“Why, Ben, how came you here?” and looking up Ben recognized his cousin Adelbert.--Page 58. Ben Bruce.
BEN BRUCE.
SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A
BOWERY NEWSBOY.
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
Author of “Joe’s Luck,” “Tom the Bootblack,” “Dan the Newsboy,” “The Errand Boy,” etc., etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. WATSON DAVIS.
A. L. BURT COMPANY,
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK
Copyright, 1892, by FRANK A. MUNSEY.
Copyright, 1901, by A. L. BURT.
BEN BRUCE.
By HORATIO ALGER, JR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BEN AND HIS STEPFATHER 1
II. BEN WITNESSES AN EXPLOSION 9
III. MR. WINTER’S SAVINGS BANK 13
IV. AN EXCITING ENCOUNTER 21
V. A MIDNIGHT CALL 29
VI. A DISAPPOINTED BURGLAR 34
VII. BEN FORMS A SUDDEN DETERMINATION 42
VIII. BEN ARRIVES IN BOSTON 51
IX. BEN BECOMES A HERO 60
X. BEN DINES IN MT. VERNON STREET 68
XI. BEN HAS A NARROW ESCAPE 76
XII. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 84
XIII. BEN IS INTRODUCED TO A POET 93
XIV. THINGS AT WRAYBURN 102
XV. BEN GETS EMPLOYMENT 111
XVI. BEN VISITS MR. SIMPSON 120
XVII. RIVALS IN BUSINESS 129
XVIII. REHEARSING 133
XIX. BEN MAKES HIS DÉBUT 146
XX. BEN’S LETTER HOME 155
XXI. BEN MEETS WITH A LOSS 164
XXII. GEORGE GRAYSON COMES TO GRIEF 173
XXIII. A STRANGE ADVENTURE 177
XXIV. BEN PLAYS A PART 181
XXV. THE MYSTERY DEEPENS 189
XXVI. BEN’S STRANGE PROSPERITY 198
XXVII. MRS. HARCOURT’S SUDDEN RESOLUTION 206
XXVIII. BEN MAKES SOME TITLED FRIENDS 215
XXIX. THE MORDAUNT FAMILY 223
XXX. BEN’S PROGRESS 231
XXXI. UNWELCOME NEWS 239
XXXII. JACOB WINTER 247
XXXIII. A STARTLING INCIDENT 255
XXXIV. MRS. HARCOURT’S LETTER 263
XXXV. BASIL WENTWORTH REACHES GENEVA 271
XXXVI. MR. SNODGRASS SUGGESTS AN INVESTMENT 280
XXXVII. FRANK MORDAUNT 288
XXXVIII. BEN OVERHEARS AN IMPORTANT CONVERSATION 294
XXXIX. BEN CONSULTS A LAWYER 300
XL. CONCLUSION 309
BEN BRUCE:
SCENES IN THE LIFE OF A BOWERY NEWSBOY.
CHAPTER I.
BEN AND HIS STEPFATHER.
“Come here, you, sir!”
These words were spoken in a stern voice by Jacob Winter, and emphasized by a heavy frown. The speaker was rather an undersized man, with a rugged, weather-beaten face. He had seen but fifty years, though his wrinkles and bowed shoulders indicated ten more.
The boy addressed had a bright, intelligent face and a fearless look. Ben Bruce detected the danger signals in the tone and face of his stepfather, but without a sign of hesitation he walked up to the farmer, and responded, “Here I am, sir.”
The man seemed aching to lay hold of the fearless boy, but something in his steadfast look appeared to deter him.
“Ain’t you ashamed of yourself, sir?” exploded Jacob Winters.
“Please let me know what I am to be ashamed of, Mr. Winter.”
“Ez if you didn’t know,” ejaculated Jacob.
“I don’t know.”
“Then I’ll tell you. Yesterday when I was away drivin’ your mother to the sewin’ circle two tramps came to the door, and you took it upon yourself to give ’em a loaf of bread and a pint of milk. Deny it if you dare!”
“I don’t deny it,” answered Ben boldly.
“You don’t!”
“No, why should I?”
“That’s the way my substance is wasted on the shiftless and undeservin’!”
“Mr. Winter, the two tramps, as you call them, were hungry, thin, and miserable. The man looked as if he had just got up from a fit of sickness. The boy was about ten and looked pale and famished. Wouldn’t you have given them something if you had been in my place?”
“No, I wouldn’t,” snarled Jacob.
“Then it seems to me you are the one that ought to feel ashamed.”
“What? what?” gasped Jacob, aghast. “You dare to stand there, Benjamin Bruce, and tell me to my face that I’d ought to be ashamed. You a mere boy, and I your stepfather!”
“I can’t help it if you are my stepfather. I’m sorry enough for it. If my mother had taken my advice she wouldn’t have married you.”
“Wuss and wuss!” ejaculated Jacob. “I didn’t know you was such a bad boy. You’ll come to the gallows some day, see if you don’t!”
“Look here, Mr. Winter; you call yourself a Christian, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I’ve been a member of the church for nine and thirty years.”
“And you believe in the Bible, don’t you?”
“I won’t answer your impudent question.”
“Yet,” continued Ben, “you blame me for feeding the hungry.”
“You fed ’em with my provisions,” snarled Jacob.
“Well, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll go without my supper.”
“You’ve a mighty independent way of talkin’, Benjamin Bruce, you that I feed and clothe.”
“I do work enough to pay for my keeping, Mr. Winter. Besides, you forget that you have got my mother’s money, which if she hadn’t married you would have been part mine.”
Jacob Winter winced. It was true that Mrs. Bruce had brought him two thousand dollars, which he had coolly deposited to his own account in a savings bank.
“That ain’t any of your business,” he said. “Now go out and feed the cows, and mind you don’t throw away any of my substance agin on beggars.”
Ben left the room without a reply, but his lip curled, for he thoroughly despised his stepfather for his meanness.
On the way to the barn he fell in with his mother, who was returning from the village.
“What’s the matter, Ben?” she said, for she saw signs of disturbance in her son’s face.
“I have had a little conversation with Mr. Winter.”
“Did he--scold you?”
“Yes, because I gave some bread and milk to two poor people who called at the door yesterday. Mother, if there’s a mean man in the world, it is Jacob Winter.”
“Hush, Ben! Don’t speak so of your stepfather.”
“Mother, why did you marry him? Why did you make him my stepfather?”
Mrs. Winter looked troubled.
“I--I thought it was for the best, Ben,” she faltered. “We had so little, and he was rich.”
