Little Jack had been fitted with a pair of shoes, and Mark had settled for them, when the little boy chancing to look towards the entrance of the store, was almost paralyzed by the sight of Peggy and Lyman looking in at the window. His eyes were good, and he could read on Peggy's face a malicious exultation, which boded ill for him when he should again find himself in her clutches.
Mark, who had not seen them, noticed the fear upon the face of his little charge.
What's the matter, Jack? he asked.
It's them! answered Jack, hoarsely.
Who's them?
Peggy—and the gentleman.
Where are they?
Looking in at the winder.
Mark had his wits about him, and did not turn round. He wished Peggy and her confederate to think themselves undiscovered, while he rapidly considered what was best to be done.
Should he leave the store by the front door, Jack would at once be pounced upon by Peggy, and there would be a scene.
He might eventually recover Jack, but in the meantime the boy would be ill-treated, stripped of his good clothes, and perhaps carried out of the city. Just as success seemed assured, he was confronted by defeat.
What was to be done?
Mark was not a boy to give in, unless compelled to do so. An idea came to him.
Jack, he said in a low voice, "don't look towards the window again. Don't let them know you have seen them."
You won't let Peggy get hold of me! said the boy in a trembling voice.
Not if I can help it.
Turning to the salesman who had waited upon him, Mark said:
There are some people at the door that I want to avoid meeting. Is there any back entrance to the store?
Yes, answered the clerk.
Will you be kind enough to guide us to it?
Certainly.
Don't look behind you, Jack, but come with me. Don't be alarmed!
The salesman guided them to a door opening on a narrow street. Boxes of goods were so piled up, that this door could not be seen from the window into which Peggy and Lyman were looking.
Where are they going? Peggy asked.
To look at some goods in the back part of the store, answered Lyman.
This reassured Peggy, who kept her position, feeling sure that Jack could not escape her when he came out.
I'll sell his new clothes, she thought complacently. "I'll be in luck after all."
Once out of the store, Mark looked about him. He felt that it behooved him to get beyond the reach of Jack's pursuers as soon as possible. Circumstances favored him. Just at the head of the street, he saw a lady descend from a hack.
Hurry up, Jack, he said. "We'll get into this cab."
The driver was about to drive away, after settling with his fare, when Mark hailed him.
Are you unengaged? he asked.
Yes, sir.
Can you drive me at once to the union Depot in Van Buren Street?
Yes, sir.
He dismounted from the box, opened the door for his next passengers, and they got in. Then resuming his place on the box, he drove rapidly away.
It so chanced that he passed by the front of the very store from which they had just emerged.
Little Jack stole a glance out of the window of the cab.
There's Peg! he said.
Following his example, Mark also caught sight of the two with their faces glued to the window, still looking in, unconscious that their prey had escaped them.
Mark smiled. He felt like a victor, and rather enjoyed the thought of having outgeneraled the fox.
I hope they'll have a good time watching for us, Jack, he said.
The little boy still felt nervous.
Do you think they'll catch me? he asked.
No, Jack, I think they'll get left this time.
The cab made its way rapidly through the crowded streets, and in a very short time drew up at the union Depot.
Mark paid the driver, and accompanied by Jack, made his way to the ticket office.
How soon will there be a train East? he asked.
In ten minutes.
That will suit us, Jack.
He bought tickets, and, the cars being ready, they took their seats in a comfortable car of the Lake Shore and Michigan Railroad.
If they should come here! suggested Jack, nervously.
They would have to run fast, if our train leaves on time. There is no danger, Jack. Even if they suspect that we have left the store, they wouldn't know where we are gone.
Still, even Mark felt relieved and reassured when the signal was given and the long train began to steam out of the depot.
Wouldn't you like to go back and bid Peggy good-by? he asked, jocosely.
I hope I shall never see Peggy again, answered the little boy, shuddering.
If you ever do, there won't be any danger of her doing you any harm. Your grandfather will take care of that.
In his hurry to leave the city, Mark had been compelled to leave his bill at the hotel unpaid, but his valise was left behind as security. At the first opportunity he telegraphed to the land-lord, promising to remit the necessary money, and asking him to hold the valise till instructed where to send it by express.
We will now go back to Peggy and Lyman, who were impatiently maintaining their watch at the window of the shoe store.
