, rising as he spoke. "I was inclined to think that Jasper had exaggerated his account of the difficulties. I see now that he was correct. I have only, in wishing you good-morning, to predict that you will yet regret the manner in which you have treated your step-son."

"I will take my chance of that," said Mrs. Kent. "You may report to Jasper that my only terms are unconditional submission."

"I will do so, madam; but you know, as well as I, what his answer will be. His nature is too manly to submit to tyranny, even from his step-mother."

"Without exception, Jasper," said Mr. Miller, on his return, "I consider your step-mother the most disagreeble woman I ever met."

Jasper could not help smiling at the look of disgust upon the features of his father's friend.

"Succeed? No. She will offer no terms except unconditional submission on your part."

"So much is settled, then," said Jasper. "Now the question comes up—what am I to do?"

"And for that length of time you are to be under the guardianship of Mrs. Kent?"

"It is unfortunate," said the old gentleman, shrugging his shoulders. "I took the liberty to suggest to your step-mother that if the cares of a guardian should prove burdensome to her I would assume them."

"She replied in a sarcastic manner, and avowed her determination to remain your guardian."

"Your father left in my hands a paper to be opened two years after his death. It undoubtedly relates to you."

"No; but it influences my advice. Go to school for the next two years. I will advance the money to pay your bills. If at the end of that time the paper is what I hope it is, you will then be able to pay me, and for the balance of your minority I can become your guardian."

"I wish you might, Mr. Miller; but I don't think, under the circumstances, I want to go back to school."

"I am young, and I would like to see something of the world. I would like to imagine myself a poor boy, as I really am just now, and see if I cannot make my own way."

"I hardly know what to say to that, Jasper. I am afraid you do not appreciate the difficulties in your way."

"That's better. On this condition I will make no further opposition to your wishes. But have you any money?"

"Yes, sir. If you are willing to lend me fifty more I think I can get along till I can earn some."

"To the West. My father has a cousin, a lady, married, and living in a small town on the banks of the Mississippi. I have never been to the West. I should like to go out there and see if I can't find some employment in that neighborhood."

"No; we look upon such things differently as we grow older. When do you want to start?"

"Thank you, sir. I will go home this afternoon and get my carpet-bag and a few underclothes, and then I shall be ready to start to-morrow morning."

Jasper did as proposed. He would gladly have dispensed with this call at the house which had once been a home to him, but was so no longer; but it was necessary to make it.

"He don't deserve respect. He puts on as many airs as a prince. I warrant he was poor enough before his mother took him home. What do you think he said to me?"

"'Look here, Tom, you harness the horse right up, do you hear? Don't stand dawdling there, for I and mother are going out to ride.'"

"You may be sure he ain't used to prosperity, or he wouldn't put on so many airs!"

"Well, Tom, I'm glad Mrs. Kent is out. I don't want to meet her, nor Nicholas, either."

"But there ain't any need of that, Master Jasper. Didn't your father leave you a fortune?"

"I'm not to have it till I'm twenty-one, and till then my step-mother is my guardian. Now, I put it to you, Tom, can I stay at home to be treated as you saw me treated this morning?"

"No, you can't, that's a fact. Master Jasper, I wish you'd take me with you as your servant."

"As to that, Tom, I am in no position to have a servant; I've got to work for my own living."

"And she here living on the fat of the land!" exclaimed Tom, indignantly. "It's an outrageous shame!"

"Strong language, Tom," said Jasper, smiling. "Mind my amiable step-mother doesn't hear you."

"Thank you for your offer, Tom, but I must go alone. Perhaps I shall prosper out there. I hope so, at any rate."

"Have you got any money, Master Jasper? I've got a few dollars laid by. If they'll do you any good you're welcome to take 'em. I shan't need 'em."

"Thank you, Tom," said Jasper, cordially grasping his toil-embrowned hand, "but I am well provided for. Mr. Miller, my father's friend, is mine, too. He has lent me some money, and will lend me more if I need it."

Half an hour later, as Jasper was going up the street, with his carpet-bag in one hand, he saw the open carriage approaching in which Mrs. Kent and Nicholas were seated. He would liked to have escaped observation, but there was no chance.

"You will repent this insubordination," said Mrs. Kent, angrily. "You will yet return home in rags."

"Drive on, Nicholas!" said Mrs. Kent, angrily. "How I hate that boy!" she ejaculated.

"It strikes me, mother, you've got the best of it," said Nicholas. "You've got his property, and as to his company, we can do without that."

A week later Jasper was one of the passengers on a train bound for St. Louis, and already within sixty miles of that flourishing city. He had stopped over at Niagara and Cincinnati—a day or so at each place. He gratified his desire to see the great cataract, and felt repaid for doing so, though the two stops trenched formidably upon his small capital. Indeed, at the moment when he is introduced anew to the reader's notice he had but ten dollars remaining of the sum with which he started. He was, however, provided, besides, with a through ticket to St. Louis.

He had been sitting alone, when a stranger entering the car seated himself in the vacant seat.

Looking up, Jasper noticed that he was a tall man, shabbily dressed, with thin, sallow face and a swelling in the left cheek, probably produced by a quid of tobacco.

"Good-morning, sir," said Jasper, smiling. "I haven't the honor of being a colonel."

"Haven't you, cap'n? Well, that ain't of no account. It'll come in time. Where are you travelling?"

The stranger drew from his pocket a package of chewing tobacco and passed it politely to Jasper.

"Well, not exactly," said Jasper, hesitatingly. "That is, I am looking for a chance to go into business."

"Got any capital?" interjected the stranger, carelessly, squirting a yellow stream upon the floor of the car.

"Oh, I don't expect to go into business for myself at present," said Jasper, amused at the thought.

"No?" said the other, reflectively. "If you had five thousand dollars I might take you into partnership."

"Well, no, colonel. There ain't any vacancy now in my establishment. May be soon."

Had Jasper felt favorably impressed with his companion he would have inquired where in the city his place of business might be, but it did not strike him that he should care to be in his employ.

He accordingly pulled out a copy of a popular magazine which he had bought the day before, and began to read. The stranger bought a paper of the train-boy, and engaged in a similar way. Fifteen minutes passed in this way. At the end of that time the stranger rose leisurely, and with a brief "Mornin', colonel," passed out of the car. Whether he got into the next one or got out at the station which they were approaching Jasper could not distinguish, nor did he feel specially interested in the matter.

"I thought I did," said our hero, surprised. "It was there when you last passed round."

"It may have fallen on the floor," he said, and rising he looked under the seat.

"I have come all the way from Cincinnati," said Jasper, uncomfortably. "I couldn't have come so far without a ticket. What shall I do?"

Jasper felt for his pocket-book, when a new surprise awaited him. A look of consternation swept over his countenance.

"My pocket-book is gone!" exclaimed our hero, gazing in blank dismay at the expectant official.

"It won't go down, young man. I've seen such customers as you before. You're a beat!"

"It's no use," said the conductor, inexorably. "My orders are strict. If you can't pay, you can't ride."

"But my pocket was picked," said Jasper, new light flashing upon him. "There was a stranger who sat beside me a while ago. He must have taken my ticket and money, too."

"Of course there was," said the conductor, with sarcasm. "That's the way it usually happens. I'm used to such games, young man. It won't do you any good. Out you go!"

"Let me go through the cars and see if I can't find the man that robbed me. I'd know him in a minute."

Jasper waited for no more. He rose from his seat and, carpet-bag in hand, passed into the next car.

Groups of men were playing cards, and, as Jasper judged, were playing for money. Among them, to his great joy, he recognized his shabby companion, the cotton broker of St. Louis. The latter was playing with three other men, black-bearded, and loud both in their dress and speech.

Without a moment's hesitation Jasper advanced and touched his late companion on the shoulder.

For the first time it struck Jasper that his errand was rather an awkward one. How could he ask this man if he had taken his property?

"I beg your pardon, sir," said he, "but did you see anything of my ticket and money?"

He turned abruptly away from Jasper, and the boy slowly withdrew to a little distance, sorely puzzled. On the one hand, he felt convinced that this man had abstracted his ticket and money. On the other, he doubted whether it would be safe to charge him with it.

Jasper had no chance to remonstrate. Obeying necessity, he stepped upon the platform, and the train swept on.

To be without money is far from pleasant under any circumstances, but to be penniless a thousand miles from home, in the midst of strangers, is far worse. Jasper found himself in this position so unexpectedly that as he stood beside the little depot with his carpet-bag in his hand he felt utterly bewildered.

Not a house was in sight. Why the railroad company should have established a depot there he could not understand. Probably there must be some village not far away.

No other passenger had got out with Jasper. There was no other person in sight but the station-master, a tall, sallow-faced man, in a slouched hat, who eyed our hero curiously.

When he had walked half a mile along the lonely road he stopped suddenly and asked himself:

Still, he must go somewhere. He could not go to St. Louis without money, and there was a bare possibility that he might find something to do in Croyden. If he could earn a few dollars he could go on, and once in a large city there would be hope of permanent employment.

How different would have been his situation if he had not lost his money, and how unfortunate it was that he should have been set down at this dismal place!

Finally he came to a place where the road divided into two forks or branches, one leading to the right, the other to the left.

There seemed no choice so far as he could see. Neither was very promising, nor was there any sign-post to inform him of what he wished to know.

After a while he began to suspect that he had made a wrong decision. The road became little more than a lane, and seemed unfrequented. But just as he was going to turn back he espied at some distance from the road a rude dwelling, which, from its weather-beaten appearance, seemed never to have been painted.

"I can find out something there, at any rate," thought Jasper, and he bent his steps toward it.

Brief time brought him in front of the house. It was certainly a quiet-looking place.

He knocked with his fist at the door. On account of the smallness of the house the knock certainly must have been heard, but there was no response.

He knocked again, this time considerably louder, and waited for some one to answer his summons.

"It must be a deserted house," thought our hero. "I have a great mind to explore it—that is, if I can get in."

He tried the door, and, a little to his surprise, it yielded to his touch. The door being in the centre of the house, there was a room on each side. The door to the left; opened into a room which was quite bare of furniture. On the other side, however, was a room containing a table and three chairs. On the table was a dirty clay-pipe and a box of tobacco, and there was a dead odor of tobacco-smoke lingering in the closely-shut room.

He felt that it would be better to make his presence known, as otherwise he might be suspected of entering the house with burglarious designs, though it would have puzzled a burglar to find anything worth purloining.

"There can't be anybody in the house or I should have been heard," thought our hero. "However, I'll call again."

This time there was a faint sound that came to his ears. It seemed like the voice of a child.

He climbed the rude staircase, and pushed open the door of the room above the one in which he had been standing a moment before. He gazed in wonder at the spectacle before him.