“Then you didn’t marry him from affection?”
“No, no; he understood that.”
“I am glad of that, mother. You made a mistake.”
“It may be so, but I must make the best of it.”
“We could have got along on what money you had and what I could earn, and we should have been far happier by ourselves, mother.”
“Don’t say any more. The past cannot be recalled.”
“You mustn’t blame me if I don’t stay here very long, mother. I can’t stand Mr. Winter and his mean, tyrannical ways.”
“Oh, Ben, you wouldn’t go away and leave me?”
“If I do it will only be that I may get on in the world, and offer you a better home than you have now.”
“But you are only a boy, only fifteen years old. You must stay here till you have got an education. You have graduated from the grammar school, and are now ready for the high school.”
“I don’t think Mr. Winter will allow me to go.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Albert Graham heard Mr. Winter tell his father that he thought I had education enough, and he was going to keep me at home to work on the farm.”
“Are you sure of that?” asked Mrs. Winter in agitation.
“Yes; I know Albert wouldn’t say so if it wasn’t so.”
“But he promised me when we married that you should have a good education.”
“He doesn’t always keep his promises.”
“If he hadn’t agreed to this I wouldn’t have married him.”
“Then I wish he hadn’t agreed to it. You will see that I am right. Next Monday the high school will begin its term.”
“Why don’t you go and fodder the cows, as I told you?” came in a shrill voice from an open window.
Mother and son looked toward it and saw the frowning face of Jacob Winter peering out.
“I was talking to my mother,” answered Ben.
“You’d better wait till you have more time,” growled the farmer.
Ben did not reply, but went on his way to the barn, while Mrs. Winter entered the house.
“Mrs. Winter,” said her husband fretfully, “that boy of yours is gettin’ very impudent and sassy.”
“I hadn’t observed it,” she answered coldly.
“You’re his mother, and you think he’s an angel.”
“There are no angels in this house, Mr. Winter,” said his wife significantly.
“Is that meant as a personal reflection on me, Mrs. Winter?”
“No more than on myself.”
“Well, well, I am glad you didn’t mean any offense. But I’m serious about Ben. I’ve left him in your hands too long. I’m goin’ to manage him myself now.”
“Then, Mr. Winter, I have one thing to say. Ben is not a bad boy, but he has spirit, and if you undertake to drive him he will be sure to rebel.”
“You needn’t worry about that, Mrs. W. He ain’t nothing but a boy, and if I can’t manage him I’ll give up.”
“He may be nothing but a boy, but he has his rights. You must bear in mind your promise to me before we married.”
“What promise do you refer to, Mrs. W.?”
“That he should have an education.”
“Well, ain’t he been to school ever since, and now he’s gradooated.”
“At the grammar school. He is now ready for the high school.”
“He ain’t a-goin’ to the high school.”
“Do you mean that, Mr. Winter?” said his wife with an angry flush upon her cheek.
“Certainly I do. He’s got to work on the farm. He knows all he need to. He’s as well eddicated as I am.”
“I admit that, but----”
“Say no more, Mrs. W. I’ve put my foot down, and the thing is settled. He shan’t go to the high school.”
CHAPTER II.
BEN WITNESSES AN EXPLOSION.
After attending to his chores, Ben decided to take a walk--not in the direction of the village, but away from it. A quarter of a mile to the westward there was a river with a rapid current which had yielded Ben plenty of enjoyment in the way of fishing and boating.
Across from shore to shore was a dam, by means of which the water was made available for a factory for the manufacture of leather board. The superintendent of this factory, a Mr. Foster, was one of Ben’s special friends.
Ben overtook the superintendent sauntering along beside the river.
“How are you, Ben?” said the superintendent kindly.
“Very well, thank you, Mr. Foster.”
“You are going to the high school next term, I suppose.”
“I expected to do so, but I am likely to be disappointed.”
“How is that?”
“My stepfather, Jacob Winter, is not in favor of my going.”
“What is his reason?”
“I suppose he wants me to work on the farm.”
“And you don’t like farming?”
“No. I hope you won’t think I don’t like work, Mr. Foster, for I enjoy nothing better; but to work on a farm, and especially under Mr. Winter, would be very disagreeable to me.”
“How would you like to work in the factory?”
“Much better than on the farm, but I will say frankly that I have not secured the education which I desire, and I shall be much disappointed if I can’t go to the high school.”
“You were always fond of study, Ben. My boys don’t care much for it. Well, I suppose tastes differ. Have you ever thought of your future?”
“I have thought of it a good deal. A good many things will be open to me if I am well educated, which would otherwise be closed to me.”
“I see, and I understand why you want a better education.”
“I am not likely to get it, however. If the choice lies between working on a farm and working in your factory, I will work for you if I can get the chance. The wages I got would hire a boy to work on the farm, and there are boys who would be willing to do it.”
“We employ about thirty at present, but I could make room for a boy of your age and ability. What pay would you want?”
“It is for you to fix that.”
“I might give you five dollars a week to begin with.”
“That would be satisfactory. Would I be preparing myself for higher work?”
“Yes, I would put you in the way of that.”
“I would certainly rather work for you than for Mr. Winter.”
“I am to consider that a compliment, I suppose?”
“Yes, but not much of a one. Any one would be better than Jacob Winter.”
“Man proposes, but God disposes.” Even while they were talking unseen forces were at work which were to defeat all their plans. Suddenly, as they stood on the river bank, a strange rumbling noise was heard, and before their astonished eyes there rose into the air fragments of wood mingled with stones and dirt, like a volcanic eruption.
“Good Heavens!” exclaimed the superintendent in great excitement, “the dam has been undermined and blown up!”
“But how?”
“It must be by dynamite or giant powder.”
“But who could have done it?”
“I dismissed two workmen two weeks since. They must have done it from revenge.”
“And what will be the consequence?”
“The factory must shut down till the dam is rebuilt.”
“And then ends my hopes of employment under you?”
“I am sorry to say--yes.”
“I wish that were all the harm likely to come of it. Will it take long to repair the dam?”
“A good while, I fear.”
“At any rate, one thing I am resolved upon. I won’t work for Mr. Winter. I will run away first.”
Ben’s face assumed a look of resolution as he left the superintendent and wended his way back to the farmhouse.
CHAPTER III.
MR. WINTER’S SAVINGS BANK.
There was very little conversation at the supper table after Ben had told the story of the explosion. Mrs. Winter was indignant at her husband’s breaking his promise to her that Ben should receive a thorough education. She had not yet had an opportunity to tell Ben, but she did so after the meal, when Mr. Winter had gone out to visit a neighbor.