When fifteen minutes had passed, and Jack and Mark did not appear, they became alarmed.
Where are they? muttered Peggy. "It's long enough they are stayin'."
You are right, Peggy.
Just then a policeman tapped him on the shoulder. He had been watching them for some time and their conduct seemed to him suspicious.
What are you doing here, my man? he asked, suspiciously. "You had better move on."
We are waiting for some one to come out, answered Lyman.
How long do you mean to wait? Is this woman with you?
Yes, answered Lyman, reluctantly, for he was not proud of his companion, whose appearance was hardly calculated to do him credit.
Shure, my little bye has been shtole, she put in, "and he's in the store now wid the man that shtole him."
Then you'd better go in and claim him instead of standing here and blocking up the sidewalk.
I think I will follow your advice, said Lyman. "Will you be kind enough to stay here a minute, in case I need your help?"
Very well; only be quick.
Lyman entered the store, and failing to see Jack and Mark, addressed one of the salesmen.
Two boys were in here a short time since, he said; "one large one and one small one. Can you tell me where they are?"
It happened that the salesman addressed was the same one who had guided the boys to the back entrance. At least fifteen minutes had elapsed, and there would be no danger in telling the truth.
They went away some time since, he answered.
They did not go out the front door, for I've been there all the time.
There's another door, quietly retorted the clerk.
Where? asked Lyman, in dismay.
In the rear of the store.
Sold, by thunder! exclaimed Lyman, under his breath. "How long have they been gone?"
Fifteen minutes. Were they friends of yours?
The small boy was my son, answered Lyman, unblushingly.
And was the woman I saw with you at the window his mother? asked the salesman, with a smile.
Certainly not, answered Lyman, coloring with indignation. "The older boy has abducted him."
Why didn't you come in sooner, then?
I wish I had.
Great was Peggy's dismay when Lyman told her what he had learned. She had fully decided to beat Jack soundly, and now she was baffled of her revenge. The two confederates spent the rest of the day in wandering about the streets of Chicago in search of Jack and his friend, but their search was in vain.
It is now time to return to Pocasset and inquire how our old acquaintances are prospering.
It was still a matter of wonder what had become of Mark. Mrs. Manning gave no information, and no letters were received at the post-office which would throw light on the mystery. Mark, by arrangement, directed all his letters to Mr. Hardy, who inclosed and forwarded them to the Pocasset office. Tom Wyman, the postmaster's son, was puzzled to account for the letters received from New York by Mrs. Manning.
They must be from Mark, said James Collins.
They don't seem to be in Mark's hand-writing.
He probably gets some one to direct them for him, so as to throw dust in our eyes.
This was the conclusion upon which the two boys finally settled.
Another cause of wonder was the hermit's visits to the city. Since he had heard that his grandson was living, he went up often to consult with Mr. Hardy. Family affection in him had not died out. It had only been dormant, and now it was thoroughly reawakened.
I long to see my daughter's boy, he said. "It will give me something to live for. I tremble lest the cup of happiness should be dashed from my lips, just as my hopes are awakened."
Don't be anxious, old friend. Your affairs are in good hands. Mark is only a boy, but he has far more discretion and fidelity than most men. Do you know what I have in view?
Well?
If he succeeds in this enterprise I propose, with his mother's permission, to take him into my office, and train him up in my business. I have hitherto employed boys simply as boys, but Mark is one whom I can train up for a responsible position. I am getting older every year, and when I am really old, I shall be glad to have a young man at my side upon whom I can shift the burden of my business. Do you think his mother would object?
Mrs. Manning is a sensible woman. I think she will be glad to have her son so well provided for. If it is necessary I will myself advise her to commit him to your charge.
At length a telegram came from Mark, and by good luck when Mr. Taylor was in the office of his agent. It ran thus:
"John Hardy, New York. I am on my way to New York with little Jack. Particulars when we meet.
"Mark Manning.
There, old friend, what do you say to that? asked John Hardy, triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you the boy would succeed? Was my confidence misplaced?"
He had my confidence from the first, said Anthony, his face luminous with happiness, "but I knew he had an adroit enemy in my nephew Lyman. I didn't dare to expect that a country boy would be equal to the emergency."
Now, you can go home with a light heart. In a day or two, your grandson will be with you. What are your plans respecting him? Shall you take him to Pocasset?