A boy, five years of age, who in spite of his frightened expression possessed great personal beauty, was lying on a bed in one corner of the room. He looked at Jasper in uncertainty at first, then with confidence, and said:

"Do you live here?" asked Jasper, in surprise, for this boy was not at all like the children usually to be found in such houses as this.

His complexion was of dazzling whiteness, his hair was a bright chestnut, and his clothing was such as wealthy parents can afford to give to their children.

"Take me to mamma," said the little fellow, stretching out his arms, and beginning to cry. "I want to see my mamma."

He began to understand that the boy had been kidnapped, and he felt great compassion for him.

He tried to raise the boy from the bed and take him in his arms, when he made an unexpected discovery.

The boy's ankles were firmly tied by a rope, which connected with the bedpost, so that it was impossible for him to leave the bed.

But just as he had completed his task he heard steps upon the stairs. What if it were the man of whom the child spoke!

Jasper threw one arm around the child, and with his teeth set hard fixed his eyes expectantly upon the door.

The woman who entered was of middle size, dressed in a cheap print, dirty and faded, which corresponded very well with her general aspect. She looked weary and worn, and moved languidly as if she had little interest in life. She looked startled at the sight of Jasper, and pressed her hand to her heart.

"I suppose I ought to apologize for being here, but I knocked twice and got no answer. That made me think the house was deserted. I entered, and hearing a low cry, came to this room."

"I thought he might slip off while I was out I went out for some water. That is the reason I did not answer your knock."

"Madam," said Jasper, coming to the point, "you may answer me or not; but if you do, tell the truth. Was not this child stolen?"

"I suppose your husband kidnapped the child in order to get money from the parents for his return?"

"What can I do?" said the woman, helplessly. "I have spoken to him, but it does no good. He won't heed anything that I say."

Jasper began to pity the poor woman. It looked as if she were an unwilling helper in her husband's crimes.

"I ought not to speak against my husband," said the woman, uneasily, appearing to think that she had already told too much.

"He went out this morning. Perhaps he is hunting. He never tells me where he is going."

"I can't tell. He may be here in five minutes; he may not be here before night."

"In that case," thought Jasper, "I had better be off as soon as possible. I should be no match for this brute in human form. Judging from what I have heard of him, he would kill me without scruple if he thought I were interfering with his plans."

"I am going to take him away," proceeded Jasper, fixing his eyes earnestly upon the woman, to see how she took the proposal.

This was a serious consideration, truly. Jasper had no weapons, and a boy of his age would have been a poor match for a strong man, as the kidnapper probably was.

"After all, I had better not interfere," he thought. "It can do no good, and will only expose me to great danger."

But just at this instant the little boy's soft hand slid into his, and he could not resist the touching appeal for his protection.

"I shall take the risk," he said. "I can't leave the boy here. I will try to find his parents and restore him to them."

He had scarcely said this when the woman, who had casually glanced out of the window, started up in alarm, exclaiming:

Jasper could not help feeling that he was in rather a critical position. A man whose business it was to kidnap young children in order to extort money from their friends was not likely to be very scrupulous, and the fear of having his secret divulged might lead him to extreme measures.

"Yes, yes," she said, recovering something of her presence of mind. "There, get into that closet. I'll come and let you out when he is gone."

She opened the door of a closet in one corner of the room. It was quite dark inside, and except a stool, it was entirely empty.

She buttoned the door, and our hero found himself a close prisoner in the dark. It certainly gave him a peculiar sensation. Only a week before he had been at his Eastern home. Now he was more than a thousand miles away, penniless, and a prisoner. But though he was peculiarly situated, he was not discouraged. In fact, with a brave boy's love of adventure, he felt a certain exhilaration and wondered what was coming next. His courage and enterprise rose with the occasion, and he began to consider what course he should take after he got out.

While he is sitting in the closet in dark captivity, we will go below and make acquaintance with the man whose arrival had produced so great a sensation.

He was a black-browed ruffian, with a rough beard of a week's growth. He threw himself sullenly into a chair and growled:

"Wouldn't I? I would if I was paid enough, but there's nothing to be made by killing him."

"You haven't got the heart of a chicken!" said the man, contemptuously. "Give me something to eat. I'm hungry."

"What if I did? I don't always hunt when I take my gun. I expected to hear from the friends of that brat this morning, but I didn't. They must hurry up with their money if they don't want me to strangle him."

"Yes, they did. I took care of that. I s'pose they're hatching up some plot to have me arrested. If they do, it'll be a bad day for the brat."

He looked fierce and brutal enough to execute the dark threat at which he indirectly hinted. There was a cruel look in his eye which showed that he would have had small scruples about injuring an innocent child, if provoked by the desire for revenge.

While his wife was cooking the eggs he filled his pipe and began to smoke. She made all the haste she could, knowing that her husband was far from patient. Soon the frugal repast was ready. She set it on the table, and said:

However, he was hungry, and laying aside his pipe, did as she requested. Soon he had dispatched all the food set before him.

"I wish there were more. If you'll give me some money I'll go out and buy something."

"Money!" he snarled. "You're always wanting money. Do you think I am made of money?"

"Yes, Dick, but it isn't much used to you. You might frighten it, and make it cry."

"Halloo! What's that?" he said, looking sharply at her. "You dare to find fault with me, do you?"

"It's lucky you didn't," he said, warningly. "I don't allow none of that, wife or no wife."

The wife was nervous lest the child in some way might excite the suspicions of her husband and betray the presence of Jasper. She felt, therefore, very ill at ease.

"Oh, yes, I'll take you as soon as your mamma sends me some money," said the man named Dick, "and she'd better do it pretty soon, too," he muttered.

"Do you know, old woman," he said in a different tone, "I've heard news that'll rather take you by suprise?"

"Well, that's as may be," he answered. "It ought to be good news for us, but there's no saying. You know my sister?"

"Well, you see she went as governess into a family. The man was rich and an invalid—a widower, too. What does she do but get him to marry her?"

"That isn't all of it. She hadn't been married but two or three months when her husband died, leaving her a third of his property and guardian to his son, who inherits the rest. So she's a rich woman. I say she ought to do something for her brother Dick. Don't you say so?"

"She ought to be, but she's selfish. She always was. If only I had the money I'd go East, and see what I could get out of her."

"No, I wouldn't. It'll be all I can do to raise money enough to pay my own expenses, let alone yours. If I get anything I'll come back, and you'll get your share. That's why I want the parents of that brat to fork over the cash pretty quick."

Every word of this dialogue was beard by Jasper in his place of concealment. He was astonished beyond measure to learn that this ruffian was the brother of his step-mother.

"No wonder I don't like her," he thought, "if they have any traits in common. What a fate, for my kind and gentle father to marry the sister of such a man!"

"Well, so am I, if she'll do the right thing by me; but if she don't, then I'm sorry."

"Wish me good luck, then, and money enough to take care of you. What are you starin' at, young 'un?"

This he said to the child, whose eyes, as if by a species of fascination, were fixed upon him.

"Shut up!" said the ruffian, harshly, striding to the bed and pinching the boy's arm till he cried with the pain.

"Oh, don't, Dick," pleaded the woman, who was fond of children, though she had never been a mother.

"I'll give the brat something to cry for," said her husband, and he pinched him again.

"Oh, Dick, how can you torture the poor child?" said his wife, braver in the little boy's defence than in her own.

"What business has it to cry, then? I'd like to choke it. If you don't hush I'll serve you the same way."

Jasper had listened to this brutality as long as he could, but his indignation became too hot to be repressed. Thoughtless of consequences, he burst open the closet door and strode into the presence of the astonished ruffian, his fists involuntarily clenched, and his eyes kindling with indignation.

The man whom we have called Dick stopped short and gazed in astonishment at the boy who had so fearlessly stepped upon the scene.

"How came you there? What business have you in my house, anyway?" demanded the ruffian.

"I entered it supposing it to be deserted," said Jasper. "While I was below I heard that poor boy cry, and came up."

"Did you know he was here?" asked the ruffian, turning to his wife, and speaking menacingly.

"Because I didn't want him injured in any way. I was afraid you would be angry with him."

"That is where you are right," said Dick, adding an oath. "The young scoundrel shall pay for his impudence in entering my house like a thief."

"You have no right to say that," said Jasper. "I have explained to you why I came here."

"You hid in the closet, intending to come out and steal when we were out of the way."

"It is true. I was robbed in the cars by a pickpocket, and because I was penniless and could not pay my fare I was put off at this station."

Unobserved by her husband, the wife made a warning sign to Jasper not to provoke the man, whose evil passion she so well knew.

Jasper comprehended the sign, but it did not influence him. Frank and fearless by temperament, he thought it his duty to stand between the little boy and this ruffian's brutality. Still he appreciated the woman's kindness, and resolved to bear it in mind. Indeed, he saw that she was rather to be pitied than blamed. Her natural instincts were good, but she was under the control of a bad man.

"No; it is the truth. I felt sure of it before, and now I know it. You took him in order to extort money from his friends."

"Well," said the ruffian, defiantly, "what if I did? Have you anything to say against it?"

"I shall have to wring your neck by and by," muttered Dick. "Well, go on. Spit out what you've got to say."

"I say it's a cruel wrong to the parents," said Jasper, boldly, "and to the child also. But you make it worse when you try to abuse the boy."

"Come, boy, if you care so much for the brat, suppose you take his place, and take the beating I was going to give him," suggested the ruffian, mockingly.

"I would rather suffer than have him suffer," said Jasper, quietly; "but perhaps you will change your mind when you hear what I have to say."

"Oh, you are going to beg off!" sneered the ruffian, with a look of satisfaction. "I thought you'd come to your senses."

"You are mistaken as to my intention. I want to speak to you about your sister—formerly Mrs. Thorne."

"That's the name. So she sent you out to me, did she? That's better than I thought She hasn't forgotten her brother, after all."

"No; you are mistaken," said Jasper. "She never so much as told me she had a brother."

"I believe you are lying. This Jasper Kent is rich—the heir of two-thirds of his father's property. You say you are penniless."

"That is true. Both stories are true. I am my father's principal heir, but your sister is my guardian. She has treated me in such a way that I left the house."

"No, I gave her full notice of what I should do. I told her that if I were decently treated I would stay, but if she continued to insult me, and give the preference in all things to her own boy, Nicholas, I would go away."

"You haven't been such a fool as to go off and leave all your property in her hands?"

"I shall come in possession of it when I am twenty-one. Till then I will try to support myself."

"Come, boy, you're plucky. I'm glad you came, after all. I want to hear more about my sister's affairs. Come down stairs, and we'll talk."

Dick appeared suddenly to have forgotten his animosity. He became even friendly in his manner, as he gave our hero this invitation.