“Ben,” she said, “you are not to go to the high school.”
“Who says so, mother?”
“Mr. Winter.”
“Does he give any reason?”
“He says you have had education enough, that you are as well educated as himself.”
“Did he say educated?” asked Ben with a twinkle in his eye.
“Well, he said ‘eddicated,’” responded his mother with a faint smile.
“So, I suppose. He is right there. I should be very sorry if I hadn’t as much education as he. He cares more for money than books, and always did.”
“I am very sorry, Ben.”
“So am I. I need education to help me succeed in life. I suppose he expects me to stay at home and help him on the farm.”
“So he says.”
“Then,” said Ben quietly, “he will be disappointed.”
“But Ben, what can you do?”
“I can leave home and seek my fortune elsewhere.”
Mrs. Winter looked very sober.
“I don’t believe you know what you are undertaking, Ben,” she said. “You will have a hard time.”
“I expect to--at first.”
“Besides Mr. Winter won’t let you go, I am afraid.”
“He can’t stop me. I would rather stay at home if he would let me go to the high school.”
“I don’t think I can persuade him to do that.”
“Then, mother, I must leave you.”
“Don’t go without letting me know.”
“I won’t, mother, I will let him know too. I am not going to run away. I’ll give him fair warning of my intention. Now, mother, if you’ll excuse me I’ll go over and tell Albert Graham about my plans.”
Albert lived not more than half a mile away. He was about as old as Ben, but at least two inches shorter. The two were great chums. To him Ben communicated his purpose.
“Where do you talk of going?” asked Albert.
“To New York.”
“Ain’t you afraid to go alone to such a big city?”
“No; why should I be?”
“There are a good many bad people there, I’ve heard.”
“And still more good people. I think I shall have a better chance in a large city than in the country.”
“How far away is New York?”
“It is a little more than two hundred miles from Boston.”
“And we are fifty miles from Boston. Won’t it cost a good deal to go there?”
“No; there is a rivalry between the steamboat lines and the fare has been put down to one dollar.”
This statement, which may surprise some of my readers, was strictly correct. For a short time, some years ago, it was possible to travel between these two cities for this small sum.
“It will cost a dollar and a quarter to get to Boston from here.”
“I know it.”
“Are you well provided with money, Ben?”
“Not very.”
“Then I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll lend you five dollars.”
“But how do you happen to have as much, Albert?”
“You know I rode as a jockey at the last agricultural fair. I was to get ten dollars if I succeeded in winning the race, and you know I did win.”
“Yes, I know.”
“So I can lend you the money as well as not.”
“You are a good fellow, Albert, but I don’t think I ought to take the money.”
“Oh, you can pay it back--with interest, if you insist upon it.”
“Thank you, Albert. I won’t refuse so kind an offer. My mother would let me have the money, but she was foolish enough when she married to give all she had to Mr. Winter, and now he doles her out a quarter at a time, and she has to ask for that. You won’t hardly believe me, Albert, but she hasn’t had a new dress for a year.”
“I can believe it fast enough. Jacob Winter is the meanest man I ever heard of, and everybody in town says so. I don’t blame you at all for leaving him. Won’t you be sorry to be away from your mother?”
“I can’t tell you how much I shall miss her, Albert,” answered Ben, gravely, “but I hope to provide her a better home some day. I can’t do it by staying here. You must go over and see her some time, Albert.”
“So I will. Of course you will write to me.”
“Yes, if I have any good news.”
“By the way, Ben, how much money did your mother have?”
“Two thousand dollars.”
“And she handed it all over to old Winter? Excuse my speaking so disrespectfully of your stepfather.”
“That won’t worry me any.”
“I suppose Mr. Winter is worth a good deal of money?”
“I suppose so, but I don’t want any of it. I only wish mother had back what she brought him and could go with me to New York.”
“By the way, Ben, have you any idea what Mr. Winter does with his money?”
“I suppose he puts it in the banks. I never thought much about the matter.”
“Probably he does put some there, but I heard that he was rather afraid of banks. Some years ago a savings bank failed and he lost fifty dollars, so I heard.”
“That accounts for it.”
“Accounts for what?”
“For what I am going to tell you. Last Wednesday evening I was crossing the four-acre lot--a part of Mr. Winter’s farm--when I saw him coming across the field with a box in his hand. It was rather dark, so he could not see me very well, for you know he is short-sighted.
“I had a curiosity to find out what he was going to do, so I followed him. Oh, I forgot to say that he had a spade in his hand. Well, when he got to the big oak tree about the center of the place he halted. There was a smaller tree near by, and I hid behind it so I could see what he was doing.”
“What did he do?” asked Ben, who was by this time intensely interested.
“He began to dig, and kept on till he had dug a hole about two feet deep. Then he took the box and put it down in the hole and covered it up with dirt. After finishing he got a little brushwood and laid it down careless like over the spot so as to hide the dirt, and then went away, without knowing that any one had seen him.”
“What do you think was in the box, Albert?” asked Ben, in excitement.
“Money,” answered Albert, sententiously. “It may have been gold or silver or bills. I didn’t see the contents of the box and so of course I can’t tell.”
“It seems to me he was very foolish to put his money there.”
“So I think, but he was scared by the failure of the savings bank and was afraid to trust them any more.”
“The money would be safer in any savings bank than in a hole where anybody could dig it up.”
“That’s the way I feel about it. I wonder if that is the only hiding place he has for his gold.”
“Albert, when it gets a little darker suppose we go out to see the place. I feel some curiosity on the subject.”
“All right, Ben, I’ll go. Just go round to the store with me. I have a few things to buy for mother. Then we’ll start across the fields.”
“All right.”
When they reached Albert’s house from the store it was too early for their expedition. So Albert proposed a game of checkers. They played two, and when the second was completed the church clock pealed out the hour of nine.
“We must go at once or it will be too late,” said Ben.
“It isn’t very far.”
They went out of the house and struck across the fields.
“This is just about the hour I came last Wednesday evening,” said Albert.
They neared the tree, when suddenly Albert uttered an exclamation:
“By gracious, Ben,” he said, clutching his companion by the arm, “if there isn’t old Winter coming again. He hasn’t got a box, but he has a spade in his hand. I wonder what he’s up to now. Come with me, and we’ll get behind the other tree and watch. Don’t cough or make any noise. We don’t want him to see us.”
CHAPTER IV.
AN EXCITING ENCOUNTER.