I don't think I can do better. He will need a woman's care, and I know of no one who will prove kinder than Mrs. Manning.
She has this in her favor at any rate. She has brought up her own boy well. But will the house be large or comfortable enough?
I am not very particular for myself. You will judge that when you remember the cabin in the woods, where I spent several years. The house is small, however, but there is another vacant, much larger and handsomer, which I can buy or rent, already furnished. The owner and occupant died recently, and his heirs, living in a distant state, want to sell it. It has a handsome lawn and a garden attached. It stands near the house of Mr. Collins.
Well, you are able to gratify your own taste in the matter. I will send Mark down as soon as he arrives.
When Anthony reached home, he found Mrs. Manning anxious and perturbed. The cause will require some explanation.
The small cottage in which Mark and his mother lived did not belong to them. They rented it from Deacon Brooks, an old farmer living just out of the village, at five-dollars monthly rental. For a special reason Squire Collins desired to possess it. He owned the lot adjoining, and it occurred to him that the two combined would make a desirable property. The house, which was a cottage, could be raised one story, and made much more commodious. In that case, it would easily command more than twice the rent. The foreman of the shoe-shop stood prepared to rent it of him, as soon as the alteration was made.
He therefore approached Deacon Brooks, with a proposition to purchase it.
I don't know, said the deacon. "I never thought of sellin', but I can't say I'm opposed to it. I'm getting good rent from the widder Manning."
There's no knowing, deacon, how long she'll be able to pay her rent, said the squire, nodding with a meaning look.
Sho! you don't say! She ain't lost any money, has she?
She had none to lose. Her boy Mark has about supported her with his small earnings in the shop. But he isn't employed there any longer.
I heard something of that. Did you discharge him?
Yes; he got too uppish—wasn't willing to obey orders. I was sorry to discharge him on his mother's account, but it was his own fault.
Seems to me I haven't seen him round the village lately?
No; he has gone to the city on some wild-goose expedition. My boy James thinks he is blacking boots or selling papers. As to that I can't say, but it isn't likely he is able to help his mother much.
I hear Mrs. Manning has a boarder?
Yes; it's the old hermit that lived in the woods. I believe he has a small pension from some relations, but it doesn't amount to much. Probably he doesn't pay more than two or three dollars a week board. That won't go far, eh, deacon?
You're right there, squire. It costs a sight to live. How much do you think my grocery bill came to last month?
I don't know, answered the squire, with a curious smile. The deacon had the reputation of being very close-fisted, and it was rather amusing to hear him speak of the cost of living.
Fifteen dollars and sixty-seven cents, said the deacon, with the air of one who hardly expected to be believed.
I believe you have six in family, said Squire Collins, with a smile.
Yes, six, including the hired man.
I pity your family, thought the squire, who, at all events, kept a liberal table.
Yes, it costs a great deal to live, he added, "and, of course, the Widow Manning, though her family is small, can't live on nothing. When she finds she can't pay all her bills, she will probably begin by being remiss in her rent."
That's so, squire! She's allus paid so far right up to the handle, though.
When she had Mark's help; but as I told you he is not now in a condition to help his mother. Well, what do you say? Shall I have the house?
Then commenced the bargaining. Both parties were sharp, but at length a conclusion was reached. Squire Collins agreed to pay eight hundred and fifty dollars for the cottage, five hundred to remain on bond and mortgage, at six per cent. In a day or two the necessary papers were made out, and then Squire Collins took a walk over to the cottage, to inform Mrs. Manning that the house had passed into his possession, and it would be necessary for her to find another home.
It might have been supposed he would feel some compunction, but he did not have much feeling or sympathy for the widow. The ill-feeling between Mark and his son had its effect upon him also.
There are some men who enjoy the prospect of dealing a blow, and watching the effect—men whose best feelings have been deadened, and who have lost all sympathy for those less fortunate than themselves. That Squire Collins was a man of this kind will not seem strange to those who have followed the course of this story. He set out for Mrs. Manning's cottage with a comfortable complacency, though he knew that the communication he had to make would bring her great trouble and sorrow.
Quite unconscious of the impending blow, Mrs. Manning was sitting at the front window engaged in sewing, while her thoughts were with her absent boy, whom she seemed to miss more and more as his absence lengthened. Casually looking up from her work, she saw with considerable surprise the dignified figure of Squire Collins turning in at her gate.