"Old woman," said he, addressing his wife, "can't you rake up something for this boy to eat? I dare say he is hungry."

"I'll go out directly and get something. Come down, boy, I want to ask you a few more questions."

They went down stairs, followed by the wife. She was happily relieved by the unexpected good understanding between her husband and Jasper.

"Now tell me," said Dick, eagerly, when they were in the lower room, "how much property has my sister got?"

"As much as that?" said Dick, complacently. "Well, she has feathered her nest well."

"I don't like Mrs. Kent," said Jasper. "Though she is your sister, I am obliged to say that, but it is not at all on account of the property my father left her. If he had given her one-half his estate I would not have complained, as long as she treated me fairly."

"As to that," said Jasper, "my opinion wouldn't have any weight with her. If you are poor and need help, it would be only natural for her to help you."

"Certainly not," said Jasper. "I shall not write to her at all; and even if I did, I wouldn't try to interfere with her disposing of her property in any way she thinks best."

"You'd better not," said Jasper. "If she thinks you are friendly to me you'll stand a poor chance of any favors. Better abuse me."

"I say, youngster, you're a smart 'un. I see you're friendly by your hint. I'll abuse you to her, never fear. You must take a drink on that. Say, old woman, where's the whisky?"

"I send this in advance," said the writer. "When the boy is safely delivered into my hands a hundred and fifty more will be paid to the one who brings him, and no questions asked.
Herman Fitch."

"Good!" said Dick, "as far as it goes. I'm ready to give up the brat, but will his father keep faith? Perhaps he'll have the police on hand ready to nab me."

"You're the right sort," said Dick, with satisfaction. "But there's another matter I've got to think about. How do I know but you will betray me?"

"You see this man, the boy's father, agrees to pay one hundred and fifty dollars when he is given up."

"He will give you that money—that is, if he means fair—and you will bring it to me. Do you understand?"

"He lives a little out of the city. His name is in the directory, so you won't have any trouble in finding it."

"He ought to be. You don't think he'll back out from his agreement?" said Dick, suspiciously.

"Oh, I'll come back! It's business I'm going for, old woman. If I can't come back I'll send money to bring you."

"Oh, hush up! I can't have you always in my way. What, blubbering? Plague take all the women, I say!"

"There's a train this afternoon; take that, for the sooner matters are arranged the better. Here's five dollars. It'll be more than enough to pay your fare, but you'd better have it in case anything happens."

Jasper felt some repugnance in taking money acquired in such a way, but it seemed necessary, and he thrust the note into his vest-pocket.

"You'll be able to carry the boy back to-night," said Dick. "To-morrow at twelve bring the money to this address."

He handed him a greasy-looking card with the name "Mark Mortimer, No. 132 S—— Street," scrawled on it in pencil.

"If you should play me false, you'd better never have been born," said the kidnapper, menacingly.

"I'll come, not on account of your threats, but because I have promised," said Jasper, quietly.

"You're a plucky boy. You ain't one of the milk-and-water sort," said Dick, with respect for the boy's courage.

"By Jove! you've got more pluck than half the men. You'd make a fine lad for my business."

"I don't think I'd like your business, so far as I know what it is," said Jasper.

"Well, there's some I'd like better myself. If my sister does the right thing by me I'll become a model citizen—run for Congress, may be. Eh, old woman?"

"Harry," said Jasper to the little boy, whose name he had learned, "do you want to go with me?"

Part of the way he carried the little boy in his arms. They could make but slow progress, but luckily there was plenty of time, and they reached the depot a quarter of an hour before the train started.

The arrival of two passengers, who wanted tickets, relieved him from the questions of the curious station-master. He might have asked questions which it would have been inconvenient to answer.

Jasper led him a little away, to avoid questioning, but was back in time to enter the cars when the train arrived. He found a vacant seat, and gave the little boy the place next the window. There were many admiring glances directed toward the little fellow, who was remarkably handsome. Jasper was apprehensive lest the boy should be recognized by some one who knew him. This would have brought suspicion upon him, and placed him in a very embarrassing position. Fortunately, though the child's appearance was much admired, no such recognition took place.

"Now," thought Jasper, "I must find out as soon as possible where Mr. Fitch lives."

Jasper had not been much of a traveller, as we know. Finding himself now in a strange city, he felt at first a little bewildered—the more so, that he had a young child under his charge. He did not know in which direction the boy's father lived, but the natural thought occurred to him that he could find his name in the directory. He went into a lager-beer saloon near-by and asked:

"I got no directory," answered the burly Dutchman, who presided over the saloon. "I can give you lager."

It occurred to him that it might be as well to get into the central part of the city. He accordingly hailed a passing car, and got aboard with Harry.

After awhile he judged from the appearance of the buildings that he had reached one of the principal streets. He descended from the car, lifting Harry carefully down and carrying him in his arms to the sidewalk. There was a large and imposing store situated at the corner of the street.

He entered, holding the little boy by the hand. What was his surprise when a richly-dressed lady, turning and catching sight of the child, sprang to him, seized him in her arms, and began to cry and laugh alternately. But the mystery was explained when he heard Harry say:

Jasper stood at a little distance, witnessing the happy meeting between the mother and child. He did not wish to interrupt their happiness. Soon, however, the mother looked up, and then Jasper advanced, raising his hat, politely.

"How could you be so wicked as to steal my boy?" demanded Mrs. Fitch, with pardonable indignation, judging that Jasper was the kidnapper.

"He didn't 'teal me, mamma," said little Harry, coming opportunely to Jasper's defense.

Mrs. Fitch, prompt to remedy her injustice, held out her hand to Jasper, which he took respectfully.

"Excuse me," she said; "but I thought, as Harry was with you, that you had been concerned in his kidnapping."

"I never saw him till this morning," said Jasper. "Chance drew me to a lonely house where he was confined."

"I would have done so if I could, but I can't take the credit of it. Your husband offered a reward, which the kidnapper thought best to accept. He did not dare to bring him back himself, and having no one else to employ, asked me to become his agent in restoring him. Of course, I was very glad to do it."

"It was not chance that directed you to the haunt of these wicked men; it was a good and merciful Providence. Did they ill-treat my darling?"

"How could they treat you so my dear boy!" said the mother, piteously. "May I ask your name?"

"Can you come out and stop at our house over night? We live about two miles distant. I want my husband to see you and thank you for bringing back our darling boy."

Jasper reflected that he must see Mr. Fitch, at any rate, in order to obtain the promised reward. Moreover, he had no means of his own to pay for a lodging, and he promptly accepted the offer.

"I will return home at once," said Mrs. Fitch. "I came in to make some purchases, but I can't think of those now. Come, Mr. Kent."

Jasper smilingly took the proffered hand, and Harry, happy in the double companionship, went out of the store.

There was a handsome carriage in waiting, with a coachman in livery perched on the box.

"Edward," said Mrs. Fitch, her face fairly glowing with delight, "do you see? Little Harry has come back."

"So he has, Heaven bless him!" said the coachman, heartily. "How do you do, Master Harry?"

"No; he must have left the office by this time. We shall see him at supper to-night."

Half an hour later the carriage drew up in front of a handsome residence, far enough from the centre of the city to have a side yard of considerable dimensions, in the rear of which stood a brick stable. It was clear that Mr. Fitch was a man of wealth, so Jasper decided.

Of the sensation produced in the house by Harry's arrival I will not speak. Jasper found himself regarded in the light of the heroic deliverer of the little boy from captivity, though he laughingly disclaimed the credit attaching to such a character.

They had been home but fifteen minutes when Mr. Fitch arrived. At the moment of his arrival Jasper was in a handsome chamber on the second floor, which had been assigned to his use, preparing himself for dinner. Mr. Fitch was overjoyed at the recovery of his little boy, but he listened with some incredulity to the praises lavished upon Jasper by his wife.

"You don't seem to realize," he said, "that this young hero of yours is a companion and acknowledged agent of a kidnapper."

"How the women are carried away by a specious appearance!" he thought. "I am a man of the world, and cooler in my judgment."

Yet when Jasper entered the room he could not help acknowledging that his appearance was very much in his favor. Frank and manly in his looks, he met Mr. Fitch with gentlemanly ease.

"You are the young gentleman who brought back my little boy, I believe," said the father.

"Yes, sir," said Jasper. "I occupy, for the time being, the office of agent of the man who kidnapped him."

"Then," said Mr. Fitch, with slight suspicion, "you are in confidential relations with this villain."

"Partly so, but it was forced upon me. I never met him till to-day, and he confided in me because there seemed to be no one else that he could trust."

"Once only, to finish this business. He said you had promised a certain sum on the boy's return, and this I agreed to carry him."

"Nothing at all," said Jasper. "He handed me five dollars to pay the railroad fare of little Harry and myself to St. Louis. What is left over I shall return to him."

"I never was in St. Louis until this afternoon. I have only just come on from the State of New York."

"Yes, sir. It was by the merest chance that I fell over your little boy and his captor. I was contriving plans for getting him away, when fortunately the kidnapper received a communication from you which led to my being here."

"That would have been the difficulty. I didn't know your name, or where you lived. But I meant to come here and get one of the daily papers to publish an account of the recovery, in the hope that the paragraph would find its way to your notice."

"A very sensible plan," commented Mr. Fitch, approvingly. "When have you agreed to meet the kidnapper to carry him the money?"

"Yes, sir. After supper, if you can spare the time, I will tell you my situation, and the circumstances that led me here, and ask for advice."

After supper Jasper told his story briefly, and confirmed the favorable impression he had already begun to make. Mr. Fitch cast aside his lingering remnant of suspicion, and promised his good offices in procuring him employment.

"After you have seen this man and paid him the money," he said, "come to my counting-room, and we will talk over your affairs."

The evening was spent socially, little Harry, of course, being the central object of interest. The little fellow appeared to have taken a great fancy to Jasper, and was unwilling to have him go the next day. He was not reconciled till Jasper promised to come back.

To find the address given by the kidnapper was not difficult. It was only necessary to look over a plan of the city, which Jasper did in Mr. Fitch's counting-room.

He set out with one hundred and fifty dollars in his pocket for 132 S—— Street.

It was a shabby house of two stories, with a wide front. It looked dilapidated and neglected, but except that it was in an unsavory neighborhood there was nothing to draw attention to it, or lead to the impression that it was the haunt of lawbreakers and desperate characters.

In a back room sat three men, one of whom we recognize as the kidnapper, Dick, alias Mark Mortimer. Of the other two, one was under twenty-five, with a reckless, dare-devil look, as of one who would stop at little in his criminal schemes. He had more than once been engaged in burglary, but as yet had escaped detection.