From their place of concealment the two boys watched attentively. They were rather mystified as to Mr. Winter’s intentions. It occurred to them, however, that he might have in his pocket some gold coins to add to the hoard underneath.
At any rate he began to dig, occasionally pausing to rest, for he was not very robust, and the labor of digging affected his back.
At last he reached the box, and getting down on his knees, pulled it out of the hole.
He raised the cover and began to count the contents. These contents consisted entirely of gold pieces.
In a low voice, which, however, was audible to the boys, he counted “Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine.”
Then in an alarmed tone he added: “There’s one short. There ought to be a hundred, making five hundred dollars--can any one have found the box and taken one out? I’ll count again.”
Once more he counted, and this time he made full number, much to his relief.
Then from his vest-pocket he drew out two more gold pieces and added them to the pile.
“That makes a hundred and two,” he said in a tone of satisfaction.
He was preparing to replace the box in its place of concealment when something unexpected happened.
An ill-looking fellow, a tramp in appearance, who had crept up without being observed either by Mr. Winter or the boys, suddenly sprang out from behind a large tree, and throwing himself upon the old farmer tried to pull the box from him.
“Gimme that money, old man!” he cried in a hoarse voice, “or I’ll kill ye!”
Jacob Winter uttered a cry of dismay, but he clung to the box.
“Go away!” he gasped. “It’s my money. I’ll have yer arrested.”
“Go ahead and do it, but I’ll take the money first.”
The fellow’s fierce face was distinctly seen by the boys. He was a man of about thirty, with a coarse sensual look and blotched skin, the result, doubtless, of intemperate habits.
An ill-looking fellow suddenly sprang out from behind a tree and throwing himself upon the old farmer, tried to pull the box from him.--Page 22. Ben Bruce.
“Go away, you robber!” ejaculated the farmer, clinging to his treasure with the energy of despair. He was evidently more afraid of losing that than of receiving bodily injury, though the wicked eyes of his assailant might well have inspired physical apprehension.
The conflict was unequal. Mr. Winter was probably sixty years of age, while his assailant was only half that, and was a larger man in every way.
“Look here, old man,” said the tramp, angered by the farmer’s resistance, “you’d better give up your money or you’ll get hurt!”
“I’ll send you to jail!” shrieked Jacob Winter.
“Maybe you will, if I don’t get away too quick,” laughed the tramp.
“Aren’t you ashamed to rob a poor old man?”
“Oh, I guess you’ve got some more money. You won’t die in the poorhouse.”
By this time the man had got the box into his hands, and now prepared to walk off with it.
“Help! help!” shrieked the farmer.
The tramp laughed.
“There ain’t no help near,” he said. “Go home and go to bed, and thank your lucky stars I didn’t brain ye.”
The two boys had listened in a fever of excitement. Neither liked Jacob Winter, but all their sympathies were with him. There was something coarse and repulsive about the tramp, and they could not bear to have him succeed.
“Are we going to stand this, Albert?” whispered Ben.
“No.”
“Stand by me, and I’ll do what I can.”
Ben had already espied the spade, and had made up his mind what he would do with it.
He sprang out from behind the tree, dashed forward and seized the implement without being heard by the tramp. With a look toward Albert, whose help he expected to need, he made another rush forward and fetched the unsuspecting robber a blow upon the back of his head.
Though it was a boy’s blow it was a heavy one, and with a cry of dismay the tramp dropped the box and raised his hand to the injured spot. Albert ran up, seized the box, and darted back.
“Wha--what’s all this?” exclaimed the tramp, turning back.
Knowing nothing of the presence of the boys he was under the impression that the old man had made the attack. He saw Jacob Winter looking as much amazed as he felt himself. Then observing the two boys, he quickly comprehended what had taken place.
“Why you young cubs!” he cried, his face looking fiercer and more threatening, “you must be crazy. I’ll kill ye both.”
He sprang towards Albert Graham, for it was Albert who held the box of treasure, and was about to make an attack upon him. But he failed to take account of Ben, who was still armed with the dangerous spade.
Now Ben’s blood was up, and he was ready to carry on hostilities. He had no intention of deserting his young comrade.
He rushed up and dealt the tramp another blow, heavier than the first, that literally laid him out. He sank to the ground stunned, and temporarily lost consciousness.
“Now, Mr. Winter,” said Ben, who seemed naturally to take command, “take the box and go to the house as quick as you can. I have stunned the robber, but he’ll come to in a short time and then we shall be in danger. Albert, come with us.”
Jacob Winter said nothing, but it was clear that he considered the advice good. He grasped the box and started for home on a half run, followed by the two boys. Not a word was said till they reached the farmyard.
Then as he stopped to wipe the perspiration from his face, he ejaculated, “Boys, this is terrible.”
“So it is,” said Ben, “but we’ve saved the money.”
“Do you think you--you killed him?” asked Jacob, with a shudder.
“No, I only stunned him. If I hadn’t we’d have all been in danger.”
“He’s an awful man--looks as if he’d escaped from State’s prison.”
“If he hasn’t he’s likely to go there. It’s lucky we were there or you’d have lost your money.”
“How did you happen to be there?” asked the farmer, beginning to be curious.
“You see Albert and I were taking a walk. He was going to see me part way home.”
“You weren’t spying on me, were you?” asked Jacob in a tone of suspicion. “It kind of looks like that.”
“No matter what it looks like, Mr. Winter, it was lucky for you that we were around. That’s all I’ve got to say.”
“Well, mebbe it was; mebbe it was.”
“But, Mr. Winter, don’t you think it’s risky putting your money in such a place? Some one would be sure to find it sooner or later.”
“I won’t put it there again,” muttered Jacob. “Do you--see anythin’ of that man? Your eyes are better than mine.”
“No, I don’t see him. I don’t believe he would dare to follow us as far as the house.”
“I’ll go and report him to the constable first thing to-morrow mornin’. I don’t feel safe with such a man ’round. It’s gettin’ late, Ben. We’d better be gettin’ to bed.”
“Albert, won’t you sleep with me to-night? I don’t like to have you go home alone. You might meet the tramp.”
“Yes, I guess I’ll stay, Ben. Mother won’t be frightened. She’ll know I stayed with you.”
“Yes, Albert, you can stay,” said Jacob with unusual complaisance. “If--if that terrible man comes in the night there’ll be three of us to meet him.”
Usually Mr. Winter did not make any effort to be agreeable to Ben’s friends, and under ordinary circumstances he would have objected to Ben’s having a boy stay with him, but fear had softened his asperities and made him more amiable than usual.