What can bring the squire here, she thought. She was not in the habit of receiving or expecting calls from her aristocratic townsman, and concluded that he must have some special object in calling.
Perhaps he had come to offer to take Mark back into the shop. If so, it might be the best thing for her son. She knew very little of old Anthony's circumstances, and she did not anticipate any permanent position for Mark from that quarter.
Good morning, Squire Collins, she said, politely.
Good morning, Mrs. Manning, he responded, somewhat stiffly.
Won't you come in?
Thank you; I will step in for a few minutes, I have a little business to speak of.
It must be that he means to take Mark back into the shop, thought the widow, cheerfully.
She led the way into the plain sitting-room, and invited the village magnate to take a seat.
Ahem! your son Mark is away? remarked the squire, inquiringly. This confirmed Mrs. Manning in her conjecture as to the squire's errand.
Yes, she answered; "but I think he will be at home before long. I miss him a great deal."
I suppose he can't make a living in New York, thought the squire. Rather fortunately he didn't inquire where Mark was, since this would have embarrassed Mrs. Manning, who knew that it was a secret not to be mentioned, and yet would have been reluctant to offend the squire by withholding the information.
Probably he will be as well off at home, said the squire. "I don't believe much in boys leaving home on wild-goose expeditions. They think it perfectly easy to earn a living elsewhere, but they are pretty apt to reap only disappointment."
I dare say you are right, squire, said Mrs. Manning, leading up to the subject of a return to the shop; "but there didn't seem to be anything for Mark to do at home."
Squire Collins understood her object, but had no intention of offering employment to Mark. He looked at the widow with a peculiar smile, and enjoyed the disappointment which his next words were calculated to bring.
I dare say Mark can hire out to some good farmer, he replied, indifferently. "Farming is a good healthy business."
Mrs. Manning sighed, for she rightly interpreted that no place in the shop was to be offered to Mark.
Ahem! said the squire, changing the subject; "you have a boarder, I understand?"
Yes; Mr. Taylor makes his home with us.
A sensible move on his part. It was a strange thing to live in the woods by himself so many years. I hope he will be able to pay his board.
He pays regularly every week, answered the widow.
I presume he's quite poor?
Mark thinks he has considerable money, but I have no means of judging, except that he pays his bills promptly.
Squire Collins shrugged his shoulders.
Mark is an inexperienced boy, he said. "The truth is, as I understand, old Anthony receives a small pension from some relatives in New York. It can't be much, but I hope, for your sake, that he has enough to pay his board."
Mrs. Manning began to wonder whether this was what Squire Collins came to talk about. She was soon more fully informed.
How long have you lived in this cottage, Mrs. Manning? asked the squire.
Ten years, sir.
You hire of Deacon Brooks?
Yes, sir.
Ahem! I came here this morning to acquaint you with the fact that I have just bought the property.
Has Deacon Brooks sold to you? asked the widow, in surprise.
Yes; the papers have passed, and the transfer has been made. I am now the legal owner.
I shall be glad to keep the house, Squire Collins, if you have no other views, said Mrs. Manning. "I have been paying five dollars a month rent, and if that is satisfactory——"
The fact is, Mrs. Manning, interrupted the squire, "I have other views. I intend to raise the house a story, and have promised to rent it, when completed, to my foreman, Mr. Lake, who contemplates marriage. He is boarding at present, as you know."
Mrs. Manning was very much disturbed. It is no light thing to be forced to leave a house which has been one's home for a period of ten years, especially in a country town where surplus houses are generally scarce and hard to find.
I don't know where I can go, said the widow, anxiously.
No doubt you'll find some place, said the squire, carelessly.
How soon do you want me to vacate the house, Squire Collins? asked Mrs. Manning, anxiously.
At the end of the month.
But that is only a week from to-day.
Quite true.
That is a very short time.
It ought to be time enough, Mrs. Manning, said the squire, stiffly.
I would be willing to pay a little higher rent if you would allow me to remain, Squire Collins.
Quite out of the question, Mrs. Manning. Indeed, I will say that I think you already pay all you can afford to. I doubt whether you will be able—with Mark out of employment—to keep up your present rent. As I understand, about all your income comes from a boarder, whose means must be extremely limited, and who, in all probability, will end his days in the alms-house.