The third was a stout, square-built man, of middle age, with a heavy, brutal face, such as might belong to a prize-fighter. He, too, was a burglar, an accomplished counterfeiter, a gambler, who supplemented luck by various swindling devices, in which he was an adept. This man was known as Slippery Bill, while his young companion was Jack, with a choice of last names.

The three men were playing a game of euchre, with a pack of greasy cards. The time was half-past eleven in the forenoon.

"If he did I'd break his neck!" exclaimed Dick, hastily. "But he won't. Leastways he won't if he can help it."

"It strikes me, Dick," said Bill, "that you ought never to have asked him to come here."

"How long have you known him, that you speak with so much confidence?" inquired the younger man.

"Why, Dick, you're as innocent as a baby. You haven't knowed this chap more'n twenty-four hours, and you'll stake your life on him."

"Laugh as much as you like," said Dick, stubbornly. "I ought to speak up for my own nephew."

"A minute ago you said you never saw him till yesterday," said the stout man, suspiciously.

"Has she sent him to you to be brought up in the way he should go?" asked Jack, with a sneer.

"That's better," said Bill, partially reassured. "He won't be likely to betray you—not now—but he may inform against this place."

"Are you going to let him go as soon as he brings the money, or will he stay with you?"

"What! your nephew, Dick?" and the two men laughed loudly. "That's too thin. Don't ask us to swallow that."

"Look here, Jack," said Dick, who was getting irritated, "you may find that I've got the same kind of temper if you keep on badgering me about the boy. I say he's to be trusted."

"I say there is. You've let him into the knowledge of this place. He'll blow on us some day."

"Do as you like," said Dick; "I don't care. I wash my hands of the responsibility."

"That's all we want," said Bill. "We need a young one to help us in our plans. If this nephew of yours is as brave as you say, he'll do. What time was he to come here?"

"The clock may be wrong." said Dick, but he glanced uneasily at the clock, which now indicated a little past the hour.

An old man, thin and shriveled, with a crafty eye, and a thin, squeaking voice, here put his head in at the door.

"There's a boy wants to see you, Mr. Mark Mortimer," said the old man, repeating the name as if he enjoyed it.

"Is his name Mortimer, too?" asked the proprietor of the establishment, for such the old man was.

Almost directly Jasper was ushered into the room—fearlessly, but looking about him with some curiosity.

"You have the boy's word for it," said Jack, with a quiet sneer. "How did you find your way here, boy?"

"There's nothing strange in that," said Jasper, quietly. "It was I who carried his boy home."

"The boy is right," said Dick, who, having obtained his money, felt graciously disposed toward our hero, through whose agency he had obtained it.

"You!" repeated Jasper, with an attentive glance, which took in the man's disreputable appearance.

"I feel obliged for your offer," said Jasper, "but having promised Mr. Fitch to return, I would prefer to do so."

"Boys," interrupted Dick, at this point, "I'm sorry to leave this festive crowd, but I've got other business to attend to, and must be going."

"No, you don't, just yet," said Jack, rising, and striding between Jasper and the door. "We'll have a drink all around first."

"All right, Jasper," said Dick. "I'll treat. You can drink what you like, though."

Presently the old man already referred to appeared with the drinks. It Is hardly necessary to say that Jasper was alone in his choice of lemonade. The rest selected stronger liquors.

"Here's to you, Dick," said Jack, tossing off the contents of his glass, "and may you live to treat us many times more!"

"I'm goin' East for the benefit of my health and my purse," said Dick, with a grin. "Do you wish me success, mates?"

"No; it's a strictly virtuous and honest undertaking. I don't mind giving you a hint of it. I've got a near relative that's come into a fortune. Now I think I ought to come in for a share."

"I don't know—I ought to be going," said the kidnapper, hesitating. "We'll make it poker, and the boy may take a hand."

"Oh, don't mind the boy's looks," said Jack. "Lay down on that settee, if you want to, boy."

Jasper felt so heavy and drowsy that he accepted the permission and stretched himself out, closing his eyes.

"Why am I so sleepy?" he thought, languidly. "I never was before, in the middle of the day, except when I was sick."

He listened at first to the conversation between the players, but gradually it sounded only like a confused hum, and at length he could not hear it at all.

When this became clear through his heavy breathing, Dick turned to the younger man, and pointing to Jasper, asked:

"You can trust him, for you'll be a long way off. He might blow on us any time."

The game was over at last, and Dick arose to go. Jasper was sleeping soundly, and was wholly unconscious of his departure.

There was a windowless room on the second floor, in the centre of the house, wholly dark, except when lighted by gas. It was to this room that our hero was conveyed, and laid upon some bedding in the corner of the room. There was a slide in the partition to admit air, and with it a few faint rays of light. Jasper stirred a little while he was being moved, but the sleeping potion had too much potency to allow him to wake.

As they went down stairs, Jack called aside Nathan Gibson, the old man who had charge of the house.

"We've put him in the prison" (for this was the name by which the small dark room was known). "He's not to be let out."

"You may take him some supper at five or six o'clock. Look in before that time to see if he's awake."

"It's your game as well as mine. The boy ought never to have come here. He may blow on us."

It was after five o'clock when Jasper opened his eyes. As soon as consciousness returned he looked around him with astonishment and wonder.

A few rays of light entered at the sliding-door above, and to this his eyes were naturally drawn.

Here was another puzzle. He explored his memory, and could recall no such place as this. He had never before been in such a room.

At last he recalled the circumstances under which he fell asleep, and he jumped to the conclusion that he was in the same house still.

"They must have put me to bed," he said to himself. "They were very kind; but this is a queer room."

He arose and began to feel his way around by the walls. He judged that he was in a room not more than ten feet square. He could form no idea what was the time. It might be the middle of the night, so far as he knew.

"This is awkward," he thought. "I don't fancy being shut up like this. Where's the door? There must be one somewhere."

He stopped short and thought over the situation. He recalled all he could of the men in whose company he had been at the time he went to sleep. The longer he thought the more it seemed probable that it was as he suspected.

Though a little startled at this view of the situation, Jasper was by no means disposed to be despondent. His courage arose with the difficulties of his position.

"I'll find out how matters stand," he said to himself. "I'll pound till somebody comes."

He began to pound on the walls of the room with such effect that the old man below heard him.

"The bird is beating against the walls of his cage," he thought. "I'll go up and see him."

Presently Jasper heard steps ascending the stairs. Almost immediately another sliding-door about four feet from the floor was drawn open, and the old man's face was poked in.

"What right have you to keep me here against my will?" exclaimed Jasper, furiously.

"We like your company so much, my dear young man," said Nathan, nodding his head waggishly.

The sliding-door was closed suddenly, and again Jasper found himself in the dark, fully understanding now that he was a prisoner, but why, he could not form a conjecture.

Soon the old man reappeared and opened the sliding-door. He carried a small waiter containing a cup of tea, a plate of cold meat, and a slice of white bread without butter.

"We don't want you to starve," he said. "Here's something to stay your stomach. You're hungry, ain't you?"

"I thought so. When I was your age I was always eating. Never could get enough."

Jasper wondered, if this were the case, why the old man had not grown larger, but he did not say this. He took the waiter from Nathan and set it on his lap, there being no table.

"I hope you don't mean to keep me long as a boarder," he said. "You won't find it profitable, boarding me for nothing."

The old man waited till Jasper had finished eating, and then took the waiter back through the window.

"Won't you let me have a light?" asked Jasper. "I don't want to stay here in the dark."

This consideration suggested itself to the old man's judgment, and he promised to bring up a lamp before long.

This he really did. Jasper found it a great relief. He was now broad awake, the effect of the drug having passed off.

There was nothing to do, indeed, but his thoughts were busy, and he tried hard to devise some method of escape, in case he should not be released.

The next morning breakfast was brought to him about eight o'clock. It was not till ten that the sliding-door was opened and the face of Jack appeared at the opening.

"Well, boy, how do you like your quarters?" he asked, with a disagreeable smile.

"Then it would be for the first time," said Jasper, proudly. "I never break my promises."

"What do you mean by joining you?" asked Jasper, though he was afraid he understood only too well.

"You don't!" said Jack, ironically. "Perhaps you think we're commission merchants, or bankers, or something of that kind, Bill and me?"

"Then all I have to say is, you are in no danger from me. I shall not betray you."

"You may be wicked yourself. You have no right to make me so," said Jasper, firmly.

"So you shall. You shall help us bleed some of these bloated aristocrats. They've got more money than is good for them—more than they have any business to keep."

"Then you can stay here till you rot!" retorted the burglar, roughly. "You won't come out of this chamber till you have agreed to become one of us."

There was something in this threat which startled Jasper, bold and brave as he was.

"Won't it?" sneered Jack. "We'll see about that. I'll take the risk. You don't know me yet," he added, with an oath.

"Is it wholly because you are afraid I will betray you that you treat me in this way?" asked Jasper.

"I'll tell you. You're the sort of boy we want. You ain't any whining, milk-and-water sort of boy. You're brave and spirited. You would be worth a good deal to us."

Burglar though Jack was, Jasper was not insensible to the compliment. Any boy likes to be considered spirited, even if he does not deserve it, and he felt flattered by this tribute, which he felt that he deserved, at least, in part.

"I am glad you have a good opinion of my courage," he said, "but I think I can find a better use for it than in the career you open to me. If I accepted your proposal from fear of imprisonment it would show that I was not such a boy as you describe."

"I am obstinate in this," said Jasper, composedly. "You want to spoil my life by making me a criminal."

"You'll talk differently from this a week from now!" said Jack, prepariug to shut the sliding-door.

"Do you mean to keep me in this dark hole a week?" asked Jasper, unable to repress a shudder.

"There's only one way. Tell the old man, Nathan, when you've made up your mind to accept my offer."

Without waiting for a reply Jack pushed the sliding-door in its place, and once more Jasper found himself in the dark.

Three days and nights passed, and Jasper was still in confinement. Three times a day Nathan came to bring him his meals. Each time he asked our hero:

"Oh, no, my dear young friend," said Nathan, shaking his head, "not until you accept Jack's offer."

"Good heavens!" thought Jasper, "can it be possible that in the middle of a great city I can be imprisoned like this, with hundreds passing the house every hour? I wish I could be heard outside."

But this was impossible, owing to the peculiar situation of the room. The prospects of our young hero were certainly gloomy enough. But there's an old saying that the darkest hour is just before the dawn, and deliverance was nearer than Jasper supposed.

On the fourth day, at noon, Jasper heard steps ascending the stairs. He supposed it to be the old man, with his dinner, and he looked up listlessly as the sliding-door was opened. But instead of the wrinkled face of Nathan he beheld the fresh face of a young girl, apparently about sixteen years of age. She regarded the prisoner with curiosity and surprise.