“Mr. Winter, will you let me take the gun up to my room?” asked Ben.
“Do you know how to fire it?”
“Yes, sir.”
On several occasions when Mr. Winter was away from home Ben had gone out gunning, and in this way had learned how to manage firearms. The farmer, however, did not ask any uncomfortable or disagreeable questions, but asked, “What do you want with the gun, Ben?”
“I thought the robber might come here in the middle of the night, and I could fire at him out of the window.”
“I don’t know as it’s prudent, Ben.”
“If you would rather fire at him yourself, Mr. Winter, of course I won’t ask for the gun.”
“No, no,” said Jacob hastily, “you can take it if you want to. But be keerful, be keerful!”
So Ben took the gun and carried it up to the attic chamber where he and Albert were to sleep.
“Is it loaded, Ben?” asked Albert.
“Yes, it’s loaded with bird shot. I don’t want to kill the man, but I’ll give him a scare.”
CHAPTER V.
A MIDNIGHT CALL.
Probably no more astonished man lived than the tramp when his consciousness returned and he found himself lying on his back under the big oak tree. He lifted himself on his elbow and tried to remember what had happened.
“Something struck me,” he said. “What was it and who did it?”
Even in his half-dazed state it never occurred to him to think of Jacob Winter as his assailant.
“Ha! I remember now. It was the boys,” he said after an effort of memory. “They’ve got twice as much pluck as the old man. But I’d like to smash ’em for all that. They’ve stepped in between me and a good bit of money. But I’ll have it yet.”
The tramp rose to his feet and began to take an inventory of his bodily disabilities. His head ached and felt sore, and there was a bruise where he had been hit by the shovel. His limbs were all right, however.
“I wonder how long I’ve been lying here,” he thought, “and where that gold is?”
He was not long in deciding that the farmer had carried the pieces home. He knew where this was, for he had been lurking about the town for a couple of days, and had made inquiries.
“I’d like to get it yet,” he said to himself. “I might break into the house and carry it off.”
The more he thought of this the better the plan pleased him. Without knowing positively he thought it probable that Jacob Winter was the only man in the house, and for his prowess he felt absolute contempt.
“I’ll scare him out of his seven senses,” the tramp concluded with an amused smile. “The man is about as brave as a mouse.”
Of course it would not be prudent to make the visit he meditated just yet. Towards twelve o’clock there would be more chance of finding everybody asleep.
Now let us go back to the attic room where Ben and Albert Graham were snugly ensconced in bed.
“I wonder whether he’ll come,” said Albert.
“That is uncertain,” returned Ben, “but if he does we must be ready for him.”
“The trouble is, I’m terribly sleepy. He might come and rummage all over the house without my hearing him.”
“Then I’ll tell you what we’d better do. Do you think you can stay awake for an hour?”
“Yes; I can if I set out to.”
“Then we’ll take turns sleeping. I’ll go to sleep now, and when an hour has passed you wake me up, and then I’ll keep watch. There’s a clock in the room, and there are some matches on the washstand in a box, so that you will know when to call me.”
“All right! Can you go to sleep right off?”
“Yes; it won’t take many minutes.”
In less than five minutes Ben’s quiet breathing was sufficient evidence that he was in the land of dreams. Albert made a determined effort and managed to keep awake till he thought an hour must have been passed.
He got up, lit a match, and found that Ben had been asleep an hour and a quarter in place of an hour.
“What’s the matter? Is it morning?” asked Ben drowsily when Albert shook him.
“No; but your time is out, and I want to take a nap. You remember you are to watch for the robber.”
“All right!” said Ben, now broad awake. “Did I sleep an hour?”
“An hour and a quarter.”
“Is that so? It doesn’t seem more than five minutes.”
“Do you think you can keep awake now, Ben?”
“Yes; I can keep awake till midnight. If he doesn’t come by that time he won’t come at all. Then we can sleep, both of us, with an easy mind.”
Ben had stipulated to sleep first because he felt that the attack would be more likely to come after half-past ten, when his vigil commenced, and he preferred to deal directly with the robber himself.
After Albert was asleep he got up and examined the gun to see if it was all right. Somehow he did not feel sleepy at all now. He rather hoped his acquaintance of the fields would come, for he was a boy who was fond of excitement and adventure.
It would be a man against a boy, or rather against two boys, for Ben did not count on much help from his stepfather, but he did not feel afraid. As Ben is my hero, I am rather pleased to say that, though not foolhardy, he possessed a good share of courage.
He lay in bed listening for any noise, but an hour passed before his attention was roused. Then a little sound as of something touching the house enlisted his attention.
He got out of bed and went to the window. It may be remarked that his room was directly over that occupied by his stepfather. “By gracious!” he exclaimed under his breath, “I am just in time.”
A ladder was leaning against the house, and half way up he saw his antagonist of the fields. The ladder was so placed that the unauthorized intruder could enter Mr. Winter’s chamber through the open window.
“There’s no time to be lost!” thought Ben. “I’ll get the gun.”
CHAPTER VI.
A DISAPPOINTED BURGLAR.
Ben hesitated whether to address the burglar or not before firing the gun. Certainly the intruder had no claim to a warning, but Ben decided to be generous and give him the chance to retire in good order.
Accordingly, half leaning out of the window, he called out: “What do you want here?”
The burglar was startled, but looking up and seeing only a boy, he took courage, and his native impudence asserted itself.
“Say, kid,” he responded, “where does the old man sleep?”
“That is none of your business,” answered Ben manfully.
“You’d better look out, or I’ll give you a lesson. I know well enough. He sleeps in that room.”
“What do you want with him?”
“I want that gold. I am sure it is in his chamber.”
“Go right down that ladder, or you’ll be sorry.”
“I’ll throw you out of that window when I get into the house.”
“I have given you warning. Will you go?”
“No, I won’t. What do you take me for? You’re the most impudent kid I ever met.”
Ben wasted no more words upon the intruder, but, thrusting the muzzle of the gun out of the window, fired.
The birdshot took effect in the burglar’s face and neck, and with a cry of surprise and dismay he lost his grip and dropped to the ground, upsetting the ladder in his fall.
At the sound of the discharge Albert awoke, as did also Jacob Winter in the room below.
“What’s up, Ben?” cried Albert in excitement, jumping out of bed.
“I am,” answered Ben coolly, “and now you appear to be.”
“I mean what has happened?”
“I’ve shot a burglar.”
Albert rushed to the window and looked down. So did Jacob Winter, who was frightened almost out of his wits.