I don't know of any other house in the village.
Well, you can think it over; of course that is your own affair, not mine.
If Mark were only at home, said the perplexed woman; "I would know better what to do."
You had better send for him then. Good morning.
Squire Collins rose and left the presence of the widow whom he had made thoroughly anxious and unhappy.
In the course of the afternoon old Anthony came home. He was looking unusually jubilant and happy, in direct contrast with the widow's anxious face.
Mrs. Manning, he said, "I bring you good news."
I am glad of it, sir, for I have only bad news.
And what is your bad news?
I must leave this house.
How is that? asked the hermit, looking surprised.
Because it has been sold. Squire Collins has bought it, and says that he is intending to enlarge it, and then let it to Mr. Lake, his foreman.
And that is all your bad news?
Yes, sir; but I consider it bad enough. I don't know where I can go.
I will let you have my cabin in the woods rent free, said the hermit, with a smile.
I don't know but I shall have to go there, said the widow, sighing.
You don't ask me what my good news is, said Anthony.
I would like to hear it, sir.
By day after to-morrow Mark will be home.
Mrs. Manning's face did brighten up at this intelligence.
This is really good news, she said gladly. "Mark will advise me what to do."
Mark will not come alone. Do you think, Mrs. Manning, you can accommodate another boarder?
Who is it, sir?
A little boy. I don't care to keep it secret. It is my grandson.
Your grandson?
Yes; I sent Mark out West to find him. He has succeeded in his mission, and the two are now on the way home.
I shall be glad to take him, sir, if I have anywhere to receive him. Squire Collins's visit has rather upset me, and I don't know what to do, or where to turn.
If your only trouble is about a house, I will undertake to find one for you. Don't borrow any trouble on that score.
But I don't know of any house that will come within my means.
I am afraid, Mrs. Manning, that you haven't confidence in me. I tell you again, not to borrow any trouble. I may as well tell you that this house will not be large enough for your increased family, and that I intended to propose to you to take another.
The widow's anxiety was somewhat relieved. Still she could not help wondering what house old Anthony would succeed in finding. There was one comfort. In two days Mark would be at home, and would be able to help him.
A short distance from the house occupied by Squire Collins was one which had been for six months vacant. It had been erected as a summer residence by a New York gentleman, and occupied by him for several seasons. It was the finest house in the village, and it seemed a pity it should remain untenanted.
Mr. Beech, the builder, now spent his summers at various watering-places, and had apparently tired of Pocasset. It was understood that the house was left in the hands of Mr. Thompson, who was authorized to let it to a responsible tenant.
Old Anthony the next morning made it in his way to call at the office of Mr. Thompson. The latter received him with his usual courtesy.
I hear that you are boarding with Mrs. Manning, Mr. Taylor, he said.
Yes.
I think you must find it much more agreeable than your life in the woods.
I do; I am getting over my misanthropy, and am taking more cheerful views of life.
That is good. My son Frank is an intimate friend of Mark, and thinks a great deal of him and his mother.
So do I, responded the hermit. "Mark is a straightforward boy, and will succeed life."
I hope so. I wish I had anything for him to do—Frank would be glad. Perhaps in time I may find him a place.
I think I shall be able to provide employment for Mark myself, said the hermit, quietly.
Mr. Thompson regarded him with surprise. Like the rest of the villagers, he had been in the habit of regarding old Anthony as a man of limited means.
By-the-way, Mr. Thompson, I called this morning on a little matter of business, continued the hermit. "I believe you have the rental of the Beach house."
Yes, answered Mr. Thompson, somewhat surprised.
I am acquainted with a family who are on the lookout for a house in Groveton. This, I think, would suit them, if the rent is not too high.
It is, you know, a fine house. Would your friends like to have it furnished?
I think so.
In that case, the rent will be four hundred dollars a year, or a hundred dollars a quarter. In the city, or at Long Branch, as you probably are aware, four times as much would be required.
I think that will be satisfactory. Can immediate possession be given?
Yes; I will at once set the cleaners to work, and have it got ready by the end of the week. One question I am obliged to ask. Is the party for whom you are acting, responsible, in a pecuniary way?
The first quarter's rent will be paid in advance.
Pretty satisfactory. May I ask the name of the tenant?