"I've only just come. He sent for me. What do they keep you here for?" she asked, her face expressing curiosity. "Are you sick?"

"No. He only told me to bring up your dinner. I thought it was a man. I didn't know it was a boy."

"It is because your uncle is afraid I'll inform the police against him and the men who come here."

"I am not sure about him, but I feel sure about two men who come here. Their names are Jack and Bill."

"I know. I have seen them both. One is a young man, the other must be near fifty. He's stout."

"That's too bad," said the girl, compassionately. "Isn't it awful to be shut up there?"

"Yes, it is. I've been here three or four days, and it seems as many weeks. Don't you think you could help me to escape?" asked Jasper, in a lower tone.

"Nancy!" called the old man's voice from below, sharply, "hasn't that boy got through yet?"

"I'll speak with you again when I bring up your supper," she said, as she hurried down stairs.

She left Jasper eager and excited. At last he had made a friend in the camp of his enemies, and there was hope ahead.

Jasper waited impatiently for supper-time, not that he was hungry, for excitement had taken away his appetite, but because he was feverish with anxiety as to his prospects of release.

"Suppose the old man should suspect her and come up with the supper himself," he thought, anxiously.

A little after five the door was opened and disclosed the young girl, Nancy. His face lighted up joyfully.

"I'm glad it's you, Nancy," he said. "I was afraid I should see your uncle. Does he suspect anything?"

"I'll take it off the plate and eat afterward. Now, I want to talk a little. Have you found out any way to help me?"

"Yes, I think I could," he said, after a pause, "with some one on the other side to pull me through."

"You will? You're a trump! What am I to do afterward? Can you help me to leave the house?"

"That's what I've been thinking," said Nancy. "I'm afraid it wouldn't do to let you out at the front door. It's locked and bolted, and the bolt squeaks. I've tried it to see."

"No, you don't look like it," said Nancy, who was more favorably disposed toward Jasper on account of his good looks.

"There's a scuttle through which you can get out on the roof. Would you dare to do it?"

"But there are some windows in the side of the house. You might get in at one of them."

"And be taken for a house-breaker? Well, I must run the risk, any way. When do you think I had better try it?"

"That's good," said Jasper, reflecting that Nathan looked feeble, and being small in size would not be more than a match for his strength if the worst came to the worst.

"Are the nights dark now?" asked Jasper. "It would be rather ticklish being on the roof if it were pitch dark."

"Yes, uncle!" answered the girl. "To-night at twelve!" she said, in a low voice, and hurried down stairs.

Jasper, in thinking over the plan he had in view, realized that it was one that would probably require all his courage and nerve. It would be a great relief to get through without accident. But he never thought of backing out. He felt that anything was better than to be confined longer in his present prison.

It seemed a long time to wait, especially in the darkness, for the oil was burned out in his lamp, and there was no chance of asking for a further supply. He had forgotten it when Nancy came up with his supper. However, he felt that it was of no particular consequence, as he was so soon to be released.

So the hours passed. He did not permit himself to fall asleep, lest he should not be awake when Nancy came.

At last he heard a faint noise at the door, and saw Nancy standing outside with a candle.

She set down the candle, and Jasper set about his task. It was a tight squeeze, but at last he got out, and stood on his feet in the entry.

He climbed a narrow, steep staircase, and then a ladder, and unfastening the scuttle, he laid it back. The moon shone softly down, bathing the city in its beautiful light. He got out lightly on the roof.

It was a relief to be out of his prison, but it must be admitted that Jasper's situation was not particularly desirable or agreeable. It was midnight, and he was seated astride the roof of the house which had served as his prison. There seemed to be no chance to reach the street, except to slide down the roof, and that would be certain death.

As his deliverer had told him, the next house was a story higher than the one on whose roof he was seated, and, still more important, there was a side-window looking out in that direction. When Jasper saw this, hope sprang up in his heart.

He edged his way along to the window, and found that to reach it he would have to slide down a little way and catch hold of the blind to prevent sliding too far.

I don't know whether Jasper was justified in taking the risk he did, for there was great danger of sliding over into the street. I don't think I should have ventured to do it; but our hero was fearless and courageous, and he resolved that, as this was the only method of escape, he would avail himself of it. As a precaution against slipping, however, he took off his shoes, and catching the strings in his teeth commenced the perilous descent. He succeeded in grasping the blind and staying his progress.

But it was not. He succeeded in raising it, and with a feeling of intense relief made his way into the chamber.

Then for the first time there flashed upon him the thought that he had placed himself in a very suspicious predicament. He had entered a house at midnight through the window. Why might he not be taken for a burglar? This was the way a burglar was likely to enter, and if he should be caught here his explanation would be considered very unsatisfactory.

Jasper, brave as he was, was startled by this thought, while simultaneously the difficulty of escape was forced upon him. He looked about him in mental disturbance.

It was a small attic chamber. There was a bed in the room, a wash-stand, a couple of chairs, and a clothes-press. This, being open, revealed a few clothes belonging, apparently, to a man.

Though his story was true, he nevertheless felt that it was improbable, and before he could tell it he thought it likely that an alarm would be given, resulting in his being consigned to the care of the police.

He opened the bed, drew out one of the sheets and arrayed himself in it, after carefully folding back the quilt.

"Now," he said to himself, "if it is necessary, I will see what sort of a ghost I can make."

Hardly had he done this than he heard steps ascending the stairs. Jasper had little doubt that it was the occupant of the chamber which he had so unceremoniously entered.

He managed to squeeze himself into the wardrobe, and waited with anxiety for the arrival of the new-comer.

Through a crevice he saw the entrance of a stout, good-natured-looking young man, whistling a popular song. He was probably a clerk or young mechanic, who, after a hard day's work, had been to some cheap place of amusement. Wholly unconscious of Jasper's presence, the young man undressed himself, still continuing to whistle, and got into bed. It was so light outside that he had not lighted the gas.

"I wonder how long it'll take for him to get to sleep?" thought Jasper. "I'm getting tired of being cooped up here."

Unfortunately for him the young man seemed to be in no hurry. He whistled to himself, and occasionally sung in a low tone. At length Jasper decided to make a desperate move. Observing that the young man was lying with his face turned from the wardrobe, he seized his opportunity, stepped softly out, and gained the middle of the floor before he was seen.

The effect upon the young man was startling. The whistle died away, and with blanched cheeks and staring eyes he sat bolt upright in bed.

"Oh, Lord preserve me!" ejaculated the young man, shaking with terror. "Go away, do, good ghost! I haven't done anything!"

As he spoke he covered up his head with the bedclothes, and Jasper could see by the convulsive movements that he was in a state of the greatest agitation. Our hero felt inclined to laugh, but forebore. He considered whether it would be safe, disguised as he was, to make his way down stairs and out at the front door. But another course suddenly suggested itself. The young man looked good-natured. Why shouldn't he reveal himself to him, and throw himself upon him for protection? Besides, he was sorry to frighten him so much.

Acting upon his new resolution, he threw off the sheet and said in his natural voice:

"The fact is, I want you to help me," said Jasper. "Just light the gas, and I'll tell you all about it."

He spoke so frankly and straightforwardly that the young man was reassured. He got out of bed and lighted the gas.

"Yes. I was locked up in a dark room for four days, and the only way I could get out was through the roof. Of course I couldn't slide off into the street and break my neck, so I got in here through the window."

"You don't say!" ejaculated the young man. "What did they shut you up for? Was it your father?"

"That would be better than to be locked up as I have been for the last four days."

"You are sure you are not a burglar?" said the young man, with a brief return of his former suspicion.

"I was afraid you would take me for a burglar, so I meant to frighten you and escape, concluding that you would be afraid to pursue me."

"If I am to sleep with you, here is your sheet. We can make better use of it than in masquerading as ghosts."

Jasper undressed himself and got into bed. He learned that his companion's name was Adam Diedrich, and that he kept a small cigar store near-by.

Jasper took breakfast the next morning with the friendly young German, whose acquaintance he had so singularly made. Not a word was said as to the manner in which he had entered the house. He was introduced by Adam as "my friend, Mr. Kent."

After breakfast Jasper went around with his new friend to the place of business of the latter. He decided not to call upon Mr. Fitch till about ten o'clock.

While on his way to the merchant's counting-room he met the girl, Nancy, with a tin pail in her hand. The girl's face lighted up when she saw him.

"He did at first, but he doesn't now. He's puzzled to know how you got away. And Jack, he's mad, too."

"Yes; he came around to the house about eight o'clock. He was looking seedy, as if he'd been up all night. As near as I can find out, he failed in some job last night, and that made him cross."

"So Uncle Nathan made me get the breakfast ready. I gave it to him, and he went up. A minute after he roared down stairs:

"'Good gracious! You don't mean to say he's gone?' I said, looking as much surprised as possible. 'How did he get out?'

"'That's what I want to know,' said Jack, and he looked suspiciously at Uncle Nathan and me.

"That puzzled them both. Then they thought of the roof, and went up. I was afraid they would find you there, but they didn't. They seemed to think you couldn't get away so, and they're dreadfully puzzled to know how you did escape. I was afraid you'd fallen off, so I went outside to see if I could find any blood on the sidewalk, but I couldn't, and I hoped you'd got into the next house."

"Then we'd better separate. Good-morning, Nancy. I won't forget the service you've done me."

"I don't think I shall stay long," said the girl. "I didn't know uncle kept such company or I wouldn't have come to his house. Some day I shall leave him, and then I shall go out to service."

"I wonder what he'll think of me?" Jasper said to himself. "I promised to come back after carrying the money, and now it is four days late."

"I don't know about that," said Jasper, composedly, "but I think if you will tell Mr. Fitch that Jasper Kent is here he will receive me."

The clerk had not seen Jasper when he called before and didn't recognize him as the restorer of little Harry; otherwise, he would have treated our hero with more attention.

Influenced by curiosity he went into the counting-room and announced Jasper's name.

Jasper entered, but the manner of Mr. Fitch differed greatly from what it had been when they parted four days before. Then it was cordial and friendly, now it was cold and suspicious.

"Good-morning," responded the merchant, coldly. "You have been a long time returning from your errand!"

"What! were you arrested?" and again the merchant's face was overspread by doubt and suspicion.

"The house to which I was requested to bring the money was a haunt of desperate men—burglars, I found out—and they were afraid I would betray their rendezvous. They mixed me some lemonade, which I now think must have been drugged, for I went to sleep in the middle of the day, soon after drinking it. When I awoke up I found myself in a dark room, in the centre of the house."

"Is this true?" asked the merchant, amazed. "Can such things take place within earshot of the police?"

"Yes, sir; there was no chance of my making myself heard; if there had been I would have called for help."