In a tremor of curiosity and alarm he thrust his head out of the window, and asked, “Who’s there?”
It was an unfortunate movement for him. The burglar had risen from the ground, mad through and through, and eager for revenge.
He intended first to wreak his vengeance upon Ben, but seeing Mr. Winter’s protruding head, changed his mind. He picked up a stone and fired with only too accurate aim.
The stone hit Jacob Winter in the ear, and the unhappy farmer, with a terrified cry, fell back from the window and lay down on the floor.
“What’s the matter, Mr. Winter?” asked his wife.
“I’m killed!” answered the farmer in agonizing tones, clapping his hand to his injured organ. “The tramp has shot me.”
He was too bewildered to observe that the burglar had no weapon, and really believed for the moment that he had been shot.
Mrs. Winter hastily lit the kerosene lamp and went to the help of her husband.
“Where were you hit?” she asked.
“Here!” answered her husband in a hollow voice. “The bullet must have gone to my brain.”
“What’s this?” she asked, picking up a pebble. “This isn’t a bullet.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Its only a pebble,” she answered. “You have been hit with a stone.”
“It almost killed me,” said Jacob, but he felt reassured.
“Who did it?”
“It’s that tramp, the man that tried to steal my gold.”
At this moment there was a knock at the door.
“There he is!” cried Jacob in fresh alarm. “He’s got into the house and is forcing his way into the chamber.”
“The door is bolted,” said his wife, “but I don’t think it can be the robber.”
But Jacob Winter could not so readily give up the idea.
“Go away, you, sir!” he called out in quavering tones. “Go away or I’ll have you arrested.”
“It’s only I, Mr. Winter,” said a young voice outside.
“It’s Ben.”
Feeling relieved, Mr. Winter himself opened the door.
“Did you fire the gun, Ben?” he asked.
“Yes, Mr. Winter. The robber had the ladder up against the house, and was going to get into your window.”
“Where is he now? This is terrible!” groaned the farmer.
“I peppered him with the gun, and I guess he’s gone off.”
“He fired a rock at me. He ought to have fired it at you. I wasn’t the one that shot him.”
“Is this the rock?” asked Ben, picking up the pebble with a smile.
“Yes.”
“It ain’t very large.”
“Neither is a bullet, but it hurts me awfully. Are you sure that man’s gone?”
“I’ll go to the window and see.”
Ben went to the open window and looked out. By the partial light he could see the baffled burglar in full retreat several hundred feet distant.
“He’s gone, Mr. Winter. That is, he’s going.”
“He may come back. Where is the ladder?”
“Outside on the ground where it fell.”
“He may come back and try to climb up again. You’d better go out and take it to the barn.”
“But the man might come back and hurt Ben,” said Mrs. Winter anxiously.
“Don’t be afraid, mother. I’ll take the gun with me, and Albert will come and help me.”
“Yes, yes, go, there’s a good boy!” said Jacob, who was afraid his wife might expect him to go himself. The very thought made him shudder.
Ben smiled a little at his stepfather’s evident alarm, but had no thought of refusing the service asked of him. Indeed he wanted to go out.
“Come down, Albert!” he called at the foot of the attic stairs. “I want you to help me take away the ladder.”
“I’ll be down in a jiffy,” said Albert.
The two boys descended the stairs and went out into the yard. They picked up the ladder and carried it to the barn, in which they placed it.
“This is a regular lark!” said Albert. “I wouldn’t have missed it for a dollar. How does Mr. Winter take it?”
“He’s scared out of his wits.”
“It’s lucky there were two able-bodied men on hand,” said Albert with a comical look, “or the house would have been robbed. Has Mr. Winter got the gold in his room?”
“Yes; I saw the box standing in one corner.”
“It’s lucky for us we ain’t rich. We needn’t be afraid of burglars.”
At the breakfast table Mrs. Winter said, “I do hope, Mr. Winter, you’ll take that gold to the bank. We don’t want any more midnight callers.”
“So I will,” answered her husband, with unwonted meekness, “but--but suppose the robber should stop me on the way.”
The savings bank was in the next town.
“Take me with you, Mr. Winter,” suggested Ben. “I guess you and I will be more than a match for the robber.”
“I don’t know but I will, Ben,” said Jacob, relieved at the suggestion. “Of course you are only a boy, but----”
“I can hold the horse while you are fighting the robber,” put in Ben, his eyes twinkling with suppressed fun.
“That’s so,” said Jacob, coughing, but he looked a little alarmed at the suggestion.
“Shall I take the gun with me?”
“Well, perhaps you may as well. What will you carry the gold in?”
“There’s an empty butter keg in the shed,” said Mrs. Winter.
“We’ll put the money in that, and people will think it’s a keg of butter,” remarked Ben.
“That’s a good plan. Be sure to load the gun before you set out.”
“I’ve attended to that already, Mr. Winter.”
Soon after breakfast the buggy came around to the door and Ben and his stepfather got in, the latter carrying the keg with its important contents.
They reached the next town, only five miles away, and drove at once to the savings bank.
“I don’t know as the bank is safe,” said Jacob Winter, “but it’s better to have my money here than where robbers can get at it.”
“I agree with you, Mr. Winter.”
The money was handed to the receiving teller of the savings bank, and Jacob received a bank book, which he put into his pocket with a sigh of relief. In the bank Ben picked up a copy of a Boston daily paper, and read the following paragraph:
The low price of tickets to New York since the last cut of the steamboat lines has greatly increased the volume of travel. There are few who cannot afford the journey, now that the fare has been reduced to one dollar.
“Only one dollar to New York!” thought Ben. “Now is my time to go, if ever!”
CHAPTER VII.
BEN FORMS A SUDDEN DETERMINATION.
Jacob Winter felt, though he hardly liked to confess it, that but for Ben he would have been the loser of five hundred dollars. He was not a liberal man, but he determined to make some acknowledgment of his stepson’s services.
Accordingly, when he had returned from the savings bank, he drew a twenty-five cent piece from his pocket and handed it to Ben with the remark: “Benjamin, you have behaved very well. Here is a quarter for you. Be keerful not to spend it foolishly.”
Ben was considerably surprised. It was the first gift he ever remembered to have received from his stepfather, and he hardly knew whether to be amused or grateful.
If he accepted it, he knew that Mr. Winter would feel that he had squared up his obligations. But Ben preferred to leave the matter open. So he quickly decided not to accept the money.
“Thank you, Mr. Winter,” he said, “but I would rather not take it.”
“You refuse money!” exclaimed Jacob in amazement.