There are reasons for keeping it secret for a few days.
Oh, well, that is not material.
Old Anthony never said a word about what he had done, for, as my readers will conjecture, he meant to have Mark and his mother occupy the house. It did, however, get noised about, that Mr. Beach's house was taken. Squire Collins among others, was curious to ascertain something about the new tenants, and made a call on Mr. Thompson, with the special object of finding out.
I am no wiser than you, Squire Collins, said Mr. Thompson. "Of course we shall all know in a few days."
By whom was the matter negotiated?
There again I am bound to secrecy, but all will be known.
Of course the party must have ample means, and I look forward to having a pleasant neighbor—there are very few in the village with whom we can associate, on an equality, and so any good family is an acquisition.
You are more fastidious than I, Squire Collins, said Mr. Thompson smiling. "I don't value men according to the size of their pocket-books."
You must admit, however, that refinement and wealth are likely to go together. You are not too democratic for that?
I am not sure. I have known many rich people who were very far from being refined. By-the-way, I hear that you have bought the house occupied by Mrs. Manning.
Yes.
Shall you allow her to remain there?
No; I mean to enlarge it, and let my foreman occupy it.
That will be a disappointment to Mrs. Manning.
Oh, I suppose so, said the squire, carelessly; "but that is her lookout, not mine."
I really don't know of any house in the village she can obtain.
Squire Collins shrugged his shoulders.
I really haven't troubled my mind about the matter, he said.
If I had time, I don't know but I would build them a small cottage on the vacant lot I have on Glen Street.
Take my advice, and don't; the widow is in very precarious circumstances. Her son, Mark, is out of employment.
Can't you find him something to do, in your shop?
I could, but do not feel disposed to. He is a very independent boy, and more than once, he treated my son, James, in a disrespectful way. No; he must shift for himself some other way.
Of the two boys, I certainly very much prefer Mark, thought Mr. Thompson; but politeness prevented his saying so.
Squire Collins soon took his leave, having failed to acquire the information he sought.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Manning could not help feeling anxious, about her prospects of a house.
Have you heard of any house, Mr. Taylor? she asked.
The hermit smiled.
Don't be troubled, Mrs. Manning, he said; "when you leave this house you will find another one to move into."
Mrs. Manning was silenced, but still disquieted. She was even tempted to wonder whether old Anthony was really quite right in his mind. But there was nothing to be done. She could only wait, patiently.
The next day Mark arrived with little Jack. He was looking unusually well, his journey having given him a healthy color, and added to his flesh. Jack was still thin and pale, but was beginning to look better than when under Peggy's care.
The hermit was much moved, as he took the boy in his arms and kissed him.
The hermit was much moved, as he took the boy in his arms and kissed him.
I can see my daughter's looks in you, Jack, he said. "I fear your life has been a sad one, poor child. It shall be my task to repay you for the hardships you have had to meet in your short life."
Little Jack seemed to take instinctively to the rough-looking but, kind-hearted old man. The poor match boy seemed to have drifted into a haven of rest.
Shall I ever have to go back to Peggy? he asked.
Never, my child. This good lady, indicating Mrs. Manning, "will supply the place of your own mother."
I will sell matches for you, if you want me to, grandfather. I didn't like working for Peggy, but I will work for you.
My dear Jack, instead of working you must go to school, and learn all you can. When you are grown up, it will be time for you to work.
It soon became noised about that the little boy, who was seen about the village with Mark, was the hermit's grandson. But the grandson of old Anthony was not considered a very important person, and only excited passing interest.
Mark was let into the secret of the new home to which Mr. Taylor proposed to move, and he was naturally pleased to think that his mother's condition was to be so much improved.
Nothing had leaked out in the village, however, about the contemplated removal.
The week was nearly ended when Mark happened to meet James Collins in the street. James had been informed by his father that Mrs. Manning had received notice to leave the cottage, and it gratified his dislike of Mark. What puzzled him was, Mark's apparent indifference and evident good spirits.
Perhaps he thinks my father will relent, and let him stay, but he'll find himself mistaken as I shall let him know when I get a chance.
The chance came that very day.
Hallo! said James, as Mark was about to pass him.
Hallo! responded Mark smiling.
I hear you've got to move.
So I hear.
It's high time you were finding a new house.