When Mr. Fitch had heard Jasper's explanation he no longer doubted him. His friendly, cordial manner returned, and he congratulated our hero on his prompt rejection of Jack's offers, though that rejection exposed him to continued imprisonment.

"I will engage you, for the present, at ten dollars a week. Will that suit you?"

"Then that is settled. To-night you will go home with me. To-morrow will be soon enough to look for a boarding-place. Here are your first week's wages in advance."

"I have not forgotten that I am indebted to you for the recovery of my little Harry. Here, Leonard."

The clerk already mentioned entered the counting-room. He looked inquiringly from Jasper to Mr. Fitch.

"Leonard," said the latter, "this young man is to be your fellow-clerk. He takes the place of Victor, who left last week. Instruct him in his duties."

Now that Jasper has found a place we can venture to leave him for a time and go back to the home which he had felt compelled to leave.

His step-mother felt relieved by his departure. It left her mistress of the situation, with no one to interfere with or question her authority. How Jasper fared she cared little, or not at all. How he was likely to get along without money she never inquired, nor did she feel a twinge of remorse for her treatment of one who had been her late husband's sole care and hope. It was enough for her that she had Nicholas with her. Stern as she generally was toward him, she was weakly indulgent. Whatever he wanted she gave him, if it were not utterly unreasonable. She was afraid he would tire of the country and want to go away, and this led her to gratify him in his wishes, in order that she might retain him at her side.

Nicholas was not slow in finding out his power and in using it. He asked and obtained a horse for his own use, and later an elegant little carriage was ordered from the city, in which he used to drive around the neighborhood with the airs of a young prince. To others he might seem arrogant and conceited—to his mother he was only possessed of the proper spirit of a gentleman. In her eyes he was handsome, though in the eyes of no one else.

But perfect happiness is short-lived. In her new prosperity Mrs. Kent forgot that she had a brother who was not likely to reflect credit upon the family. She had not heard from him for years, and supposed he did not know where she was. But in this, as we know, she was mistaken.

One day Nicholas was standing on the lawn in front of the house, waiting for his carriage to be brought around from the stable, when his attention was drawn to a common-looking man who was standing by the fence and looking at him in what he considered an impudently familiar way.

Since Nicholas had become a young aristocrat he was easily made angry by such familiarity on the part of anyone of the lower orders, and he resented it at once.

"Oh, you're the owner of this place!" said the stranger, laughing. "Do you own the road, too?"

"You're a young man, ain't you, to be a landed proprietor. How about your mother? Doesn't she own anything?"

"More than you think for, young man," said Dick. "She used to go to school with me."

"Did she? Well, I suppose she couldn't help it if there were low persons in the school with her."

"That's good!" said the stranger, laughing heartily. "So I am a low person, am I?"

He expected the man would be angry, but instead he laughed more heartily than before.

"Well, boy," he said, after a pause, "just remember that appearances are sometimes deceitful."

"I don't think they are so in this case," said Nicholas, "but I can't waste anymore time with you. There's my horse coming around. I'm going to ride."

"Won't you give me a seat? I've never been in this town before, and I should like to take a drive."

Nicholas gasped for breath. What! this low, common person his uncle? He would not credit it.

"Not so fast, nephew Nicholas," said Dick. "You can't alter facts. I'm your mother's brother. Didn't she ever tell you of your Uncle Dick?"

Uncle Dick! Nicholas did remember that his mother had named such a person, and the uncomfortable apprehension dawned upon him that the stranger's claim was well founded, after all. He kept silent, but flared at the stranger in a state of mental disturbance.

"I see you've heard of me," said Dick, with a short laugh. "Is your mother at home?"

Nicholas was not overwilling to obey the person whom he had just called low, but he felt considerable curiosity as to whether the man was really his uncle, and this decided him to comply with his request.

"I will speak to my mother," he said. "She will know whether you are what you claim to be."

"No, mother, I haven't started yet. There's a person down stairs who says he is my Uncle Dick, and he wants to see you."

"Good heavens! is he here?" exclaimed Mrs. Kent, in a tone of vexation. "How in the world did he find me out?"

Richard Varley followed Nicholas into the presence of Mrs. Kent. The latter looked scrutinizingly at him as he approached, hoping that it might be an impostor. But, no! there was no mistaking his appearance. It was, indeed, her brother.

"Very well, Richard," she answered coldly, slipping her hand out of his grasp as quickly as she could.

"Did you have any business this way? I suppose you must, or you wouldn't have come so far."

"I came on purpose to see you, Helen," said Dick, trying to look like an affectionate brother, and signally failing.

"You are certainly very kind," said Mrs. Kent in a cold tone, evincing not the slightest pleasure at his devotion. "I am afraid you must have put yourself to a good deal of inconvenience on my account."

"Why, yes, I have," answered her brother, perceiving at once that he might urge this as a claim upon her; "but what of that? Ain't you my only sister, and hasn't it been years since we met?"

"Really, Richard," said Mrs. Kent, with a little quiet sarcasm, "I was hardly prepared to expect from you so great an interest in me. I wonder you didn't come before. It's a good many years since we met."

"Well, Helen, you see I couldn't afford it before. I wanted to see you, but I couldn't raise the money to come East."

"I never was very demonstrative," said his sister. "Did you expect me to fall on your neck and embrace you?"

"I've got enough to live on economically," she answered, with reserve. "I am not rich."

"Yes, he didn't know I was his uncle. By the way, you've got a step-son, haven't you?"

"Oh, you're good at keeping secrets, Helen," he said; "but you can't deceive me."

"Who told you—the neighbors? Have you been questioning them about my affairs?"

"Oh, well, you two can settle your own affairs. I don't care to interfere, only I thought you would like to hear from him."

"I wash my hands of him. He might live easily enough if he would submit to me. If not, he will probably have to submit to a great many privations."

"Perhaps so," answered her brother, dubiously. "I don't know much about Nicholas."

"Why," said Dick, rather taken aback, "I calculated you would invite me to stay here awhile, seeing I've come so far to see you."

"You can stay a day or two, if you like," she said, "but we live very quietly, Nicholas and I. I don't think it will suit one so active as you are."

"I'll take the risk, sister Helen. It seems good to be in my own sister's house after so many years. Besides, I should like to ride out with my nephew behind that gay horse of his."

"Oh, he'll be willing to treat his uncle to a ride. I'll give him a few hints about driving."

Mrs. Kent winced. She was proud, and she did not fancy exhibiting Dick to the village people as her brother. But there seemed no way of avoiding it. She privately determined to get rid of him as soon as possible.

"I must leave you now," she said, gathering up her work. "I will ask the servant to show you your room."

The manner of Nicholas toward his uncle was far from agreeable. In fact, it was almost insolent. Dick retained his temper out of policy, but he said to himself:

"Nicholas, you'd better take your uncle out this morning and show him a little of the village."

"Did she, though? You ought to have got me to send you one from the West. For half the money I'd have sent you a better one."

He spoke contemptuously, and Nicholas was nettled. He prided himself upon his driving ability, and now his uncle underestimated it.

"The horse is not as easy to drive as you think," he said. "If you don't believe it, take the reins and see."

This was what Dick wanted, for he had a plan for revenging himself on his upstart nephew. He drove on till he got to a place where there was a muddy and miry puddle beside the road. Then by a dexterous manœuver, for he understood driving thoroughly, he managed to overturn the wagon, and Nicholas was thrown headlong into the puddle. Dick leaped out just at the right time, retaining his hold on the reins.

Bespattered with mud and drenched with mire, Nicholas arose from the puddle a sorry figure.

"What did you do that for?" he demanded, wrathfully, surveying himself with disgust.

"I'm afraid I can't manage your horse," said Dick, with hypocritical meekness. "He was too much for me."

"Didn't I tell you so?" said Nicholas, triumphing in spite of his woful condition.

Nicholas took the reins, but it mortified him not a little to see the looks of wonder and amusement which he attracted as he passed through the village.

In the course of the next day Dick ventured to suggest to his sister that a temporary loan would be very acceptable.

"I'm willing to put it on that ground," said Dick, unabashed. "Still, I'll give you my note for the amount, if you say so."

"Why, I've got some plans in view which, if successful, will enable me to repay you the money, with interest."

"I haven't been as lucky as you, sister Helen, I admit; but where would you have been but for your lucky marriage?"

Dick looked at his sister's face attentively. He wished to judge how much there was a chance of getting out of her. His survey was not particularly encouraging. She didn't appear to be a woman easily wheedled out of her money. Still, he spoke up boldly, and said:

"I have no doubt it would," said Mrs. Kent, quietly; "but if you have any expectation of getting that sum from me you know very little of me. I should be a fool to throw away such a sum of money."

"I have no ambition to be considered generous," she answered, coldly. "A fool and his money are soon parted. You appear to take me for a fool, but I beg to assure you that you are entirely mistaken."

"Don't use that ridiculous word 'lend,' when you know there's no probability of your ever repaying it, even if you should be able."

"I will give you fifty dollars, though in justice to my boy I ought not to do so."

"Fifty dollars!" repeated Dick, chagrined. "Why, that don't pay me for coming East."

"You don't seem to consider, Helen, that we hadn't met for years, and I wanted to see my only sister."

"Suppose I had had no money, would you have come then?" asked Mrs. Kent, with contemptuous incredulity.

"No; I couldn't have afforded it. But, Helen, fifty dollars is nothing at all. You might say a hundred."

"I might say a hundred, but there is no chance that I shall. Are you not ashamed—a great, strong man, as you are—not to be able to support yourself and wife without help from me?"

"Luck's been agin me," said Dick, sullenly. "I could have got ahead but for that."

"I owned a mining claim in California—it didn't pay anything—and I sold it for ten dollars. The man I sold it to kept working till he struck a vein. He cleared ten thousand dollars."

"Oh, well, it's easy enough to criticise, Helen. You've struck a vein, and you're in luck. No more hard work for you."

"There would be if I gave away my money, five hundred dollars at a time. You needn't complain of my good fortune. I have had my share of work to do. Now I am comfortable, and I mean to keep so."

"My poor brother must work as I have done, and he won't starve. Do you think, if I were a man," she said, disdainfully, "that I would stoop to ask help of a woman!"

Mrs. Kent drew from her pocket-book five ten-dollar bills and placed them in his hand.

"Don't expect any further help," she said. "In justice to my son I must refuse it."

"Was there ever a more selfish, cold-hearted woman?" he muttered. "It's all for her son, is it? I'd like to choke the whelp!"

It was nearly a year later, and Jasper Kent still remained in St. Louis, and in the employ of Herman Fitch. He had won his way to the favor of his employer, not alone on account of his personal good qualities, but because in the way of business he manifested an unusual aptitude. For this reason he had already had his pay raised to fifteen dollars a week and was thoroughly trusted, even in matters of importance.