“Yes, sir. I only did my duty.”
“I guess you’d better take it. Quarters don’t grow on every bush.”
“They don’t for me, Mr. Winter,” said Ben smiling. “I’m just as much obliged, but I would rather not take any money for what I’ve done. It was good fun.”
“Good fun!” ejaculated his stepfather. “It isn’t my idea of fun to have a ruffian try to rob me.”
“Well, he didn’t make much out of his attempt. I don’t care for the money, Mr. Winter, but I’ll ask something else instead.”
“What is it?” asked Jacob cautiously.
“I want to leave the farm and go to New York.”
“Go to New York! You--a mere boy! What do you want to go to New York for?”
“I want to get work.”
“There’s plenty of work here, Benjamin.”
“I know there is, but it isn’t the kind I like. I should never be a successful farmer.”
“It wasn’t exactly the farmin’ business I meant to put you to.”
“What then?” asked Ben, whose turn it was to be surprised.
“Silas Flack has made an offer to take you and teach you the shoemakin’ business. I did at first think of havin’ you work on the farm, but I guess you might as well learn the shoemakin’?”
“When did he make the offer, Mr. Winter?”
“Day afore yesterday.”
“And why didn’t you speak to me about it before?”
“You’re too young to know what’s good for yourself.”
“But I have no wish to learn shoemaking.”
“Boys like you don’t seem to realize that they must earn their livin’.”
“I am ready to earn my living, but I want to have something to say about the way I am to earn it. I intend to make my living in New York.”
“I can’t let you go. I’ve given my word to Silas Flack.”
Ben was exasperated, but they had reached the farm, and he concluded to take a short time to think over his stepfather’s proposal. One thing he determined upon, and that was to see Mr. Flack and find out what negotiations had passed between the shoemaker and Mr. Winter.
In the middle of the afternoon, being sent on an errand, he went a little out of his way to visit Silas Flack’s shop. It was a tiny place, for Silas did business only in a small way. Entering the shop he began:
“Good day, Mr. Flack.”
“Good day, Ben,” answered the shoemaker, resting his eye approvingly on Ben’s sturdy frame and bright, honest face.
“I called to see what proposal you made to Mr. Winter about me,” said Ben abruptly. “You promised to teach me the business, didn’t you?”
“Yes; I agreed to take you till you were twenty-one.”
“And Mr. Winter thought favorable of it, did he?”
“Yes; he said you might come.”
“What benefit is Mr. Winter to get out of it?” asked Ben.
“How old be you now?”
“Fifteen.”
“Well, I agreed to take care of you till you were twenty-one, and pay him fifty dollars a year over and above for your services. Seems to me that’s a fair offer.”
“Oho!” thought Ben, “now I understand. It’s the fifty dollars a year that Jacob Winter is after. Money is his idol, and he expects to make about three hundred dollars out of me.”
“Did Mr. Winter tell you I would come?” he asked after a pause.
“Yes; he said it struck him favorable.”
“But I don’t like the business, Mr. Flack.”
“That’s only a boy’s idee. You may as well make your livin’ that way as any other.”
“When did Mr. Winter say I could begin?”
“The first week in September.”
“That’s the time the high school commences. I was expecting to attend there.”
“Jacob Winter thinks you’ve got eddication enough. You’ve got as much as he or I.”
“Didn’t you ever think you would like to know more than you do, Mr. Flack?”
“What’s the good? I know enough for my business, and I’m gen’rally respected in town. I’ve been selec’man once, and I’m overseer of the poor now.”
Ben smiled. He saw that Mr. Flack was well satisfied with his success in life, but he felt within himself yearnings and aspirations which probably were unknown to the shoemaker.
“Well, good day, Mr. Flack!” he said after a brief pause.
“Good day, Ben! I guess you and me will get along well. I’ve heard that you are good to work, and I’ll do the right thing by you. Besides what I promised your stepfather, I’ll give you a new suit of clothes when you are twenty-one, and after that you can get good wages, as much as a dollar-fifty per day likely.”
“I’ll think over what you have said, Mr. Flack,” said Ben gravely.
He turned and left the shop. He felt that he had reached an important point in his life. He resented the utter selfishness which actuated his stepfather in thus mapping out his future life, dooming him to an uncongenial occupation for the paltry sum of fifty dollars a year paid to himself.
Had Jacob Winter been a poor man, there would have been some excuse for his course, but he was far from being poor. There were no very rich men in Wrayburn, but he was one of the most prominent in the amount of his worldly possessions.
Moreover, he had managed to get into his possession the two thousand dollars belonging to his mother. And it was for a paltry fifty dollars a year that Ben was to be deprived of the advantages of a high-school education.
“It’s a shame!” he cried hotly.
“What’s a shame, Ben?”
Turning around Ben recognized in the speaker his friend, Albert Graham.
“Was I speaking aloud?” Ben asked.
“Yes, and with considerable emphasis. What is it all about?”
“I find my precious stepfather has agreed to bind me apprentice to Silas Flack, the shoemaker, in consideration of fifty dollars a year paid to him annually till I am twenty-one.”
“You don’t mean it, Ben?”
“Yes, it’s true. Mr. Winter told me himself, though he didn’t speak of the fifty dollars. That was told me by Mr. Flack.”
“I don’t wonder you call it a shame,” said Albert warmly.
“That is why Mr. Winter isn’t willing to have me attend the high school; that wouldn’t bring him in any money.”
“I see. Have you told your mother about it yet?”
“No, but I shall as soon as I go home.”
“Then you are to grow up a shoemaker, Ben?”
“Not much,” exclaimed Ben decidedly. “Mr. Winter hasn’t got my consent.”
“What will you do?”
“Go to New York.”
“Won’t he try to stop you?”
“Perhaps so,” said Ben quietly, “but I shall go all the same.”
“Well, I can’t blame you, Ben. You weren’t cut out for a shoemaker.”
“Nor for a farmer either. I feel that I must take the responsibility into my own hands.”
“When are you going to start and what are your plans?”
“I shall start as soon as I can. I find that I can go to New York from Boston for a dollar, and I shall never have any better chance.”
“You will take the five dollars I offered you, Ben?”
“Yes, Albert, as a loan, and thank you for your friendly aid. If ever I can do you a favor I will.”
In reply Albert held out his hand, and the two boys interchanged a hearty grasp.
“Well, Ben, you have my best wishes, you know that. You will be sure to write me?”
“Yes, Albert. I will write to you and to my mother.”