I think so myself, but that's my mother's business.
You needn't think my father will let you stay where you are.
Don't you think he would let us stay a month longer?
No, I don't.
He wouldn't put us out in the street, would he?
Look here, Mark Manning, I see what you are at. You want to impose on my father's good nature. I shall warn him of your plan.
Just as you please, James.
The result was that Squire Collins, sharing to some extent his son's apprehensions, made a call that same evening at the cottage. All the family were at home.
After the usual greetings were over, the squire said:
I suppose, Mrs. Manning, you will be ready to move on Saturday?
Suppose my mother can't get a house, suggested Mark.
She must find a house, said the squire, severely. "She has had time enough to find one. You mustn't blame me if I say that move you must on Saturday."
You need have no anxiety, Squire Collins, said Mrs. Manning, with dignity. "I intend to move on that day."
And where, may I ask? inquired the squire, with curiosity.
We move into the Beach house, answered Mark, his eyes fixed with smiling interest on the village magnate.
What! exclaimed the squire in amazement and incredulity. "Do you mean the house near mine?"
Yes.
You must be crazy, he gasped. "That is a very elegant house, and the rent is high."
I think we can pay it.
And your furniture is unfit for so handsome a residence, even if there were enough of it.
We hire the house with its present furniture, said Mark complacently.
I don't understand it at all! exclaimed the perplexed squire. "How can you, being almost a beggar, dream of living there?"
I think, Squire Collins, said old Anthony, quietly, "that you are somewhat in error as to my young friend Mark's circumstances."
What do you mean?
I mean that he has a very good property for a boy of his age.
Mark was as much amazed as the squire at this statement. The latter said with a sneer:
And where is this famous property?
I will inform you with pleasure. There are a thousand dollars to his credit in a savings' bank in New York, and he holds a mortgage of four thousand dollars on your manufactory.
Even Mark thought Anthony was out of his mind.
Why, stammered the squire, "I negotiated that mortgage through Mr. Hardy, of New York."
Exactly! The money he advanced he held in trust for Mark.
I can't believe this! exclaimed the squire in mortification and bewilderment.
Is this really true, Mr. Taylor? asked Mark.
Yes. Let me inform you, Squire Collins, that though I have lived as a hermit, I am really a moderately rich man, and some time since transferred without his knowledge five thousand dollars to Mark here, who, as you see, is really chief owner of the shop from which you discharged him.
I didn't dream of this! ejaculated the squire.
I presume not, said the hermit dryly.
If Mark chooses to come back into the shop, I will raise his wages.
My friend Hardy intends to offer Mark a position in his office in the city, which I think will suit him better. It only remains to say that this cottage will be vacated on Saturday.
I don't want to inconvenience Mrs. Manning, said the squire, filled with respect by the unexpected prosperity of those whom he had come to bully. "Stay another week if you wish."
We don't wish, thank you, said Mark.
It was a wonderful story that Squire Collins had to tell at home, and the deep chagrin of James can be imagined. But he was worldly wise, and he soon decided to court the boy he had hitherto despised. What annoyed him most was the thought Mark held a mortgage on his father's shop, and was to live in a house handsomer than his own.
Five years have elapsed since the incidents recorded above. Mark fills a responsible position in the office of Mr. Hardy, with a handsome salary. Little Jack is now a rosy, healthy child of thirteen, and those who remembered him as a match boy would not know him now. His grandfather's happiness is bound up in his little grandson, but he is still very much attached to Mark, and he has made a new will, in which he divides his fortune equally between these two.
Lyman Taylor is again within the walls of a penitentiary, having forged a check upon a well-known merchant of Chicago; and old Peggy, taking Jack's place, is to be seen any day on Clark or State streets, with a basket of matches, which she makes an excuse for appealing to the charity of passers by. Her face is growing redder and redder, as her potations increase, and she will probably end her career in a hospital or alms-house.
James Collins is now a clerk in Newport, on a small salary, with which he is very much discontented, and from time to time asks a loan of his old schoolfellow, Mark, to whom he is now compelled to look up. He has developed extravagant tastes, and is always in debt. I greatly fear that neither his habits nor his fortunes will improve as he grows older. For our hero, Mark, and those who belong to him, we may anticipate brighter days and greater prosperity, as a fitting recompense of industry and good habits.
The End