"Jasper," said Mr. Fitch one day, as our hero entered his counting-room, "how would you like a little journey?"

"The business is this: A firm in that town, Watts & Duncan, are considerably indebted to me, and I have doubts as their solvency. In the event of their failure I want to realize as much as possible of my claim. I don't want the other creditors to forestall me."

"It is rather a delicate commission, you perceive. You are to go there and quietly find out what you can of their affairs, and report to me by mail. Then I shall send you instructions how to proceed."

"Some might blame me for sending so young a messenger, but I have two objects in view. A boy of your age will not excite suspicion, and again, I repose great confidence in you."

"You can go a part of the way by rail, but only a part. It is a frontier town, and you may have to ride horseback a part of the way. That I must leave to your judgment."

"Well, you may go home now and make preparations. To-morrow morning come to the office for instructions and money. One thing only I suggest now—take as little baggage as possible. It would only be in your way."

At the appointed hour Jasper received his instructions and a certain sum of money. He had provided himself with a belt, into which he put the money to guard against possible robbery, carrying only a few dollars in a pocket-book for outward show.

In explanation of these precautions it must be stated that the events which I am describing took place some years since, when Kansas was more sparsely settled and life less secure than at present.

He received his instructions, and set out on his journey, secretly envied by other clerks who had been longer in the office than himself, but who had not been complimented by having a similar trust reposed in them.

From the information afforded by his employer Jasper was led to expect a somewhat adventurous journey. He was not to be disappointed. As long as he was in the well-settled part of the country he encountered no difficulties nor adventures worth recording. Plattville, as already stated, was a frontier town, and there was a large tract of almost uninhabited country between it and the nearest settlement.

Late in the afternoon of the fourth day Jasper found himself standing on the bank of a river which must be crossed. There was no boat in sight, and he was puzzled what to do. While he was considering, a young Indian girl glided by in a canoe. She handled the paddle dexterously and as one who had been long accustomed to the exercise, though she did not look more than twelve years of age.

"I wonder if she understands English?" thought Jasper. "Perhaps I could get her to ferry me across."

The young girl turned quickly, and discovered Jasper, whom she had not before seen.

The girl hesitated a moment, perhaps from uncertainty as to whether she could trust our hero, for she surveyed him attentively. It appeared that her impressions were favorable, for she turned her canoe to the shore and said, simply:

"It seems odd to be ferried by a girl," thought Jasper. "I think I ought to offer to take her place." "Shall I paddle instead of you?" he asked.

"White boy not know how to paddle a canoe—tip it over," and she laughed again.

"I don't know but I should," thought Jasper, as he noticed how light and frail the little canoe was, and how a slight motion would agitate it.

"Up the river," said the girl, indicating with her head, for her hands were occupied.

The girl laughed and appeared to be pleased with the compliment, though it was only to her name. She seemed in turn to be possessed by curiosity, for she asked:

By this time they had reached the other side. Monima skilfully drew up the canoe alongside, and Jasper jumped out. He stood on the bank, and drew from his vest-pocket a silver half-dollar, which he handed to Monima.

Jasper reluctantly put the money in his pocket, but he did not like to accept the favor from Monima without rendering her some return. He was in doubt at first, but finally an idea occurred to him. He had half a dozen photographs of himself, which he had recently had taken in St. Louis. He drew out one of these and extended it to Monima.

Monima's face lighted up with wonder and admiration when she saw the photograph, for she had never seen one before. She looked from the picture to Jasper, and from Jasper back again to the picture, and laughed softly.

"Two white boy—here and there," she said, pointing first to the picture, then to Jasper.

But the Indian girl was evidently tired of the river, for she fastened the canoe and walked by his side. He kept up a conversation for some time, till she turned aside and entered a path which led into the woods.

She didn't say good-bye, but uttered a word which was probably the Indian equivalent for it, and was soon lost to his sight.

"Well, that's romantic, to begin with," thought Jasper. "The daughter of a great chief has ferried me across the river, and I have given her my photograph. The next romantic thing that happens to me may be my losing my way, but I hope not."

He had a general idea of the way he wanted to go, but after awhile he became perplexed, and was led to doubt whether he had not gone astray.

He had his wish. A few rods farther on he came upon a man stretched upon the grass under a tree.

"I have lost my way," he began, but before he could finish the sentence the man sprang to his feet, and, to his dismay, he recognized Jack, the man who had had him locked up in St. Louis.

Jack looked at first surprised, then smiled with malicious joy as he recognized the boy who accosted him.

"I thought I'd get hold of you again some time," said Jack, "but hang me if I expected to find you out here. What brings you here?"

"Perhaps you are right, boy. You will have no reason to be glad to see me. Follow me."

"Follow me, or I will drive this knife into you!" said Jack, savagely, displaying a murderous-looking weapon which he carried in his girdle.

Resistance would have been unavailing and dangerous, and Jasper obeyed, resolved, however, to escape at the first opportunity.

Jack led the way into the woods, not far, however, and finally paused under a large tree.

He threw himself down on the green sward, and Jasper, not very comfortable in mind, sat down near him.

"I suppose he is going to ask me about my escape," thought Jasper, and he was right.

"Don't keep me asking questions," said Jack, harshly. "How did you get out, then?"

"Through the door in the roof. From there I got in through the window into a room in the next house."

"Ha!" said Jack. "I never thought of that. Did you have any trouble with the people there?"

"No; I got into the room of a German, who let me spend the night with him and take breakfast."

Jasper felt relieved that no question had been asked him as to Nancy's agency in effecting his release. He would not have betrayed her, at any rate, but his refusal to speak might have incensed Jack.

This was a question which Jasper had expected and dreaded to hear, for nearly all the money in his possession belonged to his employer, and not to himself.

Jasper reluctantly drew out his pocket-book, containing, as we know, but a small portion of his money.

"What business have you out here with such a paltry sum as twelve dollars?" demanded Jack, angrily.

"It certainly isn't your business how much money my employer gave me for expenses."

"I am to collect some money before I return," answered Jasper, with a lucky thought.

Jack felt disappointed. The money Jasper was about to collect would do him no good, as, doubtless, the boy would take good care, if once released, not to be caught again.

"That's a miserable way of doing business," said Jack. "Suppose you shouldn't collect it?"

"But," continued Jasper, desirous of getting back some of the money in the pocket-book, "if you take away all my money I can't get to Plattville to make collections."

"Look here, boy," said Jack, frowning, "you evidently don't know the man you're talking to. You ain't going to bluff me off in that way," and he reinforced this declaration with an oath.

"You needn't, for I don't intend to let you go out of my sight. I can't trust you. No; I have another plan in view."

Jasper did not ask what it was. He felt sure that it was nothing that he would be willing to do.

"To this man Fitch, telling him that you have had your pocket picked and need some money. Tell him you will need at least seventy-five dollars, as you haven't been able to collect anything."

"I mean that by such a letter I should deceive my employer and be obtaining money from him by false pretenses. I can't do it."

"Look here, boy," said Jack, sternly, "you don't know the man you are trifling with. I am a desperate man, and will stick at nothing. I have taken life before, and I am ready to do so again. Write this letter or I will kill you!"

Jasper listened with horror to this terrible confession and his equally terrible threat.

As he spoke he drew out a long, murderous-looking knife, and approached Jasper menacingly.

It was a terrible moment. Jack looked as if he fully intended to carry out his threat At any rate, there was danger of it. On the one side was death, on the other breach of trust.

"You may kill me if you will," he said at length, "but I won't write the letter."

Jack uttered an execration and raised the knife, but suddenly he uttered a stifled cry and fell to the ground, with blood spurting from a wound in his breast.

Jasper bounded to his feet in astonishment. He had shut his eyes, expecting death. His first glance was at the prostrate brigand. He saw that the wound was made by an arrow, which had penetrated the region of the heart. But who had sped the shaft? And was he also in danger? The question was soon answered.

Out from the underbrush emerged three figures. The foremost was the Indian maiden, Monima. Following her were two men of the same tribe. It was one of these who had shot at Jack.

"Is white boy hurt?" asked Monima, running to Jasper and surveying him anxiously.

Jack groaned, and Jasper came to his side and addressed him compassionately, though but a minute before Jack had been about to take his life. He saw that the blood was gushing forth from his wound.

Our hero was shocked. It was the first time he had ever witnessed a violent death, and it struck him with horror.

Jack's glance fell upon the two men, and he tried to lift himself up, but the effort caused his wound to bleed more copiously. He burst into a volley of oaths, which in his state shocked Jasper.

"Don't swear," he said. "Would you go into the presence of God with an oath in your mouth?"

As he spoke he plucked the arrow from his breast; but this only hastened his death. He fell back exhausted, and in five minutes breathed his last.

"Yes; but it seems awful to see him killed so suddenly. I wish he could have lived long enough to repent."

"He bad man!" she said, emphatically. "He try to kill white boy. Monima white boy's friend."

"How fortunate that I fell in with her," thought Jasper, "and that I made a friend of her!"

He felt that he could not refuse such an offer from one who had rendered him such a service. Moreover, it relieved him from embarrassment, as he would not have known otherwise where to pass the night, which was now close at hand.

The Indian encampment was only half a mile away. There were assembled about fifty persons, men, women, and children, lying on the grass about the tents. Monima's favor was sufficient to insure a cordial reception to Jasper, who was pressed to partake of supper, an offer he was glad to accept, for it was now seven hours since he had eaten food. After the repast a pipe was offered him, but this he declined, explaining that he never had learned to smoke. On the whole, he enjoyed the adventure, except that he could not help thinking from time to time of his late companion, cut off so suddenly. He learned from Monima that her two attendants had remained behind and buried Jack under the tree where he had been killed.

At night he slept on skins in one of the tents, and in the morning he was guided on his way by Monima as far as the road.

"I don't know, Monima. I hope to see you again, some time, but perhaps you won't remember me."

Attached to his watch was a silver chain which he had bought in St. Louis three months before. He had noticed Momma's look of admiration directed toward it, and he determined to give it to her. Detaching his watch from it, he held it out to the Indian girl.

"You have given me my life. Is that nothing, Monima? Keep the chain, and whenever you look at it remember Jasper."

So they parted, and Jasper pursued his journey to Plattville. He reached the town without further adventure, and conducted satisfactorily the business with which he was intrusted. He succeeded in obtaining half the money due his employer, and in making arrangements for the speedy payment of the rest. So it was with a mind well satisfied that he returned to St. Louis.

When he told Mr. Fitch the particulars of his encounter with Jack, and his escape, the latter said, earnestly:

"And you really refused to write the letter, though you knew your life was in danger?"