Ben had a conference with his mother and obtained her consent to his plan. She was as angry as he at the cold-blooded selfishness of her husband.
“I don’t know whether it’s best or not, Ben,” she said, “but there seems to be no other way. I begin to see my folly now in marrying Jacob Winter.”
“In a few years, mother, I hope you can leave him and come to live with me.”
The next morning when Mr. Winter went up to Ben’s attic chamber to call him, he found that the bird had flown.
CHAPTER VIII.
BEN ARRIVES IN BOSTON.
Jacob Winter came bounding down-stairs angry and bewildered. He sought out his wife in the kitchen.
“What has become of Ben?” he demanded abruptly.
Mrs. Winter turned and surveyed her husband calmly.
“Why do you ask?” she inquired.
“Because I went up to call him just now and found that his bed had not been slept in. Do you think he went over to sleep with Albert Graham?”
“He said nothing to me about going.”
“If he went without leave I will give him a sound thrashing.”
“Threats are cheap, Mr. Winter,” said his wife with something of contempt in her voice.
“What do you think has become of the boy, Mrs. W.?”
“Probably he has gone away.”
“But where?”
“He found out yesterday that you had apprenticed him without his permission to Silas Flack.”
“He found out because I told him so.”
“Very well, he has no taste for shoemaking.”
“Or for any other kind of work.”
“That is not true, Mr. Winter, and you know it. Ben is industrious, but he wants to be consulted about his occupation.”
“Why, isn’t shoemaking a good business?”
“It is--for some, but Ben doesn’t like it. What put it into your mind to select that business for Ben?”
“I thought he would make a good living at it.”
“And that was all?”
“Wasn’t that enough?”
“Ben learned that you intended to make money out of him. Mr. Flack was to pay you fifty dollars a year for his services, and this you intended to put into your own pocket. That was your object in making the arrangement.”
“I only did what I had a right to do. But you haven’t told me where the boy is.”
“I don’t know, but he had some idea of going to New York.”
“Did he tell you this?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought the boy had enough to contend against without his mother turning against him.”
“It seems to me you have very peculiar ideas of the duties of a wife, Mrs. W.”
“And you have strange notions of your duty to your stepson.”
“Will you tell me when Ben left the house and what route he took?”
“I can’t answer either question.”
“I’ll find out in spite of you and bring him back,” said Jacob angrily. “Did you give him any money to go away with?”
“I am not likely to have much money to give to any one. However I gave him two dollars.”
“So you connived at his escape? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mrs. W.”
“My conscience is clear. I will only say that had you treated Ben as he had a right to expect, he would not have left the house.”
“Perhaps, Mrs. W., you will favor me with your idea of how he ought to have been treated,” said Mr. Winter, with what he thought to be withering sarcasm.
“I will. You should have let him go to the high school.”
“Anything more?”
“And given him better clothes. He does not dress as well as boys of much smaller means.”
“I don’t mean to pamper him, or dress him in purple and fine linen, Mrs. Winter. He has left a good home and will probably repent it in dust and ashes before many weeks are over. Is breakfast ready?”
“It will be ready in five minutes.”
“I want to start in pursuit of Ben as soon as possible. I feel that I have a responsibility about the boy, if you don’t, Mrs. Winter.”
Mrs. Winter smiled. She understood very well why her husband wanted to recover Ben. The fifty dollars a year promised by Mr. Flack he was not willing to surrender if there was any possible chance of securing it.
Mr. Winter harnessed up and drove to the nearest railroad station, five miles away, but he saw nothing of the fugitive. Ben had taken the five o’clock train, having slept with his friend Albert Graham the night before.
On the way home Mr. Winter met Albert, and knowing the intimacy between the two boys, he stopped his horse and inquired: “When did you see Ben last?”
“Early this morning,” answered Albert.
“You did, hey? Where did you see him?”
“He slept at my house last night.”
“Is he there now?”
“No, sir.”
“Where is he then?”
“I guess he must be in Boston now.”
“In Boston?” repeated the farmer. “Why, why, how could he get there so quick?”
“He meant to take the five o’clock train from Grafton.”
“He’s a fool! He can’t get any further than Boston. He only had two dollars with him.”
“Is that all?” asked Albert significantly.
“Yes; his mother gave him two dollars, and that wouldn’t much more than get him to Boston.”
Albert did not contradict his statement, but he happened to know that Ben had five dollars more lent by himself.
“Did Ben tell you he was going to run away?” said Jacob, returning to the charge.
“Yes, sir.”
“Why didn’t you come and tell me?”
“What do you take me for?” asked Albert scornfully. “Do you think I would betray my friend?”
“I see you are in league with him,” returned Jacob angrily. “I ain’t sure but I can have you arrested for aidin’ and abettin’ him in his unlawful doin’s.”
“Go ahead and do it if you think best,” said Albert, in no way frightened.
“I’ll see about it. I’ll consult with Lawyer Cole, and you may spend the night in jail.”
Albert took no particular notice of this threat, and did not borrow any trouble on account of it.
Meanwhile the boy who had created such a commotion in the Winter household had reached Boston. He had never before been so far from home, and it must be confessed that, as he stepped from the car and followed the rest of the passengers into the front part of the Boston and Albany station, he felt a sense of loneliness, mingled with apprehension.
Had he done wisely in leaving his country home to seek the crowded city? He could not tell, but just for a moment his heart sank within him, and he almost wished himself back in Wrayburn.
But the feeling soon passed away, and as he stepped out of the depot, and, following the crowd, walked on to Washington Street, he became more cheerful and hopeful.
On the way he passed a small restaurant. There was a bill of fare displayed at the door. The prices seemed reasonable, and he decided to enter.
He had got up very early, walked about five miles to the station, and though he had been provided by Albert with a couple of slices of bread and butter, he felt very hungry.
He went into the restaurant and scanning the bill of fare, called for a plate of baked beans and a cup of coffee. They were brought, and he partook of them with great relish.
The cost was only fifteen cents. He would have liked to order more, but he felt that he must husband his money, as he did not know when he would obtain employment.
He reached Washington Street, and walked down it looking in at the shop windows. There were comparatively few people out, as it was still early, but to Ben’s rural eyes there seemed to be a crowd. He passed the Adams House, and when he reached Winter Street, he glanced up it and saw a vista of green grass and sturdy old trees, that reminded him of the country.
“What is that field over there?” he asked of a young man at his side.
“That is the common,” answered the other with a smile.
Ben hurried and pushed on till he reached the famous square. Passing between some posts he found himself on the mall, and seated himself on a long bench under the trees.