"I honor your courage and fidelity, but you carried them too far. We would far rather have lost ten times seventy-five dollars than risked your life."

"We shall not forget your fidelity. You may consider your wages raised to twenty dollars a week."

"It is not merely on account of your courage and fidelity, but partly because of the business ability you have shown in carrying on this affair."

Again Jasper thanked his employer, and went about his duties with fresh courage, feeling that his services were appreciated.

"I am glad I came to St. Louis," he thought. "How much better I am situated than I should have been at home, tyrannized over by a step-mother by whom I was disliked."

"I have a telegram for you," said the boy. Jasper tore it open, and read these words:

Shocked at this startling intelligence, Jasper at once sought his employer, obtained leave of absence, and took the next train bound east.

We must precede him and explain what had happened, and what occasioned Mrs. Kent's critical condition.

When Mrs. Kent's brother left her house with fifty dollars in his pocket she warned him that it was the last money he could expect to receive from her. He did not reply, but he had no intention of remaining satisfied with so little.

"What is fifty dollars?" he thought, "to my sister's fortune? She needn't think she has got rid of me so easily."

At that time he expected to make her another visit in the course of a month or two, but circumstances prevented. The fact is, he was imprudent enough to commit theft and incautious enough to be detected, not long afterward, and the consequence was a term of imprisonment.

When he was released from confinement he at once made his way to his sister's house.

As before, Nicholas was standing on the lawn. His countenance changed when he recognized his uncle, though he didn't know that he had just come from a prison.

Even this compliment did not soften Nicholas, who turned his back and did not invite his uncle into the house.

"From a hospital? He has a good deal of assurance to come here," said Mrs. Kent, with a hard look.

"I will tell you why," said his mother, in a lower tone. "He has not told you the truth. He has not come from a hospital, as he represents."

"I saw an account in the papers of his arrest and conviction. I suppose he has just come out of prison."

"I wanted to keep the disgrace secret, on account of the relationship. When he finds I know it, I shall soon be rid of him."

Two minutes later the ex-convict entered his sister's presence. He read no welcome in her face.

"I suppose I'm a poor relation," he said, bitterly. "That's the reason, isn't it?"

"I mean that you came here straight from a prison; deny it if you can," she said, sternly.

"You can't deceive me," she answered, "though you protest your innocence all day. I shall not believe you. I feel sure that you were guilty of the crime for which you were punished."

"You have disgraced the family," said Mrs. Kent. "I discard you. I no longer look upon you as my brother."

"If you had not turned me off with such a pittance it wouldn't have happened," he said, sullenly. "Out of your abundance you only gave me fifty dollars."

"And you a stout, broad-shouldered man, must accept charity or steal!" she said, sarcastically.

"Look here," said he, doggedly, "I won't stand any more of that, even from my own sister."

"I shall not give you a cent. You have no claim upon me. I have already said that I no longer look upon you as a brother."

"Is that all you've got to say?" demanded Dick, his face growing dark with anger.

"Then all I've got to say is, you'll repent it to the last day of your life!" he burst out, furiously. "I'll go away"—here he arose—"but I'll never forget your cruelty and harshness."

"It is as well," she said to herself. "Now he understands that there is no more to be got out of me, I hope I shall never lay eyes upon him again."

"Well," said Nicholas, entering directly afterward, "what have you said to him? He dashed out of the yard, looking as black as a thunder-cloud."

"I told him that he had disgraced the family and I should never more acknowledge him as a brother."

"I'm glad you sent him off with a flea in his ear. I don't want to see him around here again."

There was one thing Mrs. Kent forgot—her brother's brutal temper and appetite for revenge. Had she thought of this she would, perhaps, have been more cautious about provoking him.

In the middle of the night Mrs. Kent awoke with a strange sense of oppression, the cause of which she did not immediately understand. As soon as she recovered her senses she comprehended the occasion—the crackling flames—and the fearful thought burst upon her:

She threw on her dress and dashed hastily from the room. She was about to seek the quickest mode of exit when she thought of Nicholas. He might be asleep, unconscious of his peril. She was a cold and selfish woman, but her one redeeming trait was her affection for her son. She rushed frantically to his chamber, screaming:

She entered his chamber, but he was not in it. He had already escaped, and, full of selfish thoughts of his own safety, had fled without giving heed to his mother, though there would have been time for him to save her.

"He is safe!" thought Mrs. Kent, and, relieved of this anxiety, she sought to escape.

But the flames had gained too much headway. Her dress caught fire, and she ran frantically about, ignorant that in so doing she increased the peril. She was barely conscious of being seized and borne out by friendly hands. But though the flames were extinguished, she had already received fatal injuries. She lingered till the afternoon of the following day, and then died. Meanwhile Mr. Miller sent Jasper the telegram already referred to.

Nicholas looked serious when he was informed of his mother's death, but his was not a temperament to be seriously affected by the misfortune of another. His own interests were uppermost in his mind.

"Will I get mother's property?" he asked Mr. Miller, while that mother lay dead and disfigured in his presence.

"This is no time to speak of property," said Mr. Miller, coldly. "You ought to think of your poor mother's fate."

"Of course I do," said Nicholas, trying to look sorrowful; "but I want to know how I'm going to be situated."

Jasper did not reach home till after the funeral had taken place and his step-mother was buried. Though he had little reason to like her, he was shocked and distressed by her sad and untimely fate.

"From what Nicholas tells me I suspect that the fire was the work of Mrs. Kent's brother."

"Nicholas tells me that he had just got out of prison, and applied to Mrs. Kent for help, which she refused. Incensed at this, he probably set the house on fire."

"No. I am disgusted with his selfishness. He seems to be principally concerned about property which she leaves."

"Yes. I don't know in what state it is, but it ought to amount to thirty thousand dollars. It is a large slice of your father's fortune."

"That reminds me that it is time to open the instrument which your father left with me."

The paper was opened then and there, and proved to contain the following direction: That in case Jasper and his step-mother did not get along harmoniously, his old friend, Mr. Miller, was empowered and requested to assume the guardianship of Jasper.

"That arrangement suits me precisely," said Jasper, warmly. "Will you accept the trust?"

"Cheerfully," said his friend. "I don't think there is any danger of our disagreeing."

"If there should be any disagreement it would be my fault," he said. "But won't Nicholas need a guardian?"

Dick was not found. He disappeared, and from that day was not seen in the neighborhood. It is supposed that he went West and found a secure concealment in some of the distant territories, where probably he is engaged in the same discreditable courses for which he was already notorious.

As was anticipated, Nicholas inherited about thirty thousand dollars. He selected as his guardian the young physician whom his mother had employed in her husband's last sickness. But the man proved faithless to his trust, and ran away with the entire fortune of his ward, leaving him absolutely penniless. In this emergency Nicholas, humbled and mortified, appealed to Jasper to help him.

With his guardian's permission, Jasper agreed, during his good behavior, to pay for his use an annual sum of five hundred dollars, urging him to continue at school. But this did not suit Nicholas. He obtained a place in New York, where he soon developed fast tendencies, and ended by running away with a considerable sum of money belonging to his employer. It was believed that he went to California. His employer took no steps to apprehend him, Jasper having agreed to make up to him the sum—nine hundred dollars—which Nicholas had appropriated. For him it was a saving, since by his conduct Nicholas had forfeited the annual provision he had agreed to make for him.

And what became of Jasper? By his guardian's advice he went to school for two years more. Then he returned to St. Louis, and again entered the employment of Mr. Fitch.

At twenty-one, with a portion of his property, he bought an interest in the business and became junior partner, and is now one of the most respected and enterprising young business men in that flourishing city. He was recently united in marriage to a charming young lady, the daughter of a prosperous Western merchant, and so his prospects seem as bright as could well be hoped for.

By his honesty, courage and generosity he has fairly earned the happiness which he enjoys. Nor has he forgotten Nancy and the Indian maiden who rendered him so essential a service at a critical point in his fortunes. Every year he sends them a handsome present, choosing the articles which are best suited to gratify their tastes.

Monima cherishes a romantic attachment for her benefactor, and will not soon forget the "white boy," whose picture she carries with her in all her wanderings.

Edward S. Ellis is regarded as the latter day Cooper. His books will always be read for the accurate pen pictures of pioneer life they portray.

Complete Catalogue of Famous Alger Books, Celebrated
Castlemon Books and Renowned Ellis Books mailed on application.

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Chapter		Page
I.	Jasper's Victory,	1
II.	Strange News,	10
III.	Jasper Recognizes the Visitor,	19
IV.	Thorn's Revenge,	29
V.	Jasper's Return Home,	37
VI.	The Step-Mother,	46
VII.	New Relations,	54
VIII.	Sudden Death,	63
IX.	A Declaration of War,	72
X.	Nicholas Appears upon the Scene,	81
XI.	The Outbreak of Hostilities,	90
XII.	A Scheme of Vengeance,	101
XIII.	Mrs. Kent is Foiled,	108
XIV.	Mediation,	117
XV.	Good-Bye,	126
XVI.	An Unpleasant Adventure,	135
XVII.	The Deserted House,	144
XVIII.	The Kidnapped Child,	153
XIX.	A Brute in Human Shape,	158
XX.	A Strange Commission,	169
XXI.	Jasper is Intrusted with a Delicate Commission,	179
XXII.	A Business Max's Suspicions,	188
XXIII.	Where Jasper Found Dick,	197
XXIV.	The Sleeping Potion,	207
XXV.	Jasper Finds Himself a Prisoner,	213
XXVI.	In Confinement,	217
XXVII.	An Unexpected Friend,	225
XVIII.	Escape,	230
XXIX.	Jasper in a New Character,	236
XXX.	Jasper Gets a Place,	245
XXXI.	The Unwelcome Relative,	255
XXXII.	A Cold Reception,	263
XXXIII.	Dick Punishes Nicholas,	270
XXXIV.	An Important Commission,	279
XXXV.	An Indian Maiden,	283
XXXVI.	In Difficulties,	290
XXXVII.	A Startling Summons,	303
XXXVIII.	Dick Comes Back,	308
XXXIX.	How It All Ended,	318

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The Last War Trail.	Dorsey, the Young Inventor.
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Log Cabin Series	Great American Series
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Footprints in the Forest.	Up the Forked River.
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Frank and Fearless; or, The Fortunes of Jasper Kent

FRANK AND FEARLESS

OR

THE FORTUNES OF JASPER KENT

BY

HORATIO ALGER, JR.

AUTHOR OF "BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES," ETC.

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PHILADELPHIA
CHICAGO TORONTO

Copyright, 1897 by
HENRY T. COATES & CO.

CONTENTS

FRANK AND FEARLESS;

OR,

THE FORTUNES OF JASPER KENT

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE