The Fairchilds
Date: 2023-10-14T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Orphans -- Juvenile fiction; Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; Siblings -- Juvenile fiction; Diligence -- Juvenile fiction; Child abuse -- Juvenile fiction; Stepchildren -- Juvenile fiction; Racially mixed people -- Juvenile fiction

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Title: The Fairchilds
or, "Do what you can"

Author: Lucy Ellen Guernsey

Release date: October 14, 2023 [eBook #71876]

Language: English

Original publication: Philadephia: American Sunday-School Union, 1871

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/71876

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FAIRCHILDS ***

Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

[The Boonville Series]

THE FAIRCHILDS;

OR,

"DO WHAT YOU CAN"

BY

LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY,

AUTHOR OF "IRISH AMY," "COMFORT ALLISON," "THE TATTLER,"
"NELLY; OR THE BEST INHERITANCE," "TWIN ROSES," ETC.

PHILADELPHIA:
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,

1122 CHESTNUT STREET.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by the
AMERICAN SUNDAY-SCHOOL UNION,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

WESTCOTT & THOMSON,                         HENRY B. ASHMEAD,
Stereotypers, Philada.                             Printer, Philada.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. EBEN MAKES UP HIS MIND

CHAPTER II. EBEN FINDS SOMETHING TO DO

CHAPTER III. EBEN AND FLORA TAKE A DRIVE

CHAPTER IV. EBEN DISPLAYS HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS

CHAPTER V. MRS. FAIRCHILD FINDS HER MISSION

CHAPTER VI. EBEN CATCHES A RIDE AND SOMETHING ELSE

CHAPTER VII. EBEN MAKES A NEW FRIEND AND MEETS AN OLD ONE

CHAPTER VIII. EBEN TRIES TO SERVE TWO MASTERS

CHAPTER IX. THE OLD GENTLEMAN

CHAPTER X. EBEN GETS AN ADVANCE

CHAPTER XI. MR. ANTIS FORGETS THE BELL-ROPE

CHAPTER XII. JEDUTHUN IS GROSSLY CARELESS

CHAPTER XIII. EBEN GETS A NEW PLACE

THE FAIRCHILDS.

CHAPTER I.

EBEN MAKES UP HIS MIND.

"THE long and the short of it is, mother, I must just go to work and earn my living the best way I can," said Eben Fairchild, straightening himself up so as to make the most of his not many feet in height; "and if I can't do what I want to do, why, I must just do what I can."

"It does seem a very hard case," said Mrs. Fairchild, sighing. "Your father's plans for you were so very different."

"He wanted you to have an education, you know," said Flora Fairchild, Eben's sister. "He said to Mrs. Willson, that very last day he was here, that ever since you came to us he had quite set his heart on your going to college."

"I know it," returned Eben, "but there is no use in talking about that now. I cannot afford to go to school, and I am not going to live upon mother so long as I have strength and sense to help myself."

"If your father had only not signed those notes, it would have been all right," said Mrs. Fairchild, wiping her eyes. "He was not under the least obligation to Mr. Furness, either, but that was Mr. Fairchild's only fault. He never knew how to say 'No.'"

Eben patted his foot on the floor rather impatiently.

"We know pa did it for the best," said Flora, "and, anyhow, it is done, and can't be undone."

"I know that as well as you do," returned Mrs. Fairchild, with a kind of mild impatience, "and I'm sure I don't want to find any fault with Mr. Fairchild, especially now that he is dead and gone, but I can't help wishing that it was different. Mr. Fairchild always looked upon your brother Eben as just as much our own child as yourself, and so have I, I am sure; and I can't help feeling disappointed that he can't have an education, as we always meant he should;" and Mrs. Fairchild took out her handkerchief and indulged in a "weep," while Eben looked steadfastly out of the window, and Flora ran her sewing machine at such a furious rate that she broke her needle, and had to stop to put in a new one. Mrs. Fairchild had a wonderful talent for "misunderstanding," and her children knew by long experience that any attempt to set her right only made matters ten times worse.

"And even supposing that you do give up going to college, and go to work, what will you find to do?" asked Mrs. Fairchild, presently.

"That is just what I must go to work and find out," replied Eben. "If I can't do one thing, I must just do another; it won't do to be too particular, so long as the work is honest and profitable enough to support me. I shall go down to the mill and talk to Mr. Antis, and to Jeduthun Cooke, and see what they can do for me. That is the first step. If I can get a place in the mill, I shall be fixed right away; I couldn't wish for anything better than that."

"You wouldn't want to go to work under that coloured man!" exclaimed Mrs. Fairchild.

"I should have been pretty badly off now if it hadn't been for that coloured man," returned Eben, with more impatience than he had showed hitherto. "What would have become of me if Jeduthun hadn't come in and taken my part as he did?"

"I wish you wouldn't be always going back to that time, Eben Fairchild," said his mother. "I don't see, for my part, what pleasure you find in it. I am sure Mr. Fairchild and I have always treated you exactly as if you were our own, and tried to have you feel so, and yet you are always bringing up the time when you lived with your uncle. I don't see how you can."

"Oh dear!" said Flora, under her breath.

"I am sure I never forget what you and pa have done for me," replied Eben, recovering his good humour, "but you know you would never have known anything about me, only for Jeduthun."

"That's true," said Mrs. Fairchild, "and you always have been a great comfort to us, Eben, I will say that, and Mr. Fairchild said the same, the very day he died, to Mr. Willson. 'Eben has always been a comfort to us from the day we took him in,' says he, 'and he is an uncommonly persevering boy,' says he, 'and the most faithful boy to do what he undertakes. I have always meant that Eben should have a good education.' Those were your dear pa's very words, and I know he wouldn't like you to go to work in the mill under Jeduthun Cooke, though I don't deny that he thought a great deal of Jeduthun, and so do I, a great deal, but, after all, it doesn't seem just the thing for you to be working under him."

"But, ma, just look here," said Eben, sitting down to the table; "don't you see how it is? To go to college I must go to school at least two years longer, and have all my time to study. Then, I couldn't get through college for less than two hundred and fifty dollars a year, at the least calculation. Four times that is one thousand dollars. Pa left us, after the farm and stock were disposed of, just this little house and garden, and a thousand dollars. That is the amount of our property. Now, how is a college education to come out of that?"

"Well, Flora has got her sewing machine. To be sure, it isn't all paid for, but then it will be pretty soon, and then all she makes will be clear gain, and there is the cow!"

"Flora wants all she can earn for herself and you," said Eben. "I shouldn't feel right to be living on her."

"Oh, well, manage it your own way," said Mrs. Fairchild. "I dare say you children think you know best, though Mr. Fairchild always said I had a good mind. Oh, if he had only taken my advice as to signing those notes! But he never said one word to me about it, till the last minute. You must manage it your own way; only I am sorry, when your father's head was so set on your having an education, and I am sure it might be managed somehow."

"There is Mrs. Brown coming in, mother," said Eben. "Hadn't you better take her into the front room? It is warm there, and the machine makes such a noise."

The moment her mother left the room, Flora stopped her machine, laid her head down on her arms, and cried, not mildly, like Mrs. Fairchild, but passionately and with a kind of fierceness. Flora had a great deal of force about her, and it came out in all she said and did.

"Don't, Flossy," said Eben, in a hoarse and altered tone; "I can't bear it! You must help to cheer me up."

"Well, I won't," said Flora, raising her head and wiping her eyes, "but oh, Eben, how can she go on so?" and in spite of herself, as it seemed, her head went down again.

"Ma isn't herself lately," said Eben. "I never saw anybody so changed. Sometimes I think she would be better if she had more to do. But never mind, Flossy. We must just think how good she is, and not mind her little ways. Come, Flossy, don't sew any more now. Come down to the bottom of the garden with me, and let us have a nice quiet talk while ma is busy with Mrs. Brown. You will break more needles than your work is worth if you go on sewing as you feel now."

"I believe you are right," said Flora, "and yet I ought not to lose any time."

"Resting is not losing time," persisted her brother, "and if you lame your back at the first start, you won't be able to do any more. Don't you know the lady in the sewing machine store cautioned you against that very thing?—against working too steadily just at first? I know you will sew all the better for resting a little while."

Flora suffered herself to be persuaded. She covered her machine, laid aside her work, and followed Eben down the path to the end of the garden, where he had found time to make a pretty seat. The garden of Mrs. Fairchild's new home extended down to the bank of the little river which ran through the village of Boonville. It was a pretty, rippling, prattling stream, turning mill wheels all along its course, but never seeming to have its nature troubled or its spirit affected by its work. A large willow hung over the water, and under this, Eben had placed his seat, though Mrs. Fairchild declared that she should never dare to sit there, because she remembered just such a tree at her grandfather's which always had red-headed caterpillars in it in July, and she should always think they were crawling over her.

Undeterred in June by the visions of the red-headed caterpillars of past Julys, Eben laid an old shawl on the seat for his sister's accommodation, and placing himself at her feet on a convenient stone, he sat some few minutes in silence, apparently watching the minnows in the water.

"Well?" said he, at last, seeing that Flora did not speak.

"Well?" said Flora, rousing herself from what seemed a reverie. "Have you quite made up your mind, Eben?"

"There don't seem to be any special need of making up my mind in this case," said Eben, still looking at the water. "It seems to be made up for me. It is perfectly plain—to me at least—that it is my duty to go to work and earn my own living, and when you see your duty, do it. That is my notion. The more you go squirming about trying to get rid of it, the harder it will come at last."

"I know it, and yet, oh, Eben, I can't bear it!" exclaimed Flora, passionately. "I did so want to have you go to college, and it all seemed so plain, and now—Can't we manage it somehow? Or don't you really care, after all? Sometimes I think you don't, you are so cool about it."

"Flossy!" said Eben.

"Well, there! I am a wretch, I know," said Flora, penitently. "I know you do care, and you are giving it all up for us."

"I would give—no, not my right hand, but sometimes I think I would give my right foot to follow out father's plan and go to college," said Eben. "Ever since I first came here, when I was a little fellow seven years old, I have heard father talk about my having a good education, and I made up my mind three years ago just what I wanted to do. I meant to be a doctor, like Doctor Henry over at the Springs. But now, Flossy, just let us look the thing squarely in the face."

"Well, if you like, though I don't know what good it will do. I have looked at it till I am sick."

"It isn't as bad as it might be," said Eben. "We have a roof over our heads, a good garden, and a cow, besides our little capital in money. Then you have your machine, which you have learned to run nicely, and you seem likely to have plenty of work, so that when your machine is once paid for, all you make will be clear gain. All that is very nice, and then we all have our health, which is better still. But then there is the other side. We cannot three of us live on the interest of a thousand dollars, and what comes out of the garden and your machine. We can't live on it, let alone any notion of saving money for college expenses."

"You would not have to go to college for two or three years," argued Flora. "Your schooling would not cost much, and matters might come round in three years."

"They might, but they wouldn't," said Eben, shrewdly. "Things don't come round, as I see. You have got to move them, and shake them about, and rub off the corners, and make them round. Besides, how should I look or feel—a great stout boy fifteen years old—going to school and living on you and mother? I should be ashamed to look any one in the face. No, no, Flossy, I have got to do my duty, as I said. If I am to have an education, if He sees it's right that I should have one," he added, reverently, "he will bring it about. I have asked him to guide me, and make me decide rightly, and I believe he has done so—I believe I see my way clear."

Flora was silent. Her brother had got on ground where she could not follow him. Presently, however, she said, "You talk just like Alice Brown. I would give anything to feel so, but I can't. However, I do believe you are right, and as you say, if you have made up your mind, the sooner you set about it the better. I know very well, when I think it over, that it will be all I can do to keep myself and mother. She cannot understand any reason why she should not have all she ever had. If only she would not talk so about pa! It makes me feel as if I should go crazy sometimes."

"You must try and have patience, Flossy," said her brother, tenderly. "I know it is trying, but remember she has always been a good, kind mother to us, and I am sure she loved my father dearly and respects his memory. But I am going up to the mill now, and I will take my fishing-tackle along. Perhaps I can get a pickerel for supper. Don't go into the house just yet. Sit here and read, and let the old machine slide for the rest of the afternoon."

CHAPTER II.

EBEN FINDS SOMETHING TO DO.

EBEN FAIRCHILD was not Mrs. Fairchild's own son, as my readers will probably have understood from the last chapter. Those who have read the former volumes of "The Boonville Series" will recollect the little English boy whom Jeduthun Cooke, the miller, rescued from his cruel relatives. At that time Eben Wright, as he was then called, was only seven years old—a pretty, slender, delicate little fellow; too peaked, Grandma Badger said, ever to amount to much. After staying about for some time, now with one kind family and now with another, Eben was first apprenticed to, and then adopted by, a respectable farmer who lived between Boonville and the Springs. Mr. Fairchild had only one living child, a little girl named Flora, two years older than Eben.

A greater contrast could hardly be imagined than that between Flora Fairchild and her little adopted brother. Flora was as stout, bouncing, and healthy as Eben was the reverse: a well-grown girl, with black eyes, and somewhat scowling black brows above them, a dark but clear and healthy complexion, and abundant black hair. Flora was generous, truthful, and kind-hearted, but she had "a temper of her own," as the girls said, and was very much governed by her impulses, which, to do her justice, were usually good. Eben was small of his age, thin and pale, with light hair and wide, grave blue eyes. People wondered how Flora could relish having a strange child come into the family where she had so long reigned alone, and predicted that she would make that little fellow "see sights." For their part they thought it was a foolish move, and pitied the poor delicate boy.

The course of events, however, showed that the pity was thrown away; since, if Eben did see sights in his new home, they were certainly not disagreeable ones. Flora adopted her new brother into her heart at first sight, helped him with his lessons, fought his battles, and loved him with a vehement, patronizing fondness which might sometimes have had its inconveniences, but was anything but disagreeable to poor, down-trodden little Eben.

By degrees, however, a change came over the relations between Flora and her brother. In the genial, kindly atmosphere of the Fairchild house, Eben's heart and mind, crushed by long tyranny and ill-usage, expanded like a plant in sunshine. He began first to speak above his breath when questioned, then to volunteer little remarks of his own, and finally to talk freely at all proper times, and especially when alone with Flora. He soon outstripped Flora in his lessons, so that he was able to help her instead of being helped himself. Mrs. Fairchild said Eben was worth three of Flora to help about the house, and her husband declared that Eben had more judgment about work than any boy he ever saw.

"It isn't that the boy is so very smart," said the good farmer. "I have seen smarter boys where contrivance was wanted; but then Eben is so faithful. If I set him about anything, I am sure to find it done. He never disappoints me. If he undertakes to build a fire, he never leaves it till he sees it burning, and if I set him to shelling corn, he never leaves his job while there is a kernel left on the cob. Now, Flossy is fast enough to help—just as obliging as ever she can be, I will say that for her—but if a piece of work lasts more than half an hour, or if it don't go off just right the first time, she gets out of patience and goes off and leaves it. Flossy is a good girl as ever was, in the main, but she isn't the dependence that Eben is."

When Flora was sixteen and her brother fifteen, which is the time at which our story begins, the relations between the two were entirely reversed, so that it was Eben who led, helped, and governed Flora.

Eben could recollect very little of his former life in England, but one thing he always declared he knew for certain,—that Tom Collins was not really his uncle. He remembered his father hardly at all, his mother very clearly, but he could not tell the name of the place where he had lived. It was in the country, he was sure of that. There was a gray church with a very high tower, and bells that made music. The first time Eben went to Hobartown and heard the college chime, he burst out crying, and being at last persuaded to tell the cause of his grief, he said his mamma used to hold him up to the window to hear the bells make music at home. He remembered that he went to school every day in a house close by the church where there were boys and girls, and the girls wore red capes or cloaks. One day they told him his mamma was dead, and after that he could remember nothing distinctly till he found himself on the sea with Tom Collins and his wife, very sick, and crying for his mamma. Tom's wife had been kind to him at first, and saved him more than one beating, but after a while she got very queer. She used to keep a little bottle of something black, and drink it, and then she did not seem to care what happened to him. Mr. Fairchild wrote down carefully all the particulars he could collect from Eben respecting his early life at home, thinking that some time or other he might find out something regarding the boy's parentage.

The winter that Flora was sixteen, Mr. Fairchild died. He had always been considered rather a wealthy man, as he owned a large and well-cultivated farm and was a successful raiser of stock, and every one supposed that the widow and her children would be well off. But it turned out that Mr. Fairchild had endorsed for a large amount for a neighbour. Mr. Furness had got tired of farming—such a slow and hard way of making money—so he had sold his farm, and with a large and expensive stock of goods, he had set up a store in the city some thirty miles away. His venture turned out as so many such ventures do. He failed utterly. Mr. Fairchild was called upon to pay his share, and when all was done, he found himself left with just a thousand dollars and a little place in Boonville to call his own and leave to his children. Grief and self-reproach brought on a paralytic shock, of which he died after some weeks of illness.

"Take care of your mother, my dears," were almost his last words to his children. "She has her little ways—all of us have—but she has been a good, faithful wife to me and a good mother to you. You will have to judge and decide for yourselves about many things, I know; but don't cross your mother if you can help it, and try to have patience, even if she is a little trying."

It was a mercy, as Eben said cheerfully, that they had such a nice little place in the village to go to when they were obliged to leave the farm. The house was small; but it was convenient, pleasant, and, like everything owned by Mr. Fairchild, in good repair; and there was quite a piece of land belonging to it, with a little orchard and a well-stocked garden. Mrs. Fairchild had her furniture, of course, and old General Dent bought in her favourite cow and gave it to her, requesting as a personal favour that it might run in the pasture with his own.

Flora had learned to run a sewing machine while away on a visit. She had twenty dollars of her own left her by an aunt, and with this she decided, after much consideration, to make the first payment on a good machine. Everything Flora had learned she learned thoroughly, and before she had ever expected to earn her living thereby, she had prepared herself to do so by acquiring great skill in using the machine on the finer kinds of fabric. She had friends at the Springs, which had become a popular summer resort, and she hoped by their aid, and that of Keziah Cooke, who took a great deal of washing from the Cure and the hotel, to be able to maintain herself and help to support her mother.

She had been fortunate at the very outset. Keziah, or Kissy, as she was much more commonly called, washed for a very fashionable and wealthy lady who wanted some copies made, as the artists say, of certain wonderfully-constructed under garments which had been sent her from Paris as patterns. Kissy secured the work for Flora, and Flora executed it to the perfect satisfaction of her employer. According to the usual course of stories, I ought now to go on and say that the fashionable lady screwed her poor work-woman down in price to the last penny, and kept her calling again and again for her pay. Such was not the case. Miss Barnard was as liberal and kind-hearted as she was rich and fashionable. She not only paid Flora a good price, but she recommended her to all her acquaintances, and the consequence was that, at the time our story begins, Flora had in the house as much fine work as would keep her busy for a month, and had already made a second payment on her machine. She was fortunate in liking her work, and took as much interest in copying all the tucks, ruffles, and embroidery of Miss Barnard's Paris-made night-dresses and skirts as she had ever done in following out the intricacies of a piece of worsted work. She preferred sewing to farm-work, and if she could a little have forgotten her grief for her father, and the disappointment about Eben's education, she would not very much have regretted the change in their circumstances.

Eben had not yet succeeded in finding anything to do for a living. He was naturally unwilling to give up the plan of going to college and afterwards studying medicine,—a plan on which his heart had been set for the past three years, and which he had talked over with Mr. Fairchild a hundred times. As many times since his father's death he had gone over the circumstances in his own mind, trying to see some way in which to bring about the accomplishment of his desires. He had at last come to a conclusion, and that conclusion he had announced to his mother and sister this very afternoon. He must go to work at any honest employment he could find, at which he could earn wages enough to support himself, and his schemes of study must be laid aside to some future time, if not given up altogether.

"But there's no need of doing that," said Eben to himself as he walked up the bank of the stream towards the mill. "I can keep it in mind, and maybe it will be brought about for me yet. I am sure it will, if it is best, and I won't worry about it, there! But try to do the best I can in whatever place I can find."

Eben stopped short in his walk, and stood looking across the fields towards the west for a minute or two. Then he broke out into a cheery whistle, and walked quickly on towards the mill.

As he came within sight of the dam, he broke off his whistling, and with an exclamation jumped over the fence and ran down to the edge of the pond. The cause of his haste was soon apparent. Somebody had tied a horse to a tree close to the edge of the water. The horse, in his impatience at the tormenting flies, had backed from under the tree towards the edge of the pond behind him. The consequence was that the hind wheels had gone over the bank into the water, and the fore wheels, with the old horse, were like to follow them before any one saw what was going on. Eben sprung to the wagon and tried to lift it up on the bank, at the same time calling for help, but as no help came, and the task proved beyond his own strength, he dexterously cut the traces and let the load go, thus saving the horse at the expense of the wagon. While he was patting and soothing the poor trembling beast, Jeduthun Cooke jumped out of the mill window, and came down the sloping bank like a deer.

"Well done, you!" was his first exclamation. "I was in the upper story when I looked out and saw you, and I don't believe I made more than two steps for each flight of stairs. Where's the wagon?"

"In the water," said Eben, coolly "at least I suppose so, for there's where it was going the last time I saw it. I knew I couldn't save horse and wagon both, so I cut the traces and let the thing slide."

"Cut the traces! And suppose the horse had kicked your brains out?"

"He hadn't much chance to kick, poor old fellow, and besides, I didn't think anything about that."

"I dare say you didn't. It must have been a foolish one that hitched the horse so near the bank, to begin with. Come, let's lead him to a safe place, and you come in and rest. You look kind of white and beat out."

"I do feel out of breath," admitted Eben. "You see I tried to pull the wagon up, in the first place, and it was too heavy for me. Whose is it, anyway?"

"It belongs to Mr. Wilbur. He has been up here to see Mr. Antis about getting his boy Tom a place in the mill."

Eben's face fell. "Then I am just in time to be too late," said he. "That is just what I was coming after."

"Oh, but this isn't such a place as you would want," returned Jeduthun. "It is the same that Jerry Blythe had. You wouldn't want to do such work."

"I want to do any work that I can earn my living by," said Eben. "I can't live on mother and Flora, and I won't, and I must go at anything I can find to do. It won't answer to be too particular in such a case, you know."

"Do tell!" said Jeduthun. "Why, I thought you was left pretty well off, and that you was going to Hobartown to college?"

"There is no use in talking about that now," replied Eben. "Do you think Mr. Antis has promised this place to Tom Wilbur, Jeduthun?"

"I'm afraid he has, and I am dreadful sorry for it, for one. I don't believe he'll amount to shucks, and it would have been very nice to have you round, Eben."

"Thank you, Jeduthun. I am sure it would have been nice for me. But why don't you think Tom will amount to anything?"

Jeduthun did not exactly know, only he had a notion that Tom Wilbur hadn't "any snap" to him. "I wouldn't be afraid to bet something, if I ever did bet, that the old man left Tom to fasten up that horse. But come, we won't give it up yet. Come in and see the boss. Maybe he can find something else for you to do, and if he does, you wouldn't want to work for a better man."

Mr. Antis was very sorry as well as Jeduthun, for he knew and liked Eben.

"You are just the kind of boy I want," said he, "so I should think from what I have heard of you—but a promise is a promise, you know, Eben."

"Yes, sir, I know it," said Eben. "Of course, if you have promised Tom the place, that is all about it."

"I have promised to give him a trial," said Mr. Antis. "I can't tell how he will answer my purpose beforehand."

"You don't know of anything else for me to do, Mr. Antis?" asked Eben. "I am very anxious to get to work as soon as I can."

Mr. Antis rose and walked about the office considering. "Well, no, Eben—nothing, at least, that you would want to do."

"Wanting hasn't much to do with it, Mr. Antis," replied Eben. "If a thing has got to be done, it doesn't matter much, to my notion, whether one wants to do it or not."

Mr. Antis smiled. "That is a very rational way of looking at the subject, Eben. But do you feel as if you must go to work directly? Wouldn't it be better to wait a little till the right thing comes along?"

Eben smiled in his turn. "The right thing is just as likely to come along when I am at work as when I am doing nothing, Mr. Antis, isn't it?"

"True for you, Eben—just as likely, and likelier. Well, now, I will tell you what I was thinking of. We want a boy about the house to do chores; you know what I mean by that?"

"Yes, sir; to run errands, and take care of the cow, and work in the garden, and so on."

"Exactly. We are more than usually in want of such a boy just now, for Mrs. Antis is doing her own work, and needs a good deal of help, and if we were to try to have Tom Wilbur take the place, I know how that would be. He would be certain to be wanted at the mill just when he was most needed at the house. I am sure Mrs. Antis would like to have you about her. She likes pleasant, quiet people."

"She's got a right to," said Jeduthun. "She's a quiet, pleasant person herself."

"Could I board at home, sir? I think mother and Flora would like to have me at home, and I would help them a little at odd times."

"Why, yes, I suppose you could, if I could depend upon your being on hand early in the morning."

"And what wages would you give?"

"Well, if you boarded at home, I think I could give you twelve dollars a month. But, Eben, are you really serious? Would your mother be willing to have you take such a place?"

"I am quite serious, Mr. Antis. I must go to work at something, you see, and it won't do to be too particular. Mother feels bad at my having to give up school, anyway, but I think after a little, she will be reconciled to it."

"Flora has got on nicely, my wife tells me," remarked Mr. Antis. "She says the girl goes to work like a woman. But I always knew there was plenty of good stuff in Flora."

"Well, and now I must go to work like a man and find out whether there is any good stuff in me," replied Eben, smiling. "I think I should like the place, Mr. Antis, but I should wish to talk with mother and Flora, if you don't mind letting me have the refusal of the situation till to-morrow."

"For a week if you like. And, Eben, if you don't mind, would you just stop at the store as you go along, and ask Mr. Hallet to send over some tea? I have had so much to think of, I forgot all about it."

"Kissy says Hallet hasn't any tea fit to drink," remarked Jeduthun. "We get all ours over at the Springs."

"I know it, and if I had anybody to send—"

"I could go if I had a horse," said Eben, modestly. "There would be plenty of time to drive over and back before dark."

"Oh, there are horses enough," replied Mr. Antis, evidently pleased. "Go up to the house and get the buggy and the old gray. Take Flora along. The ride will be good for her, and I dare say she has errands of her own to do."

CHAPTER III.

EBEN AND FLORA TAKE A DRIVE.

AT this moment the conversation was interrupted by Mr. Wilbur, who entered in a great flutter.

"I should like to know who's been a-meddling with that ere team of mine?" said he, in an aggrieved tone of voice. "There's my horse a-standing hitched by the mill door with the traces just hacked right off, and the wagon ain't nowhere to be seen. I'd like to know who's been a-meddling with my team, that's all."

"Here's the fellow," said Jeduthun, laying his hands on Eben. "If it hadn't been for him, your old horse would have been lying where your wagon is—in the mill pond."

And Jeduthun proceeded to tell the story, which lost nothing in the process. Mr. Wilbur did not seem inclined to be very grateful to Eben for his interference.

"Just like boys! Never have no sense," said he, angrily. "Why couldn't you hold on and holler?"

"I did make all the noise I could, but nobody heard me," said Eben. "I saw the old horse must go in a minute, and I did what seemed for the best."

"Next time, Eben, you can let the horse go along with the wagon," said Jeduthun. "You don't seem to get much thanks for saving him. I know I thought you'd be killed before I could get to you. I never saw anything better done in my life."

"Indeed, Mr. Wilbur, I don't see what better the boy could do," said Mr. Antis. "It was not a very good place to leave a horse."

"Of course it wasn't. Trust a boy for finding out the worst place to leave a horse or anything else. I told Tom to put him in the shade. Just like boys! I never saw one that wasn't a plague. Now, there's my wagon in the pond, and all my groceries in it."

"I think I will go and got the horse, and find out what Mrs. Antis wants," said Eben, addressing himself to the miller. "There is no time to lose."

"Do, my boy, and take Flora with you, as I said, and, Jeduthun, you find some of the men to help about getting up the wagon for Mr. Wilbur."

"I knew it," said Jeduthun as they walked over towards the house. "I would have taken my Bible oath that it was Tom Wilbur who tied that horse. If you do take this place, Eben, you will find Mrs. Antis a very pleasant lady to work for. She isn't any of your snappish kind of women, nor she ain't one of the slack kind, either. She calculates to do what's right herself, and she wants other people to do it by her. I'll just pull out the buggy for you while you go in and speak to her."

Mrs. Antis was pleased to find a chance to send to the Springs, and gave Eben a number of commissions.

"Please write them down, Mrs. Antis," said Eben.

"Why, can't you remember?"

"I dare say I could, but every one forgets sometimes, and when a thing is written, it is written, you know."

"Very true," said Mrs. Antis. "Is any one going with you?"

"Mr. Antis said I might take Flora for the ride," said Eben.

"So much the better," replied Mrs. Antis, good-naturedly giving up the thought she had just entertained of riding over herself. "She can do my errand at the milliner's, and save me the trouble. Just go over and get your sister and call here, and I will have the basket all ready."

"If one could find such a boy as that, there would be comfort in it," thought Mrs. Antis as Eben went out, "but I think every one we have tried has been a greater plague than the last."

It was with no little satisfaction that Eben helped his sister into the buggy and set out for his drive over to the Springs. He felt the pleasure that any boy would feel in driving a fine horse; he was gratified that Mr. Antis had been willing to trust him with so valuable an animal; he was glad of the chance to oblige that person, who had always been kind to him, and he was especially glad of the opportunity to have a quiet talk with Flora before seeing his mother.

The afternoon was warm, and he had plenty of time before him, so he drove rather slowly over the pretty country road which led from Boonville to the Springs, telling Flora, meanwhile, of the talk he had with Mr. Antis and Jeduthun. Flora looked grave at first.

"It just amounts to your being Mr. Antis's hired man," said she.

"Just exactly that, and nothing more, only I shall board at home instead of in the family."

"That's something," said Flora, thoughtfully. "But, Eben, don't you feel as if it were something of a come dawn in the world?"

"No, I don't know that I do. Why?"

"Well, you know we have always visited Mrs. Antis, and felt ourselves just as good as she is—I mean as far as position and all that goes, for in other ways I am sure she is a great deal better than I am. It seems as if it wouldn't be very pleasant for you to be living there as a servant: that is the truth of it. I dare say you think it is very silly in me, but I do feel so."

"It is natural enough, I suppose," said Eben, "and yet I can't say I feel as you do. I can't see that any honest work is degrading. Of course it is not the kind of work that I would have chosen,—we cannot have everything to suit us—but it is better than a good many other things. I would rather do it than go in a store, for instance."

"Would you, really?"

"Yes, because I like the work—taking care of the horses and working in the garden, and so on—better than standing behind a counter all day. It never did seem to me like a man's work to be selling yards of ribbon and calico, and papers of pins, and so on."

"There is something in that. But people have a great deal more respect for clerks in stores than they have for hired men."

"That depends on who the people are, I fancy," said Eben, shrewdly. "Don't you remember how scornfully your aunt Fletcher spoke of somebody as 'a mere dry goods clerk,' and wondered how some young lady could think of marrying such a person?"

"Yes, I know; and what do you suppose she will say to you now?"

"She does not seem very much disposed to say anything to any of us, I think," said Eben, with a curious little contraction of his mouth. "I don't think she will distress herself as long as we don't want anything of her. I shouldn't like to go for it! I do not think I need be governed by her opinion. She is not my aunt, as, you know, she took pains to make me understand."

"I believe you come as near to hating Aunt Fletcher as you can to hating anybody," said Flora, smiling.

"No, I don't. I don't care anything about her. I did think she need not have been in such a great hurry to make mother comprehend that she could not possibly be expected to do anything for us. As if we ever asked her! But that is neither here nor there. The question is about taking up with Mr. Antis's offer, and I have about made up my mind to do so. Twelve dollars a month is not much, but it is something, a certainty, too, and meantime I have a chance of showing what I can do—of gaining a character—don't you see? If Mr. Antis finds I am good for something in one place, he is all the more likely to help me to another."

"You certainly are the longest-headed boy of your age, Eben. But there is something in that."

"There is another thing," said Eben. "The work at Mr. Antis's will not be very hard, and I am in hopes I may get some time to study, so that I can go on with my Latin—at least so far as not to forget what I have learned. I know Mr. Willson will help me, for he said so, and he is not the man to say more than he means."

"No, indeed, and I will go on with you. I am sure I can get time if I try. Well, Eben, I shall not say a word against your going to Mr. Antis if you think it best. Here we are at the Springs. You may leave me at Miss Hurd's."

"And where shall I find you?"

"Oh, I will be at the Cure. I want to see Miss Barnard. Her room is in front, and I can keep a lookout for you."

When Eben had carefully done all his errands, he drove round to the front of the Cure. Flora did not keep him long before she came down with two large bundles in her hands.

"More work?" asked Eben.

"Yes, more work, and something else besides work. I took up a book while I was waiting in Miss Barnard's room, and she asked me if I was fond of reading, and when I said I was, she pulled down this great bundle of old magazines—The Sunday-at-Home, The Leisure Hour, and others—and gave them to me, saying that there was a great deal in them, and I might keep them as long as I liked."

"Good for her!" said Eben. "She must be a nice person, I am sure."

"She is, indeed. And that is not the best of it. You must know—though that is a great secret—that she is to be married this fall, if she is well enough. Her mother has come up to see her, and Mrs. Barnard is so pleased with what I have done, that she says she will have me make all the wedding cloth—all the under-clothes, that is—instead of getting them done in New York. So I am sure of as much work as I can do all summer. Isn't that finding a gold mine?"

"It is, indeed," said Eben. "We do have a great deal to be thankful for, and among other things that you learned to use the machine so well. But, Flora, what would Aunt Fletcher say to your working for money? You know the remarks she made about Miss Emily Willson's working for the fancy store."

"Oh yes; she said it might do here, but in town any one would lose caste directly who should do such a thing. Miss Barnard does not seem to think there is anything degrading in my sewing for her. She always seems glad to see me, and asks about you and mother—or mother and you, rather—not condescendingly, but as if she were really interested. She treats me as if she thought I was quite as good as herself."

"I have a notion that the Barnards are a notch above the Fletchers in the way of fashion, and so on," remarked Eben.

"That is an elegant way of putting it, but I dare say you may be right," returned Flora, laughing. "Have you done all your errands?"

"Yes, and more. I have an express parcel to carry home for Mr. Antis. I must stop at the railroad station for it as we go home."

"The more I think about it, the more I am decided to take up with Mr. Antis's offer," continued Eben when the express parcel had been safely stowed away under the seat and they were on their way homewards. "If only mother can be brought to consent, without feeling too badly about it."

"She will come round all the easier for having the magazines to employ her," said Flora. "Only don't you go to reasoning and arguing, Eben. Let her just say her say out without contradiction, and then she will be ready to hear reason."

"How sensible we are!" said Eben, smiling.

Flora coloured.

"Well, I know I don't always do so, but I am always sorry when I don't; and you must admit, Eben, that I have improved. I don't argue half as much as I used to."

"You are the best and dearest as well as the most sensible girl I know," said Eben. "It is a great advantage to have you to consult with in my affairs. Come, get up, old Guy! You need not take it so very leisurely, if it is a little up hill."

As the children had foreseen, Mrs. Fairchild had a great many objections to make to Eben's plan. Eben let her exhaust herself upon them, and quietly recurred again and again to the advantages of the arrangement, dwelling particularly on the facts that he would board at home and that he should have time to study, and at last Mrs. Fairchild was brought to say that Eben might try it till something better turned up.

"But I'm sure I don't know what sister Fletcher will say," was her conclusion.

"We need not mind what she says," said Flora. "Advice is the only thing she is liberal with. We are not likely to see her very soon, I fancy, now that we have not the farm for her to rusticate upon."

"Never mind her," said Eben, good-naturedly. "There, mother! I forgot part of my errand, after all. Mr. Budd, the steward at 'The Cure,' has sent you a basket of famous duck eggs to put under one of our hens. You know how much you admired those beautiful white ducks we saw in the park that day. He has sent you eight of the eggs, and old Dusty wants to set, so we can put them right under her."

Mrs. Fairchild was very fond of poultry, and very skilful in raising the more delicate kinds. The present of the duck eggs, and the sight of the magazines, which Flora now brought out, quite restored her good humour, and before bed-time, she was ready to believe that Eben had done the best thing possible, and to say what a good thing it was that he had a mother to advise him, to which Eben very heartily agreed.

"And as for sister Fletcher, why, as you say, Eben, we are not bound to mind her. If your father had been governed by her, we never should have adopted you at all, for she was very much opposed to it. And you always have been a comfort, Eben—always. I will say that for you, and your dear father said the same. And I dare say you will get an education yet, somehow or other. Things often do come round, you know, when we least expect them."

"Very true," said Eben, cheerfully. "Goodnight, dear mother. I must be up bright and early, you know."

Then Eben went to his own little room, and setting down his candle, dropped wearily into his chair and laid his head on his arms. He did not look quite so cheerful. In fact, nobody, not even Flora, guessed the sacrifice he was making.

Eben loved study and the acquirement of learning for learning's sake to a degree somewhat unusual in a boy of his age. He learned easily, especially where languages were concerned, and he had a kind of passion for everything connected with physiology and natural history. Eben had a quick and strong imagination, and had been somewhat given to castle-building. Often and often he had gone over all the circumstances of his future life—how he would get through college and into the medical schools, working his way, after a while, so as not to be so much of a burden on his father; how he would take his degree and got into practice, and then, when he could afford it, how he would go abroad and see the hospital and health establishments of Europe; how he would get in as assistant to the famous Doctor Henry at the Springs, and after a while set up an establishment of his own.

Latterly, these dreams had somewhat changed their character. A brother of Mrs. Willson's had come home from India, where he had been a medical missionary, and had made a long visit to his brother-in-law. Doctor Auben was a man of great sense and kindness, and struck by the eagerness and fixed attention with which Eben had listened to his Sunday-evening lectures, he took the opportunity of becoming acquainted with the boy. Since that time Eben's views had undergone a change, and instead of a grand establishment at home, he thought of a large practice in India or China, where he might minister to the bodily wants of the heathens, and at the same time help to extend the kingdom of the Master whom he loved. For Eben was a true Christian boy, a member of the church, and quite ready to confess himself such on all proper occasions, and to make the glory of God the great aim of his life.

It was very hard to give up all these bright dreams and plans, and go to work with a good grace at the hundred and one little things which go to fill up the time of a "hired boy." Eben could not but feel that it was hard, though he had quite made up his mind what to do. It seemed to him somehow as if his Master had rejected him as unfit for the place he had wished so much to fill—as if he must have deceived himself and overrated his own talents, since, after all his aspirations, he was simply compelled to occupy himself with the commonest task which any dunce could have performed as well. Eben had some very bitter thoughts during the hour that he sat by his little table with his head resting on his arms. The tempter was busy with him, suggesting hard and unkind thoughts of the Master he had tried so hard to serve, and resisting all his attempts to say heartily, "Thy will, not mine, be done."

"There is no use in all this," Eben said, at last, aloud, and starting to his feet. "I can't make myself submissive, nor cheerful, nor believing, as I know I ought to be, but I know who can and will do all that and more for me."

Eben threw himself on his knees by the bedside and prayed as he had never done before, with tears and sobs and almost groans of anguish. It was his first great spiritual conflict, and a hard one, but he took the right way to conquer by fleeing from his enemy to his best and all-powerful Friend, and leaving that Friend to fight for him. He did not feel, even when he lay down, that the victory was gained, but cried himself to sleep as he had not done since his father died. When he woke in the morning, however, he found that all was well. His faith was once more clear, and he felt that he was quite ready to serve his Master in the way that Master chose for him.

CHAPTER IV.

EBEN DISPLAYS HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS.

"WELL, as Mrs. Antis has no girl," said Eben to himself while dressing, "I suppose she would like to have me come up and make a fire for her. I will just lay everything ready for Flora and bring in a pail of water, and then be off."

Eben was so early that he found the house and barn locked, and nobody stirring.

"What shall I do now?" said he, after he had knocked once or twice without receiving any answer. "Well, here is a hoe, and here are some potatoes that clearly need hoeing, and that, as Miss Hilliard would say, naturally suggests the idea of going to work to hoe them. So here goes."

Mr. Antis, roused by the sound of Eben's hoe, and looking out of the window, saw what the boy was about. He opened the window and called to him:

"Never mind the potatoes now, Eben. I'll throw you out the key of the stable, so you can water and feed the horses, and by that time I will be down stairs."

"Very well, sir," said Eben, picking up the key. "I only went at the potatoes because there didn't seem to be anything else to do. I guess I haven't done them any harm."

"I guess not, by the looks. He'll do," said Mr. Antis as he finished dressing. "A boy that goes to hoeing potatoes, because he can't find anything else to do, will make his way in the world. However, new brooms sweep clean, and it is early time yet."

"I would have made the fire for Mrs. Antis, only I couldn't get in," said Eben as Mr. Antis met him on the door-step. "I have been here some time."

"Time enough, my boy. Mrs. Antis is only just up. You may make the fire now, and finish the horses afterwards. You seem to understand how to go to work with them."

"Yes, my father always let me take the care of poor Fancy," said Eben, with just a little huskiness in his voice at the thought of the beautiful "Morgan," his own particular property which had gone with the rest of Mr. Fairchild's stock. "I love horses dearly, they are such knowing, willing creatures. It seems too bad the way they are abused sometimes. I don't see how any one can abuse a dumb beast."

"I am glad you feel so, and I quite agree with you, Eben. I would never keep a boy that I found abusing or overdriving a horse or cow."

"I don't believe he will keep Tom Wilbur long, then," was Eben's thought, but he did not express it. Before he went home to his breakfast, he had fed the horses, milked, brought in wood for the day, swept off the walk, and put on a kettle of dish-water. Mrs. Antis smiled when she came across this proof of the boy's thoughtfulness.

"I hardly ever had a girl who would remember to do that," she said to her husband. "But I must not count too much on Eben, for I know that just as surely as he shows himself good for anything, you will be for getting him away from me."

There was not a little talk among Mrs. Fairchild's friends and Eben's former schoolmates when it was discovered that Eben had really gone to work, not in the mill, which was considered a very good place, but as Mr. Antis's "hired boy." Some people wondered how Mrs. Fairchild could allow such a thing, and Mrs. Badger said Anne Fairchild never would have thought of it, if the boy had been her own.

"Mr. Fairchild always considered Eben the same as his own," said her daughter, "and Flora thinks there is nobody in all the world like Eben."

"Yes, but then you see Eben isn't their own flesh and blood. It speaks well for the boy, anyhow, after his expecting to be Mr. Fairchild's heir, and to go to college, and what not."

"I wonder Mr. Antis didn't take him into the mill instead of Tom Wilbur," said Mrs. Badger, junior. "Tom ain't no more account than a towstring."

"I believe Mr. Wilbur got the promise from Mr. Antis before Eben saw him," remarked Miss Emily Willson, who was in the company. "Perhaps Tom will do better in different hands."

"Maybe so. His father does have a kind of discouraging way with him, that's a fact," said Grandma Badger. "But I expect Tom is a good deal what his father was at his age—always finding fault with his business and wanting to try something else. That was always the way with Joe Wilbur, and that was the reason he never got on any, and you will see Tom will be just such another one as he was."

"Let us hope for better things in Tom's case," said Miss Emily, smiling. "Flora told me that her mother would not hear of this arrangement at first, but Eben was so very anxious to be doing something for himself that she gave way, and allowed him to do as he pleased."

"They are real good, smart children, both of 'em," said Grandma Badger. "Folks said Eben was too young to join the church, but I don't see any of our members that walk any more consistent than he does. For my part, I think all the more of the boy that he has gone to work at whatever he could find to do, to help along his mother and sister, instead of waiting for something to turn up that just suited him."

"Then, if it was the right thing for Eben to do, grandma, why should you blame his mother for telling him to do it?" asked young Mrs. Badger, rather mischievously.

The old, lady took a pinch of snuff, and drew herself up.

"You see, Malviny, I ain't so smart as you be, and sometimes I say foolish things. The apostle says, 'If any man offend not in word, the same is a perfect man,' and I don't seem to have come to that pint of perfection just yet, though maybe I shall if I live eighty years longer."

"You come about as near it as most of us, I guess, grandma," said the younger lady, who had only meant to draw out her mother-in-law, and so the conversation was happily ended.

Of course Eben's conduct had been discussed at the school, where he had always been a great favourite with both teacher and scholars.

"The Fairchilds have come down in the world," said Martha Edwards, with a toss of her head, "to let Eben go out to work like a common hired man. I guess they won't hold their heads quite so high after this."

"Why not?" asked Alice Brown.

"Oh, because nobody thinks anything of hired men or girls."

"I don't know that," said Elsie Dennison; "my mother thinks as much of Maggy Saddler as if she was one of the family."

"That's different," said Martha.

"And Joseph Antis respects Eben," said Alice Brown. "He told my father so, for I heard him. He said he thought more of Eben than ever."

"It must have been pretty hard on Eben to give up school and go to work," said David Brown, "so fond as he was of study. If it had been thee now, Henry, thee wouldn't have minded half so much."

"I know it," said Henry Wilson. "I'd rather work three hours in the hayfield the hottest day that ever was, than one over the Latin grammar or Virgil, while Eben reads Virgil just for fun. He never will stop at the end of the hundred lines. He always wants to read on and see how the story turns out. I told father last night I wished I was in Eben's place, and he in mine."

"Why, Henry Willson! And you the minister's son. I should think you would be ashamed!" exclaimed Martha Edwards, with her favourite toss of the head.

"What did thy father say to that?" asked David.

"He laughed, and said I must be as faithful in doing my work as Eben was in doing his, and there was no telling what would happen. I don't think Eben has very hard times with Mr. Antis. Look at him now, driving the old gray! He looks as well satisfied as if he owned the whole concern."

"That shows how much Mr. Antis thinks of him," said Osric Dennison. "He never would let Jerry Blythe drive the old gray. He thinks as much of that old horse as if it were a man."

"Good reason why, when it carried him all through the wars," said David. "But I don't think, boys, you need be in any hurry to pity Eben, or to look down on him, either. I guess you will find he will come out about as well as any of us."

Eben, on his part, did not find his place at all an unpleasant one. He had a good many different things to do, which used up his time and kept him busy, but none of them were hard or disagreeable, and some of them were very much to his taste. Especially did he like taking care of the garden. Eben had always been very fond of flowers, and Mrs. Antis had a beautiful collection of them. One day, Eben observed to her that the flower-beds needed weeding.

"Yes, the plants are getting smothered out of existence," said Mrs. Antis, "but I seem to get no time to attend to them."

"I might weed them this afternoon, if you like," suggested Eben. "The rain has softened the ground, so the weeds can be got up without disturbing the other things."

Mrs. Antis looked doubtful. "I don't know about setting you to work at my flower-beds, Eben. When boys get to weeding, they are apt to pull up plants as well as weeds."

"I guess I sha'n't do that," said Eben. "I weeded the onions all out yesterday, and I don't think I pulled up many of the plants."

"I dare say you will do it very well," said Mrs. Antis. "Anyhow, the poor plants might as well be pulled up, as run out by the weeds. I believe I am very ungracious, Eben, but the truth is I am so tired I can hardly breathe."

"No wonder, with so much company and all the work to do," said Eben. "I'm afraid you will be down sick if you don't get some one to help you. I wish I could do more. I don't believe but that I could get the breakfast as well as not, if you would only tell me what you want. Come, Mrs. Antis! Now, you lie in bed to-morrow morning, and let me try."

Mrs. Antis smiled in rather a tearful fashion, for she was nervous, and, as she said, fairly worn out.

"Why, Eben, I should think you had enough to do already without turning cook. I feel sometimes as though you were rather put upon."

"I'm not afraid of being put upon," said Eben. "I like to see how much I can do. Well, then, I'll go at the flower-beds, if you can just step out and show me a little."

Eben had not been long engaged when Tom Wilbur came into the garden, and with a very ill-used expression went to work hoeing some sweet corn which grew out far from the flower-beds.

"So you are going to gardening too?" said Eben, cheerfully.

"I suppose so," returned Tom, sullenly. "There's nothing doing in the mill, and I was just going off fishing, when the boss came in and sent me out here to hoe this plaguy corn. I declare, I won't stand it! So!" and Tom struck viciously at a large weed, cutting off instead a stalk of corn.

"Take care! You won't do much good that way," said Eben. "I should think you would like working in the garden for a change. I do."

"Well, it ain't very pleasant for a fellow to be bossed round all day, and never have a chance for any fun," said Tom, still more sulkily. "I don't believe any one would like it. I hate the whole thing, anyhow. I wanted to do something different. I wanted my father to get me a place in a store at Hobartown, and he might have done it, too, just as well as not."

"Why didn't he, then?" asked Eben.

"Oh, I don't know. Some bothering nonsense about my being out of the way of temptation. I should have done well enough, but how can I do anything here, when I hate the whole concern?"

"You will have to do as the old Indians did," said Eben.

"What do you mean?" asked Tom.

"It is a story my father used to tell," said Eben. "One time late in November, when there was snow on the ground, a party of Indians came and camped out in the edge of the Long Woods, near my grandfather's house, and two or three days after the old gentleman said to his son, 'Come, let us go down and see the Indians, and find out how they are off for provisions. I dare say they haven't too much to eat.' So down they went, father carrying a basket of apples. The first person they came across was an old Indian, who was sitting on the end of a log gnawing a piece of cold corn-cake, which looked as if it might have been a week old. Do you like that?' asked my grandfather."

"The old man stopped eating, and answered, with a great deal of gravity and dignity, 'He's my wittle, and I will like him!'"

"Humph!" said Tom, guessing the application of the story.

"Father used often to quote the old man's answer to Flora and me when we complained of what we had to do," continued Eben, busily going on with his work meanwhile; "and I often think of it, and say to myself, 'He's my wittle, and I will like him.'"

"I don't see the sense of it, anyway," said Tom, though he did see well enough.

"The sense is plain," returned Eben. "If you can't do what you like, the next best thing and anyhow is to like what you do, and anyhow if you keep on doing the best you can, you almost always learn to like it."

"I never shall learn to like this place, I know, and I don't care whether I do or not," said Tom. "It isn't any place for me, and I don't see what father wanted me to come here for, anyhow. Jeduthun Cooke bosses me round, and tells me to do this and that, and when I say anything to Mr. Antis, all the good I get is, 'Oh, ask Jeduthun; he'll tell you what to do.'"

"But, Tom, if you were clerk in a store, you'd have to be ordered round by somebody quite as much as you are now. You would have to be on your feet all day, and called here and there by everybody. I have been shopping with mother at Hobartown, and in the city, too, sometimes, and I thought people were very provoking. They called the clerks this way and that, and made them pull down heaps of things, and then wouldn't take anything, after all. It was just having fifty bosses instead of one. I am sure Jeduthun is always good-natured."

"Good-natured! Yes, very much! You ought to have heard him scold this morning, just because I left the office alone a few minutes to run out and speak to one of the boys; and I haven't a minute for any fun from morning till night."

"I thought you had all last Saturday?"

"Well, that was only once."

"One whole day in three weeks is pretty well, I should say. I'll be bound you wouldn't have as much as that in Hobartown. Come, Tom, make the best of it, like a man. You might try twenty times and not get so good a place."

But Tom could not be comforted. He wanted to do something different. The mill was dirty, and he had to wear overalls from morning till night, and it wasn't very pleasant to work hard all day, and be ordered round by Jeduthun Cooke. He didn't like it, and nobody wanted to do what they didn't like. Mr. Antis had no business to make him hoe corn and potatoes. That wasn't what he was hired for, and he wasn't going to stand it.

"If you don't do any work only just as long as it is easy and you like it, you won't accomplish much," said Eben. "Every kind of work is hard, if you have to earn your living by it, and goes wrong sometimes. I like to study better than to do any kind of work, but if I had my living to get by it, I should grow tired of it a great many times, I know."

"You may preach till you are gray, Eben Fairchild, and you won't make me like milling a bit better, or think things are pleasant when they are not," said Tom. "How nice you have made those beds look!" he added, struck with sudden admiration at the result of Eben's labour. "There is some fun in work like that."

"It is hard work, though," returned Eben, straightening himself up, "harder work than hoeing corn, though it pays when it is done. I believe I haven't broken off a single plant. There goes five o'clock. I must go and make the fire for Mrs. Antis."

"Why, you don't do kitchen work, do you? I shouldn't like that."

"I'm not particular. I do anything that needs to be done," said Eben. "I guess my dignity won't suffer, and if it does, I guess it may just get well again."

The next morning, as Eben was putting on the tea-kettle, Mr. Antis came into the kitchen with a very disturbed face.

"I don't know what we are to do about breakfast, Eben," said he. "My wife can't get up this morning. She is completely worn out."

"I was afraid she would be," said Eben. "She will have to get a woman to help her."

"That is easier said than done, my boy. I have inquired of everybody about here and in Hobartown, and I can't get a girl for love nor money. I heard of one at the Springs yesterday, and I will let you drive over there by and by to see about her, but meantime, what are we to do about breakfast?"

"Oh, I can got breakfast," said Eben, cheerfully. "I have done it before now, when mother was not very well and Flora was away. Never you mind, Mr. Antis. If you will see to the horses, I'll get up some kind of a meal."

Mr. Antis laughed, and went off to the barn. Eben bustled about grinding coffee, slicing potatoes to fry, and setting the table. Presently, he called Mr. Antis, who came in to find a very respectable breakfast of ham and eggs, potatoes, and coffee, while a nicely-covered tray stood on the table ready to be carried up stairs. Eben was just toasting some bread.

"Well, I declare!" said Mr. Antis. "Where did you learn so much?"

"Oh, I have watched the women folks a great many times," answered Eben, busily turning his bread. "You sit down and eat your breakfast, and when I get this done, I'll just run down and get Kissy Cooke to come up for a while."

"But you must have your own breakfast, my boy."

"Well, I guess maybe I had better not go home to breakfast, there is so much to do. I'll just ask Tom to stop and tell mother I can't come, so that she won't wait for me."

Kissy left her work and came up from the mill long enough to make the sick woman comfortable, but she could not stay to do the housework. One of the patients for whom she washed at the Cure was going away at two o'clock, and Kissy had two white dresses to do up and get over to the Springs by twelve.

"Such fixings, and puffs, and ruffles, and what not!" said Kissy. "However, I ought not to complain, for I get a dollar apiece for doing 'em. But, mercy! How any one can wear such a lot of stuff! I'll just go down and get some warm water for you, Mrs. Antis, and put the room to rights, and then I don't see but I shall have to go."

Keziah went down stairs, and came up laughing.

"You never see such a sight in your life, Mrs. Antis. There's that boy Eben doing up the work as steady as an old woman—washing the dishes, cleaning the knives, and all. He puts water in the spiders to let 'em soak, and fills up his dish-kettle as fast as he takes the water out, all as regular as you please. 'Why, Eben,' says I, 'are you turned cook?'"

"'Oh, I can turn my hand to anything,' says he, as cheerful as a lark."

"I never did see such a boy."

"I am sure I never did," said Mrs. Antis. "I don't know what in the world I should have done without him this summer. I have had so much company, and nobody to help me."

"Seems to me, if I was company where there was no help, I should turn to and be help myself," remarked Keziah.

"Well, I did think Matilda Benedict might at any rate have offered to help me, but she never did," said Mrs. Antis. "Must you go now, Keziah?"

"Why, yes, I don't see but I must, on account of those dresses. If the lady wasn't going away, I would put her off, but there's just where it is, you see. However, I'll run in as soon as I get back."

"I think, perhaps, I can get up by and by," said Mrs. Antis. But she did not get up that day nor the next. Eben found time before he went in search of a girl to run down to his mother's and tell the state of the case.

"Do tell!" said Mrs. Fairchild. "And she there all alone! It's too bad, ain't it? Why don't some of the neighbours go in?"

"I suppose they are all busy with their own affairs," said Eben. "I don't know what we shall do if this girl don't come, for the bread is all gone, and I am sure I can't bake."

"Do tell!" said Mrs. Fairchild, again. "I declare, I've a great mind to go up there myself and stay till somebody comes."

"Do, mother," said Flora. "You are such a good nurse, and I am sure Mrs. Antis would do as much for us any day."

"That she would, or for anybody else," said Eben. "I wish you could go up, mother. It would be such a comfort to them."

"Well, I believe I will," said Mrs. Fairchild. "You can take care of yourself, can't you, Flossy?"

"Oh yes, indeed," replied Flora, smiling.

"Well, I must be off," said Eben. "I hope to bring the girl back with me."

Eben was disappointed. The girl was willing to work for Mrs. Antis, but could not come till next Monday, when she promised faithfully to make her appearance. Eben went back to find his mother established as nurse and housekeeper, mixing a batch of bread, and attending to her patient between times.

"It don't much matter," said she when she heard Eben's report. "I guess I'll just stay on till the girl comes, anyhow. 'Tain't much to do the work where everything is so convenient. You pick some peas, Eben, and I can be shelling them, while my bread is rising."

Eben had never seen his mother so animated and cheerful since the change in her circumstances, and he went about his work rejoicing. Mrs. Antis grew rapidly worse instead of better, and Mrs. Fairchild had her hands full.

"Never mind the dishes, ma, I'll take care of them," said Eben. "You just attend to Mrs. Antis."

"Well, I declare! Before I'd be a kitchen drudge and wash dishes," said Tom Wilbur, coming in to see what Eben was about, "I'd see the whole concern at the bottom of the pond before I'd do it!"

"Would you? Well, I wouldn't. I'd do more than this for Mr. Antis. I can't say it is work that I should choose, but I am willing to do anything to help."

"Well, I shouldn't think it would be very pleasant," said Tom. "Suppose any of the boys should come in and see you! But you haven't a bit of spunk, Eben; you are willing to let any one drive you."

CHAPTER V.

MRS. FAIRCHILD FINDS HER MISSION.

THE girl came when she promised, for a wonder, and proved a very nice, efficient person, and still Mrs. Fairchild stayed on at the mill cottage. Mrs. Antis was very ill, and Mrs. Fairchild was an excellent nurse.

"I don't seem to be much wanted at home," said she. "I can just run home now and then to see how the children get on and help Flora with the work, for it won't do for her to be hindered; though I do think," added Mrs. Fairchild, "that Flora is all the better for having something to do about house, instead of sitting all day over the machine."

"Oh, very well, ma, so long as you don't get overtired," said Eben. "It is very nice to have you here, and I am sure I don't know what Mrs. Antis would do without you. Mary is a real good girl, but she never could do the work and take care of Mrs. Antis too, especially when we are having so much company all the time."

"Grandfather used to say that tanners always kept tavern, and I think it seems to be a good deal so with millers," observed Mrs. Fairchild. "However, you needn't be troubled for me, Eben; I haven't felt anything like so well since I left the farm as I do now. I guess the air here is rather better than it is at our house. The house stands higher, you see."

"Maybe so," said Eben, smiling. He did not contradict his mother, but he could not help thinking that the improvement in her health was due to something else than the situation of the house.

While upon the farm, Mrs. Fairchild had been used to an active life, full of cares and interests. She was an excellent dairy-woman and a very successful raiser of poultry. "As uncertain as young turkeys," seemed to be a proverb that hardly applied to hers, she was so uniformly successful—or, as she said, lucky—with her birds, and she always had eggs to sell when eggs were scarce and high. Since the shock of her husband's death and the loss of her property she had led a very different life. The work of her small household would not have sufficed to keep her busy, even if the children, in mistaken kindness, had not taken it almost entirely off her hands, and left her nothing save to sit still and brood over her sorrows. She really suffered from want of exercise, and was in considerable danger of falling into a state of confirmed ill-health for want of anything else to do.

Since she had been with Mrs. Antis all this was changed. Mrs. Antis was very sick, and needed a great deal done for her. Mrs. Fairchild went up and down stairs a dozen times a day for one thing and another. Then, as she said, they kept a kind of tavern, for Mr. Antis was always bringing people home to dinner and supper. Mary was not very skilful in the finer kind of cookery, but she was anxious to improve. Mrs. Fairchild was a capital cook, and was wont to boast that she could make anything which could be made out of flour and eggs. She was as ready to teach as Mary was to learn, and the result was that Mr. Antis declared that he had never lived so well in his life.

Besides all her exercise indoors, Mrs. Fairchild found time to run down home almost every day to see Flora and look after her young ducks, now happily hatched and swimming in the outlet. The result of all was that the good woman grew once more cheerful, good-natured, and ready to look on the bright side of things, and to think that, after all, they might do very well, and so one cloud which had hung over the little family passed away.

Having once got into the way of nursing, however, Mrs. Fairchild seemed likely to be unable to get out of it. She had been at home only a week when Squire Dennison came after her for his wife.

Mrs. Fairchild hesitated, and said "Do tell!" a great many times, and didn't know what the children would do without her, but was at last prevailed upon to go, at least for a few days, till somebody else should be found. The result was that she stayed some time and came home in the best of spirits, with thirty dollars in her purse and a big box of honey, which Mrs. Dennison had insisted upon her taking "for the children."

"How well you look!" said Flora.

"Well, I do feel first-rate. I think nursing agrees with me—I really do—and if it wasn't for leaving you alone, Flossy, I should almost be tempted to make a business of it. Only think! If I could earn enough to help Eben through college, after all."

"I don't believe Eben would be willing to have you do that," said Flora.

"Oh, well, I don't calculate to. Still, you know, my dear, if anybody should want me very much, why, I might go, you know, and it all helps along, and really I do feel ever so much better for the change."

Flora smiled, and agreed that in such a case it would be no more than neighbourly to go, and so the matter rested.

One day Mr. Antis was standing in the mill door, when Eben came up to ask him some questions about the garden. Mr. Antis was looking earnestly down the road, and asked in his turn:

"Eben, is that our team coming down the hill? I am short-sighted."

Eben looked in the same direction. "It is our wagon, I am sure, and that is Tom driving, but those don't look like our horses. Yes, they are, too," he added, hastily, "but what in the world has happened to them?"

When the horses came up they did indeed present a woeful spectacle. They were wet, and covered with mud to their ears, panting and tired to death, and one of them had both knees cut and bleeding.

"Well, I couldn't help it," said Tom, sullenly. "The horses ran away and got into the creek, and I had hard work to get them out."

"Ran away!" said Mr. Antis, in surprise. "How did that happen?"

"I'm sure I don't know; because they are vicious, ugly brutes, I suppose."

"They are neither ugly nor vicious—not half so much as you are," said Jeduthun, who always regarded the "mill" property as his own, and resented any imputation accordingly. "If the horses ran away, it was because you was fooling with them, or didn't tie 'em as you ought."

"Oh, of course! I never can do anything right!"

"Were you in the wagon when they ran away?"

"No, I wasn't," replied Tom, sulkily, "and lucky for me I wasn't."

"I dare say you left them standing without being tied at all," said Jeduthun, "or else you left them alone when the train came along."

It turned out that this was really the case. Tom had left the team standing unfastened at the door of the sawmill in Shortsville, while he gossipped, or, as Jeduthun said, "loafed," about the train, notwithstanding he had been warned against that very thing. The engine whistled sharply "down brakes;" the horses started, and there being no one to check them they ran directly into the stream, and but for the most energetic assistance would have been drowned. As it was, they were both hurt, and one of them so badly that it died during the night. It was a valuable animal, and Mr. Antis was naturally indignant, especially as Tom showed no sort of regret or repentance.

"Well, I've got my walking-paper," said Tom, coming into the garden where Eben was picking cucumbers for pickling, "and I ain't sorry, either. I expect father will scold, but he may as well scold about that as anything else."

"Got your walking-paper?" repeated Eben, looking up. "You don't mean that Mr. Antis has discharged you, do you? Take care I don't step on the cucumber vines."

"Bother your cucumber vines!" said Tom. "Yes, I am discharged, and I wish I had discharged him first. That's all I care about it. I never did like the mill, anyhow, and I'm glad to be out of it. Now, you see if I don't get a place in Hobartown."

"But what was it about? The horses, I suppose?"

"Yes, of course. Mr. Antis has been over to Shortsville, and they told him that it was all my fault, and a lot more about my racing horses on the road. I don't care; I couldn't help their running into the creek."

"But you could have helped leaving them unhitched," said Eben. "You know Mr. Antis tells us never to leave any of the horses without hitching, and that team especially. He told us we must always stand by their heads when the cars were coming."

"Well, I wanted to see whether anybody I knew was on the train, and besides, it isn't very pleasant to stand holding a frisky horse for half an hour. Mr. Antis wouldn't like it himself, I guess."

"He would never stop to think whether he liked it or not," said Eben, much disgusted. "I shouldn't think it would be very pleasant, as you say, to think that you had killed a valuable horse, and such a good, kind creature as Billy was, too. Mr. Antis cried about it when he told how the poor fellow tried to lift up his head and whinny as he used to when his master came into the stable."

"More fool he, to cry about a horse," said Tom, brutally; "and besides, I didn't kill him—he killed himself—and I'll thank you not to say I did, unless you want to get up a fight."

"Get up a fight, indeed!" said Eben, in a tone of great contempt. "Don't you know that I could settle you with one hand? And I will, too, if you say any more about Mr. Antis!" added he, exploding all at once, as very quiet and self-restrained people sometimes do. "Get out of this garden and take yourself off. What do you mean by coming here and hindering me?"

"Dear me, Eben you needn't be so touchy!" said Tom, backing off and looking as much astonished as if the old house-dog had suddenly been transformed into a wolf. "I'm sure it is nothing to you; Mr. Antis is no relation of yours, is he?"

"Clear out!" was all the answer Eben vouchsafed him, and Tom took himself off. "I am a fool to mind him, that is a fact," said Eben to himself, "but he is so mean. After all Mr. Antis had done for him, and all the mischief he has done, to talk so about him. I wonder if Mr. Antis will give me his place? I believe I will wait a little, and see whether he says anything about it. I would rather he made the offer himself."

Eben waited for two or three weeks, but Mr. Antis said nothing about the mill, and Eben began to think he was to be disappointed again, when one day, as he was going to break fast, Mr. Antis called him from the office-window:

"Come in, Eben; I want to see you."

Eben obeyed, his heart beating a little faster than usual.

"Sit down a minute," said Mr. Antis, busily writing meantime. "There's yesterday's paper if you like to look it over." Eben took the paper and looked over the news, but I suspect he did not "take the sense of it" to any great degree. Presently, Mr. Antis sealed his letter and laid down his pen.

"Well, Eben, I suppose you know that Tow Wilbur has gone for good?"

"Yes, sir. He told me so the same day. He said he had got his walking-paper."

"Did he seem to be sorry?"

"No, sir, I can't say he did. He never liked the mill, and I think he was rather glad to get away from it."

"I am sure I was glad to get rid of him," said Mr. Antis. "I don't think, however, I should have discharged him on account of the horses if he had showed any sorrow for what he had done, but he did not seem to care in the least. What did he say to you? I have a particular reason for wishing to know," he added, as Eben hesitated; "unless I had, I should not ask you such a question, for I don't believe in tattling."

"Well, he didn't seem to care, I must say," replied Eben. "He said it wasn't very pleasant to stand at the head of a pair of horses for half an hour, and so on. I got real mad myself and ordered him out of the garden, which I suppose I had no business to do," said Eben, in a tone of apology, "but he riled me so I couldn't stand it."

"I am glad you did," said Mr. Antis. "Yes, there's just where it is. 'Not very pleasant' will always be reason enough for Tom, no matter how necessary or desirable the business may be. No, I won't take him back," added he. "My mind is quite made up to that. He'll never be good for anything. I never could trust him. Well, the next thing is, do you want his place?"

Eben coloured, and did not exactly know what to say.

"Yes or no," said Mr. Antis, "because if you want the place, why, the place wants you, and if you don't, why, I must look out for somebody else."

"I do want it, of course," replied Eben, finding his voice. "You know I was just coming after it the day you hired Tom. It isn't that I don't like it where I am, but—"

"But you want to earn more money," said Mr. Antis.

"Yes, sir, and besides that, I would like to be learning something about the business. Maybe I can be a miller some day, if I can't be a doctor, and anyhow, I like to be learning all I can."

"Good for you!" said Mr. Antis. "I think you and I will suit as well in the mill as we have done in the house. I expect Mrs. Antis will be furious with me for taking you away from her."

"She won't need me so much now that she has Mary," said Eben, modestly. "Mrs. Antis has been very good to me. I shall never forget it. I guess, maybe, I can find time now and then to help her about her flower-garden."

"Very likely, though you will see we shall have busy times from now on to December. Are you good at figures, Eben?"

"I guess so. I have been twice through the arithmetic."

"That may be. I have seen people who had been through the algebra, and yet could not run up a column of figures correctly, or cast the interest on a note. However, that does not so much matter. You see, Eben, the thing is, I want somebody that I can trust—somebody that I can send over to Hobartown to the bank, or to the city, if necessary—somebody that I can trust with the team, or to collect accounts of the farmers when I cannot go myself. Jeduthun is just as honest and good as gold, but he can't be spared from the mill, and does not understand figures, and besides—I don't know why—he hates to have anything to do with money. Now, I believe that I can trust you. I have watched you carefully ever since you have been at our house, and I see that whatever you undertake to do you do thoroughly and well. I believe that, as the Scripture says, 'He that is faithful in the least is faithful also in much.' I am willing to trust you, and to pay you thirty dollars a month."

Eben's breath was almost taken away. "That is a great deal, Mr. Antis," said he. "I did not expect nearly so much."

"It is a great deal more than I gave Tom, I know, and I expect the old man will make a fuss about it, but I shall expect a great deal more of you than I did of Tom, and you will have more responsibility. Well, what do you say? Will you try it?"

"Yes, indeed, sir; I shall be glad to do so, if you think I can satisfy you. I will do my best."

"That is all I can ask," replied Mr. Antis, kindly. "Now go home and tell your mother and Flora all about it."

"Mother isn't at home just now," said Eben. "She has gone to take care of young Mrs. Badger."

"She seems to make quite a business of nursing."

"Yes, sir. We don't exactly want her to do it, but she likes to think that she is earning something, and her health is so much better when she has something to interest her that we have about concluded to say nothing against it."

"I would let her have her own way," said Mr. Antis. "It is rather lonely for Flora, though, isn't it?"

"Well, she doesn't seem to mind it very much, especially since Mary Clarke boards with us. She wanted to board somewhere and go to school, and she and Flora are great friends, so it comes just right. Everything comes just right for us, I think. I never believed we should be half so happy again."

"Well, run and get your breakfast, and come back as soon as you can," said Mr. Antis.

CHAPTER VI.

EBEN CATCHES A RIDE AND SOMETHING ELSE.

IT may be guessed that the breakfast at the little house was a very pleasant one.

"Though, after all," said Flora when they were alone together, "it seems to tie you up to the milling business, and I don't like that. I never can give up the idea of your being a physician."

"Please don't talk about it, Flossy!" said Eben. "If it is best, you may depend upon it the thing will be brought to pass, and if it is not best, I don't want it—at least, I don't wish to want it," he added, rather sadly, "and so I would rather not talk very much about it."

"I suppose that is the best way if one can bring one's mind to it," said Flora, rather reluctantly, "but I can't feel about those things as you do—that if it is best it will certainly come to pass."

"You believe in God's word, don't you?" asked Eben.

"Of course."

"Well, don't you remember what he says—that all things work together for good to them that love him, and that no good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly?"

"And you think that is meant for you?" said Flora, with a slight touch of sarcasm in her voice. "Don't you think that is taking a good deal on yourself?"

"I don't see why," answered Eben, simply. "I am sure that I do love him and try as well as I can to 'walk uprightly,' and I suppose his promises are as much to me as to any one else."

"I am not sure about using the Bible in that way. I think it is for general, and not for particular, application, as Mr. Smith said the other night."

"I don't exactly see how that can be," answered Eben. "Suppose a law is given out to a school: isn't it given to every scholar in the school? Suppose Miss Hilliard should say, This school will have a holiday on Thursday: wouldn't that mean that every scholar should have a holiday?"

"Well, perhaps so, but according to that, all we have to do is to wait and do nothing till God sees fit to give us what we need."

"Partly right and partly wrong," said Eben. "We are to wait, but it does not follow that we are to do nothing. You waited more than an hour for Miss Barnard at the Cure the other day, but you were not doing nothing. You wore making tatting as hard as you could all the time. The tatting kept your time from being wasted, and Miss Barnard came just as soon as though you had spent your time in doing nothing but fretting. Now, the mill is my tatting."

Flora laughed. "There is no use in arguing with you, Eben. I found that out long ago. Seriously, I am glad you feel so. It must be a great comfort."

"It is," said Eben, emphatically, "the greatest comfort. I think I should have broken my heart without it at the time that I made up my mind to go to work."

"And yet you were so quiet about the matter that I almost thought at times you really did not care. I wish I was like you."

"Well, I don't know that I do. One like me seems to be about as much as I want. I like a little variety. But I do wish you saw as I do about that, because I know what a comfort it is."

"Can you always feel so, Eben?"

"I can't always feel so, but I can always know so, and that is better," said Eben. "However, I must be off, for Mr. Antis is going away to Syracuse."

Mr. Antis was very much hurried about getting away. One person after another wanted him, and he stayed for some last words, till he had barely time left to drive over to the Springs.

"There!" exclaimed Jeduthun, a few minutes after he had gone. "Mr. Antis has left his pocket-book and papers behind him, after all—the very thing he was going for. I don't know what ails him this morning. He kind of goes round like a hen with her head cut off."

"So many people were wanting to see him," said Eben; "but what shall we do?"

"There's Jem Carter going by; I dare say he has started for the Springs. Hallo, Jem!" shouted Jeduthun from the window. "Going to the Springs?"

"Ay! Want anything?" was the answer that came back.

"Can you take Eben over? I want to send a message to the boss if I can catch him. Get your hat, boy, and button the things up in your inside pocket. You mustn't let Jem see 'em."

"I understand," said Eben. "But give me a message, if Jem asks me about it."

"Oh, well, tell Mr. Antis not to forget the new belt and the wrought nails. Jem will drive fast if you coax him. He likes to show off that mare of his'n, and I don't think he can be drunk by this time in the morning."

Jem was not drunk. On the contrary, he was as straight as possible, and in a very good humour. He was the son of a wealthy farmer, and had come into possession of quite a large property at twenty-one, since which time he had been good for very little. "A goodhearted fellow—nobody's enemy but his own," was the remark many people made about him, but unluckily no man can be his own enemy without being the enemy of others besides himself, and that good-heartedness which is perfectly consistent with breaking a mother's heart and robbing orphan sisters is not very valuable. Jem was, however, as I said, quite straight this morning, and very willing to oblige Eben by catching the train.

"Get on first-rate with Antis, don't you?" asked Jem.

"Oh yes," replied Eben. "He's a very easy man to get on with."

"I expect he is," said Jem. "Antis and I were schoolmates. He was always a clever fellow, though not extra bright; but he has got on well, and everybody respects him. He's Mr. Antis, he is. I'm nobody but Jem Carter. That calls me so."

"Jeduthun didn't mean any harm," said Eben.

"Oh, I know it! He's a good fellow, too;" and Jem touched up the mare a little.

"I wouldn't hurry her," said Eben. "She's doing very well now."

"Oh, I sha'n't hurt her, never you fear. She's about all the friend I've got now, Eben," said Jem, with sudden emphasis and decision. "I want to give you a piece of advice. I'm a poor shoat, I know, but you may as well learn by my experience. Don't you never be coaxed or bullied into drinking the first drop of liquor or making the first bet—not the very first one. If you once begin, you never can know where you will stop."

"I think you are right," said Eben. "My father used to say the same. But, Mr. Carter, excuse me, but can't you stop drinking, and betting, and such things, now?"

"No, I can't!" returned Jem, shortly. "I can't, and I don't know as I want to. What's the use? I sha'n't live long, and I may as well have a good time while I do live."

"And what then?" asked Eben, gently.

"Then I shall go to the devil, I suppose, and serve me right, too," said Jem, in a kind of angry despair.

"You needn't, Jem."

"Needn't what?"

"'Go to the devil,' as you say. You may stop now, and never take one more stop downwards. You may turn your face towards heaven this very minute."

"I can't believe that," said Jem. "I don't believe such a fellow as I could ever be forgiven. You don't know, and I wouldn't tell you for anything, how bad I have been. I should be ashamed to ask for forgiveness."

"That's just the greatest mistake you ever made, Jem."

"I have made a great many mistakes, Eben."

"Well, you never made a worse mistake than that. I don't suppose the thief on the cross was any better man than you are, and he was saved at the very last minute, and you may be saved too, if you will. There is more love in the Lord than there is sin in all the sinners in the universe, as I heard old Father Badger say once."

"Now look here, Eben Fairchild! Do you dare to say that the Lord loves me—me? Such a beast as I am?"

"You are not a beast; you are a man with an immortal soul, for whom the Lord died, and I do dare to say that he loves you," said Eben, firmly. "He loves you this very minute."

"If I thought that—" said Jem. "But I always thought he hated sinners?"

"For whom did he die if not for sinners? You haven't read your Bible to much purpose, Jem."

"I don't think I have. I was taught to read it when I was young, but it is many a day since I saw the inside of mine."

"But won't you see the inside of it now, Jem? Do!" said Eben, with affectionate earnestness. "I am only a boy, but I know enough to be sure that there is no need of your going to the devil, as you say, if only you will choose to go the other way. I am sure of it—as sure as that, that is the hotel at the Springs."

"There is the train just coming up, too," said Jem. "It will be a tight jump, but I guess we will catch it. Come, old lady, do your best."

The mare seemed to understand the urgency of the case, for she flew like the winds. Just as they turned the corner Jem said, cheerfully:

"There! You'll be in time to jump on if you're spry. I say, Eben, when you say your prayers just put in a word for me, will you?"

"Indeed I will, Jem. Thank you ever so much."

"I'm the one to thank you, I reckon. There! Don't stop."

The bell had just sounded as Eben jumped on the last car.

"I shall get carried off as sure as the world," he said to himself as he walked through the train, "but I don't care. I can stop at the next station. Where is Mr. Antis, I wonder?"

He went on through all the cars without finding the man he sought till he came to the drawing-room car, when the young coloured person in charge rather demurred as to his entering.

"I guess you don't want to come in here, sonny," said he, with condescending politeness. "Them that comes in here pays a dollar extry."

"I want to find a gentleman who got on board at the Springs," said Eben. "He left some important papers behind him, which I was sent to carry to him."

"Oh, well, that alters the case," replied Mr. Johnson. "If you's got business, it's all right. I guess I know the man you mean—a light-complected gentleman with a beard, ain't he?"

Eben assented.

"Well, then, you'll find him in the saloon a-talking to Dr. Henry. Go right along through, and you'll come to him."

Eben walked on, rather dazzled by the splendor of the fine Pullman car, till he reached the saloon, where he found Mr. Antis in close conversation with Dr. Henry, and naturally rather surprised to see him.

"Why, Eben, what has brought you here? Has anything happened to Mrs. Antis or the baby?" he asked, in sudden alarm.

"Oh no, sir, but I think you have forgotten something," replied Eben, producing the pocket-book and papers. "Jeduthun found them after you had gone, and I got a ride with Jem Carter, so I brought them over. I guess I shall have to go on to the next station," he added, looking out of the window of the car.

"It looks like it now," said the doctor, smiling.

"I couldn't help it," said Eben. "I only just jumped on the train as it started."

"And suppose you had just fallen off the train and under it, what then?"

"Then I should have been killed, I suppose. But I took care not to fall, and I knew Mr. Antis would lose his journey if he did not have his pocket-book and papers."

"I should have lost more than my journey, I dare say," remarked Mr. Antis. "I don't know how I happened to do such a thing. Doctor, this is Eben Fairchild, son of an old acquaintance of yours."

"Oh yes, I remember you very well now, though you have grown since I saw you," said the doctor, shaking hands with him. "And how are you getting on, Eben?"

"Nicely, sir. I am working with Mr. Antis in the mill," replied Eben, blushing with pleasure at being introduced to the famous doctor, whom he had been accustomed to regard with much reverence.

"That's good; and what is your sister about?"

"Flora runs a sewing machine, and does very well by it," answered Eben. "She gets a great deal of work from Miss Barnard and other ladies at the Cure."

"Tell her not to work too hard. She will be getting consumption or something worse if she does. Tell her from me she ought to take a walk every day."

"I will, sir. I try to have her go out every day, but she is so afraid of losing time. But here is my stopping-place, I suppose."

"You had better go on to Hobartown and wait there for the three-o'clock train," said Mr. Antis. "I'll settle your passage, and there is something to pay for your dinner. You will find it a more entertaining place to wait than this."

"And I dare say you won't mind doing an errand for me," added the doctor. "I want to send a note up to Dr. Porter at the college, and was meaning to give it to some of the hackman, but if you will carry it for me, I shall be much obliged. Go up to the medical college and ask for Dr. Porter. He will be in the museum, I dare say."

"I wonder—" said Eben, and then he stopped, shocked at his own boldness.

"Well, you wonder what?" asked the doctor, good-naturedly.

"He wonders whether he can see the museum, I suppose," said Mr. Antis, answering for Eben. "He has a great hankering after bones, and such like. I found him the other day trying to put together a hen's skeleton which he had cleaned up somehow."

"Is that so?" said the doctor. "Then he shall be gratified;" and he wrote a few words at the bottom of his note. "There I have given you an introduction to Dr. Porter, and he will show you any number of skeletons and other cheerful objects of that description. But what did you want to put the hen's skeleton together for?"

"I wanted to see how it went," replied Eben, finding his voice, which he was rather apt to lose under the influence of any pleasurable emotion. "Such things are so curious and interesting."

"You ought to study medicine," remarked the doctor. "Why don't you?"

"I only wish—" Eben began, but something choked him, and he turned away and looked steadfastly out of the window.

Dr. Henry had a wonderful tact in understanding the feelings of those about him. He saw that he had unwittingly touched a tender point, and that the boy was trying hard to control his painful feelings. He turned away and talked to Mr. Antis till they reached Hobartown.

"Here we are!" said he, cheerfully. "You won't have any trouble in finding Dr. Porter, and I dare say you will make friends with him, for he is a kind old man, and fond of young people."

"Thank you, sir. Does the note need an answer?"

"No; it is only to ask him to meet me at the train to-night."

"And, Eben, don't go to a saloon or any such place to get your dinner," added Mr. Antis. "Go to the hotel or to Williams's. There! Good-bye, and have a nice time while you are here. You have saved me a great deal of trouble."

"That boy seems to have a good deal in him," remarked Dr. Henry as the train moved on.

"Indeed he has!" replied Mr. Antis. "You touched his heart when you spoke of his studying medicine."

"So I saw. What is there about it?" Mr. Antis went over the particulars of Eben's history. Dr. Henry listened with great interest, and asked a good many questions.

"It's all nonsense about his going through college," said he when Mr. Antis finished. "Colleges don't make doctors. If he has got it in him, he had better go to work and study medicine directly. Not that any amount of college learning would do him any hurt, of course, if he had time for it, but he has neither time nor money, it seems."

"No, there's the rub. He has get to earn his own living, and he wants to help his family; though, since the old lady has taken to going out nursing, I fancy they do very well."

"Is he a steady boy?" was Dr. Henry's next question. "Does he do what he undertakes, or does he work a little while at a thing and then get tired of it?"

"He does what he undertakes, if it can possibly be done," replied Mr. Antis. "He is not so quick as some, but he is the most perfectly faithful boy I ever saw in my life. If I tell him to attend to anything, I am sure to find it done, if it is a week afterwards. I believe he worked a week at that hen's skeleton, but he seemed to get it all right at last."

"Good!" said the doctor, emphatically. "That is the kind of boy I like;" and looking out of the window, he fell into a reverie which lasted all the way to Auburn.

CHAPTER VII.

EBEN MAKES A NEW FRIEND AND MEETS AN OLD ONE.

EBEN knew his way to the college very well, and found Dr. Porter without trouble. The old gentleman was in the anatomical museum, and Eben glanced round him with wondering and delighted eyes while Dr. Henry's note was being read. Dr. Porter smiled when he came to the postscript.

"So you think you would like to see the museum?"

"Yes, sir, if you would be so kind as to show me," said Eben, starting, for his whole attention was already absorbed by an unspeakably hideous anatomical painting which hung near him.

"Do you know anything about anatomy?" asked the doctor.

"Not much," replied Eben, blushing. "Only what I read in Miss Milliard's physiology and in the old Edinburgh encyclopaedia that father had."

"Well, that is not a bad beginning," said the doctor, kindly. "But how came you to care for such reading?"

"I don't know, sir; I always did like it. When I was a very little boy, mother scolded me for pulling open the cat's mouth and looking down her throat; but I did not mean to hurt her: I only wanted to see how it was that she purred."

"That was pursuit of knowledge under difficulties," said Dr. Porter, laughing. "I dare say your mother's fears were quite as much for you as for puss. Didn't she bite you?"

"Oh no, sir. We were old friends, and she knew I didn't mean any harm."

Dr. Porter was a very kind old gentleman, of most polished and winning manners, though he could be stern enough on occasions, and sarcastic enough too to make a rude or impudent student wish to creep into the smallest hole he could find. He was really interested in Eben, and Eben felt that he was so. Something in his manner overcame the boy's usual shyness and awkwardness of expression, and before they finished the tour of the museum, he had told his whole story and opened his whole heart to his new friend. Dr. Porter listened to and sympathized with him, and explained what they were looking at, to Eben's heart's content.

"But it must be dinner-time," said the doctor, stopping at last and looking at his watch. "Have you had your dinner?"

"No, sir," replied Eben. "Mr. Antis gave me the money to pay for my dinner, but I had forgotten all about it."

"Don't you feel hungry?"

"Yes, sir, now I think of it, I believe I do," said Eben. "I had a pretty early breakfast, and not much time to eat it."

"Well, you had better come up and get your dinner with me. I live at the hotel now. My daughter is away, and I want to see a little more of you."

"I am not dressed," said Eben, looking at his clothes, which were those which he wore about his work every day. "I came off in such a hurry I had hardly time to put on my hat."

"Oh, never mind. We shall find soap and water in my room. Come! It is time we were off. I am hungry, if you are not, and I have no notion of dining off bones and preparations, I can assure you!"

Great indeed was the amazement of certain fine young students boarding at the hotel to see Dr. Porter come into the dining-room with Eben, seat him at his own particular table, and treat him with every attention. More than one of them would have given a good deal for such a mark of consideration, for Dr. Porter was a great personage, not only in the college, but also in the society of the little town.

Eben, on his part, enjoyed his dinner very much. He had been taught "manners" when he was young, and he had something of the instinctive good-breeding of an Indian. An American Indian, however newly caught, is rarely guilty of any breach of table manners, simply because he waits to see what other people do.

"Come up to my room," said the doctor when the dinner was over. "You have time, haven't you?"

"Oh yes, sir, plenty of time. The train does not go till three fifteen, and it is only two now."

"Well, you will want to run about town a little, I dare say. However, we shall have time for a little chat."

"How many books!" said Eben, looking at the two well-filled bookcases. "I think I should be perfectly happy if I had so many books as that."

"Here is but a small part of my library," said the doctor. "These are my working tools which I use every day. Some other time I will show you my whole collection. Now, see here, Eben: suppose I render you partly happy by lending you one of these books to read; will you take good care of it, and be ready to give me some account of it when I see you again?"

"Yes, sir; indeed I will," replied Eben. "I will take the greatest care of it."

"Well, then, here is Carpenter's 'Comparative Physiology,' a stout fellow, as you see, but interesting as a romance to any one who cares for such things. Now, if you work through this faithfully, you will have made a very good beginning. Stay! You must have a dictionary of some kind. Do you know French?"

"No, sir. I began to learn Latin, and I have tried not to forget it."

"You had better let the Latin go, and study French," said Dr. Porter. "You will find the modern languages of more practical use to you in the beginning. There! Now you are pretty well equipped, and I shall have to send you away, for I have a lecture to prepare. Perhaps you may have lectures of your own to prepare some day."

A happier boy was not to be found in the United States than was Eben Fairchild that day as he walked down the long hill on which stood the group of college buildings. He could not resist the temptation to look into his books as he went along, till a stumble over a stone brought him nearly on his nose and quite to his senses at the same moment.

"Well, there! They'll keep!" And resolutely closing them, Eben began to study the shop-windows, that he might amuse his mother and Flora with an account of them when he got home. He was looking at a beautiful picture in the window of a bookstore, when some one slapped him on the shoulder, and looking round, he saw Tom Wilbur. Tom was no special favourite of Eben's, but he was in the mood to be cordial to everybody.

"Why, Eben, is this you? How came you over here?"

"I came on an errand for Mr. Antis," replied Eben, shaking hands.

"Seems to me I'd have dressed up a little," said Tom, with his usual politeness. "The folks here ain't like the folks in Boonville. They don't think much of a fellow, unless he looks nice."

"I hadn't time to dress," said Eben, feeling vexed at himself for being annoyed at Tom's words. "I had to catch a ride and come off at a moment's warning."

"Oh, well, it don't matter for you, I dare say. What are you staring at in this window? I don't see anything very interesting."

"At the pictures. I think they are beautiful, and Flossy will like to hear about them."

"Oh, well, never mind! Come and have a game of billiards."

"I don't know how to play billiards."

"Well, at tenpins, then. I think you know how to play tenpins, and they have a capital alley in this saloon."

Now, Eben did know how to play tenpins, and was fond of the game. He hesitated, but only for a minute.

"No, thank you, Tom. Mr. Antis told me particularly not to go to any saloon."

"Fiddle-de-dee for Mr. Antis! He ain't your father, and if he was, he isn't here. Come along, and don't be such a great baby! I'll pay for you, and like as not you'll make some money, for I know you are a good player. I won five dollars there the other day."

Eben remembered Jem Carter's words about the first bet. "No, Tom, I can't go to a saloon, and I won't, so don't ask me. How do you like the dry goods business?"

"Oh, I have left there. I couldn't stand it."

"Why, what a fellow you are to change about!" said Eben. "You will be one of the rolling stones that gather no moss, if you don't mind. What was the matter this time?"

"Enough was the matter," said Tom, sulkily. "I guess you wouldn't find it very pleasant to stand behind a counter all day, pulling down things just to put them up again, and getting a precious blowing up if you didn't have everything just so, or answered back anybody's impudence. It was enough to make anybody mad."

"If you don't do anything till you find everything just right, you won't do much," said Eben, sagely.

"I don't care; I ain't going to be bullied and treated like a slave for anybody."

"What are you doing now?"

"Oh, I am in a shoe store, but I don't like it much. The college fellows hold their heads so high and look down on clerks as if they were no better than toads. I mean to make my father send me to school and to college. I know he can afford it as well as not if he chooses, and then, I shall be somebody."

"And then the Seniors will bully you, and you will have to mind the professors and tutors, and be on hand for prayers and recitations, and how will you like that?" asked Eben.

"I don't care; I mean to try it, anyway. But come; go with me and got some oysters and a glass of lager."

"No, thank you," said Eben again. "I have just had my dinner at the hotel."

"Whew!" whistled Tom, opening his eyes. "We are grand, to be sure! How did you come to do that?"

"Well, I went up to the college to carry a letter from Dr. Henry to Dr. Porter, and Dr. Porter showed me the museum, and then asked me to dinner with him. He lent me these books, too. I think he is a nice old gentleman."

"Nice! I should think he was. There is not a person in Hobartown more thought of—no, not the president himself. Well, to be sure, the luck that some people have! But did he really ask you to dinner, or are you fooling, now? You are just trying to make me believe a big one, I bet."

"Believe or not, as you like," said Eben, indignantly. "It's nothing to me."

"Oh, come, don't be mad," said Tom, who began to think Eben might, after all, be a friend worth cultivating. "I dare say it is all as you say, only it seems so odd. Are you working for Mr. Antis yet?"

"Yes, but I am in the mill now."

"In my place, I suppose?" said Tom.

"Not exactly. I have more work to do, and I have more wages."

"Well, I am sure you are welcome," returned Tom. "How do you like it?"

"Very well, so far," said Eben, smiling. "I only went in this morning, and I came right away after breakfast."

"Well, I wonder at that. I expected you would step right into my shoes."

"I believe Mr. Antis wanted me to finish something about the garden. But good-bye, Tom; I must be going, or I shall miss the train."

"I'll go down with you."

"Won't you be wanted at the shop?"

"Oh, that don't matter. However, perhaps I had better be going."

Eben was not sorry to part with Tom. He wanted time to think over his new-found pleasures and all the things that had happened to him. He had the feeling that I suppose almost every one has experienced after a day of unwonted pleasure and excitement—as though he must have done or said something wrong or unbecoming. However, when he came to consider the matter, he could not find anything very important of which to accuse himself, unless it was that he had talked rather too freely to Dr. Porter and to Jem Carter.

"Certainly I never said so much to any stranger before, but the old gentleman seemed somehow to lead me on from one thing to another. Dr. Henry said he was fond of young people, and I am sure he must be, or he would not have lent me these nice books. I wonder how he knows that I won't run away with them or sell them? I wonder if Flossy would give up Latin and study French with me? Mary Clarke has studied French, and she could help us along."

"But there was Jem Carter. I wonder if I was right to speak so plainly to him? It was hard work enough for me to do it, I know, so I didn't speak to please or show off myself. It seems like taking a great deal on myself, now I look back on it, but, after all, I know that every word I said was true, and he was not offended, either, for he was as kind as could be, and asked me to pray for him. Oh, if he could only turn round, and be a good, sober, Christian man, how happy all his friends would be! Well, there is no use in going back on it, as Jeduthun says. I remember reading in that book Miss Barnard lent Flossy last week, that it was a bad habit to get into the way of always going back in the dark to see if you hadn't left a spark from a candle behind you. Why, what a crowd!"

They were now near the Springs, and as they came up Eben saw that there was a great crowd about the station. This was nothing very unusual, for going down to see the train come in was one of the few public amusements that the Springs afforded, but it was not the usual merry crowd of ladies and gentlemen from the Cure and the hotel. They were almost all men. There was no laughing and very little talking, and every one seemed to be speaking in low tones. What could have happened? As Eben got out of the car, somebody said:

"No, he was perfectly sober. I was talking with him not half an hour before, and he was just as straight as I am—not joking and carrying on, as he generally is, but kind of grave and serious."

"Here's Eben Fairchild," said some one else. "I dare say he will take the mare home. Eben, would you be afraid to drive poor Jem Carter's mare over home?"

"No, of course not," replied Eben. "But why does not Jem take her himself?"

"Why, haven't you heard?"

"No, I have been at Hobartown all day. Is he sick?"

"Dead!" replied the man. "Killed in a minute, not an hour ago."

Eben felt sick. "How was it?" he asked.

"He was standing down here when the two o'clock freight came in, and just as it was slacking, that little two-year-old girl of Marvin's went toddling right on to the track before the engine. Jem saw her and sprang to save her, and he did, somehow, manage to throw her over on the other track, but the engine knocked him down and killed him instantly. He was stone dead when they took him up. Halloo, my boy, don't faint! What's the matter?"

"I don't know. It was so sudden," said Eben, recovering himself with a great effort. "Why, I rode over with him from Boonville this morning."

"Did you?" asked another bystander. "Was he quite sober then?"

"Yes, indeed; as sober and sensible as anybody. Oh, poor Jem! What will his poor mother do? Does she know about it?"

"Yes, before this time; Mr. Edwards, the minister, went over to tell her the news, but they can't take the body home till they get a coffin. They have telegraphed for one, and it will be here by the five fifteen."

"After all," said some one else, "if he was to die, it was better so than in delirium tremens or in some drunken brawl, as seemed most likely to happen. He died in a good cause, and there is no telling what thoughts passed through his mind in that minute."

"'Between the saddle and the ground,
If mercy's sought, mercy's found.'"

"But it is a dreadful thing to live the life he did, and then be called away so sudden."

As Eben drove homewards with the mare, who almost seemed to understand that something had happened to her master, he could no longer regret that he had spoken freely to poor Jem. He had not known that he was speaking to a dying man, but if he had, he did not feel that he would have said much more. He remembered, with a thrill of sudden joy, that Jem had seemed to take his words not only kindly but gladly, and had asked his prayers.

"That will be a comfort to his poor old mother," he thought; "and one thing I know—I will never be so backward as I have been, in speaking on such subjects at proper times."

He drove the mare home and attended to her comforts with special care, but the poor creature whinnied and looked wistfully about her as though she missed something. Eben's tears came fast as he patted and caressed her.

"Poor Beauty! You are looking for your master, but he will never take care of you any more. He was always a good master to you, wasn't he, Beauty?"

"Well, Eben, here you are at last," said Jeduthun as Eben entered the mill to report himself before going home. "I've been looking for you all day. The old lady was real worried, when we first heard that somebody was killed over at the Springs, for fear it was you, but I told her I guessed there was no occasion. What has kept you so long?"

"I got carried off on the cars, and had to stay at Hobartown till three," said Eben, "and then I drove poor Jem's mare home and took care of her."

"Ah, poor Jam! He was called dreadful sudden, wasn't he? And to think it was only this morning you was riding with him! Well, we must all go some time, we don't know how soon, and the only thing is to be ready. But you look regularly beat out, Eben. You had better run down home and see your mother, and you needn't mind coming back again to-night if you don't want to. Oh, I forgot to ask you: of course you found Mr. Antis?"

"Yes. I just made out to get on the back end of the train, and I had to go clear through to the Pullman car before I found him. I was going to get off at P—, but he said I might just as well go on to Hobartown, where I could have a good time."

"That's just like the boss!" said Jeduthun. "He's about the consideratest man ever I knew. Well, did you have a good time?"

"I guess I did!" said Eben. "Dr. Henry was on the train, and he gave me a note to carry to Dr. Porter up at the college, and Dr. Porter, he showed me the museum and lent me these books, see."

"They look like dreadful hard reading," said Jeduthun, glancing at the dictionary of anatomical terms. "I don't suppose I could make head or tail of them, but I'm glad if you like them, and I'm glad you had such a pleasant day."

CHAPTER VIII.

EBEN TRIES TO SERVE TWO MASTERS.

"SEEMS to me, Eben, you're getting kind of scatter-brained lately."

"What now?" asked Eben, not very good-naturedly.

"What now? Well, not so much now as yesterday," replied Jeduthun. "You gave Bassett's account to Williams and his to Bassett, and you dropped the wrench and hammer out in the shed, just where you'd been using them, I suppose, and what you've done with that 'ere stencil-plate maybe you know, but I don't. I've been looking for it for half the morning. Did you post the letters last night?"

Eben started and coloured. He had forgotten to put the letters in the office, and had brought them back in his pocket.

"Now, just look here, Eben, I want to talk to you!" said Jeduthun, seriously. "This ain't going to answer, my boy—not at all. You ain't doing right either by the boss or by yourself. You have always been a first-rate boy, but I can't say you have done well the past two weeks."

"I don't know what I have done so very bad," said Eben, trying to speak carelessly. "I'm sorry I forgot the letters, but I can go and put them in now."

"Now is just too late. Mr. Bassett is gone, and the letters will have to wait till to-morrow. It isn't so much what you have done as what you haven't, Eben, which is most commonly the case. I've picked up and covered up after you as well as I could, but I can't help you unless you help yourself, and besides, I don't know why I should. Mr. Antis didn't like it at all when he heard of the mistakes you made about the bills, and I'm afraid he'll be awful provoked when he finds out about the letters."

"Well, everybody makes mistakes sometimes," said Eben.

"Eben," said Jeduthun, impressively—for the miller could be impressive in spite of his miscellaneous grammar and decided Virginia accent—"Eben, you are wrong, and you know you are. Your conscience tells you so this minute. You ain't being faithful to Mr. Antis, though he pays you large wages for a boy of your age, and though he has been very kind to you. You ain't doing your duty neither to God nor man, and unless you turn right round and go on the other track, you'll find yourself in more trouble than you know."

Eben was silent, and looked steadily out of the window. His conscience did tell him that Jeduthun was right, but his pride and some other feelings would not let him own that he was in the wrong.

"The fact is," continued Jeduthun, "you're a-trying to do two things at once, and that's what you can't do. You can't serve two masters no more than any one else. I've no objection to your reading your medical books in the evening if you like, though it must make it rather dull for Miss Flossy and the old lady, after they haven't seen you all day, but you have no business to be bringing them into the mill, and letting your thoughts run on them when you ought to be 'tending to your work. If you're going to be a doctor, why, be a doctor, and if you're going to be a miller, why, be a miller, but don't try to be both at once. That's being too much like my young missus when she emptied the camphire bottle into the mince pies, thinking it was rose water: it spiled the medicine, and it spiled the pies too."

Eben went home that night in a very uncomfortable state of mind. Mr. Antis had been very sharp with him about the letters, and had told him that the cost of the telegraphing which his neglect had rendered necessary should be taken out of his wages. But that had not hurt Eben half so much as the way in which Mr. Antis had said, "I really thought I had found one boy who could be trusted to do what he undertook."

Eben knew very well where the trouble was, but he was slow to acknowledge it to himself, because he felt that such an acknowledgment involved a great deal. He had found the physiology, as Dr. Porter had said, as interesting as a romance, and his head was running on it all the time. The book was in his hand the moment he entered the house, and hardly left it, even at meal-times, and he was impatient of the slightest interruption to his studies.

Flora, who had set out with being delighted with her brother's new employment, began to find that in the experience it was rather dreary. The evenings were now growing long, and she found that after a day of fine sewing, her eyes were too weary to read by candle light, while Eben was impatient of any conversation, even when nobody talked to him. Mary Clarke was bent upon making the most of her last year in school, and studied every evening up in her own room. Mrs. Fairchild dozed over her knitting and Flora sat silent with hers, while Eben pored over his big books without a word to say to anybody for as long a time as his mother would allow him to sit up.

"Where is my book?" was his first question to Flora as he entered the house and missed his beloved "Carpenter" from its accustomed place.

"I dare say mother laid it in the other room," replied Flora. "I had to use the whole table for cutting out and basting my work."

"I wish my things could be let alone!" said Eben, sharply.

"I couldn't help it, Eben," returned Flora, in rather an injured tone. "My work had to be got ready, and I cannot cut out on the floor. It breaks my back. It is rather less trouble for you to get your book out of the other room."

Eben said nothing, but finding his book, sat down to read by the lamp.

"Well, I declare!" said Mary Clarke as Flora came in from the well bringing a heavy pail of water. "I should think somebody else might do that."

"Eben don't like to be interrupted," said Flora, demurely.

"Flora could have asked me to bring the water, I suppose," said Eben, rather loftily.

"I asked you last night," replied Flora, and Eben bit his lip without replying, for he well remembered the answer he had made and the ungracious way in which he had performed the service, which he always used to render as a matter of course.

"Are you going to have any reading to-night?" asked Mary, after tea. "If not, I will bring my books down stairs and study."

"I presume not," replied Flora. "We never do have any, now-a-days."

"It seems kind of dull to have it all so still," said Mrs. Fairchild, rather plaintively. "Of course Eben wants to read his book, but I can't help wishing, sometime, that, it was interesting to the rest of us. That is one way I miss Mr. Fairchild so much, now that the evenings are growing long. He used always to read loud to me winter evenings. I do always enjoy a book read loud so much more than I do reading it to myself; and besides, my eyes are not so good as they were."

"I do wish," said Eben, laying down his book and speaking in a voice which trembled with anger—"I do wish I could have a minute's peace somewhere. I should think, after I had been working hard all day in the mill and worried about forty different things, that I might be allowed to spend my evening in quiet with my book, without being snapped at and hinted at on every side by mother and Flora. Flora, I should think you might have a little feeling for me, but you haven't one bit."

"Why, Eben, my son, what's the matter?" asked his mother. "Is that the way to speak to your sister?"

If Flora had been wise, she would not have said anything, but have left her brother to be ashamed of his petulance. But she was not very wise, nor was she, with all her good qualities, very amiable; moreover, she loved Eben with all the love of her heart, and she was, besides, tired and nervous from too close application to a perplexing piece of work, and so was therefore in an excellent state for a quarrel. So she said in the sarcastic tone which she well knew always vexed Eben, "Oh, never mind him, mother! Of course the vexation and fatigue have been all on his side. We haven't had any. We have done nothing but enjoy our elegant leisure—you with Mrs. Badger's sick baby, and I with a perverse sewing machine. Besides, what are women made for, if not for the lords of creation to vent their vexation upon? We ought to accept our lot, and be thankful."

"That ain't my notion, and it wasn't your dear father's, Flora Fairchild!" said Mrs. Fairchild, who always took things literally. "And I don't believe Eben thinks so, either."

"Oh, very well!" said Eben. "If I cannot be quiet here, I will go to my room. It is very kind of you, Flora, I must say—all to revenge yourself because I forgot to bring you a pail of water, I suppose. You know well enough how much I have always wished to study, and you pretended to wish it too. I can see now just how much you were willing to sacrifice to me."

"Children, now don't you say another word until you can speak pleasantly!" said Mrs. Fairchild.

"Oh, I don't want to speak," said Flora. "I am glad to understand what a monster of selfishness and ingratitude I am. Eben is all right, of course, only, as he is so wise, I should like to know how all this is to work for his good, when the very thing that he ought to be thankful for and that he has wished for so long makes him cross and selfish—that's all!"

"Not a word more, Flora!" said her mother. "No, Eben, not a word! Mind me! There has been a great deal too much said already."

Mrs. Fairchild rarely roused herself to command. A mild "I guess I wouldn't," or, "It isn't worth while," was as far as she commonly went in reproof, but when she did exercise her authority there was that about her which commanded obedience. Flora sank back in her chair and knitted furiously, and Eben hid his face behind his book. The rest of the evening was passed in silence till nine o'clock, when Eben arose and lighted his own lamp.

"Eben, you are not going to bed before prayers, are you?" said his mother, looking at him in surprise, for since Mr. Fairchild's death Eben had been acting as chaplain to the family.

"I don't wonder he feels like it," said Flora, half aloud. "His prayers would be edifying, no doubt."

"Flora!" whispered Mary Clarice, warningly. Eben turned back without a word and set down his lamp.

"You may give me the book, my son," said his mother. "I will read for once."

Without speaking, Eben brought out the great Bible, laid it on the table before his mother, arranged the lamp conveniently for her, and then sat down in the corner, turning his own face from the light. It was the long-established custom of the family to read the New Testament through in course, but this night, for some reason of her own, Mrs. Fairchild departed from that custom, turning over to the Gospel of John and reading our Lord's intercessory prayer. Then she said, a little tremulously:

"We will sing your father's favourite hymn, children:"

"'How blest the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love!'"

"He always loved that hymn, and I remember we sung it at worship in his room the very day before he died. Mary, will you start the tune?"

Flora broke down at the first verse and Eben's notes were very husky, but Mrs. Fairchild's weak, sweet voice and Mary's strong and full one carried the plaintive melody through to the end. Mrs. Fairchild's prayer was as simple as that of a child. She prayed that they might all be kept in the love of God and of each other, that no clouds might come between them, but that they might have grace to see clearly, and to fulfil their duty, the one towards the other. Mrs. Fairchild's religious faith was her strong point, and gave to her character all the force it possessed.

Eben's pride broke down, and he cried like a child, when he heard his mother give thanks for all the mercies that had been shown even in the midst of loss and bereavement, and especially for the gift of dutiful and affectionate children. When they rose, he wiped his eyes and said, manfully, but in rather a choked voice:

"I believe I have been very cross and disagreeable this evening."

"I am glad you have found it out," interrupted Flora.

"And I am very sorry and hope everybody will forgive me, and I will try to do better hereafter," continued Eben, without regarding the interruption. "Flossy, you were quite right in saying that I ought to do better. I don't make any excuses for myself, but if anybody is good enough to make them for me, I shall not be too proud to accept them."

"That's right, Eben, and spoken like a Christian. Come, now! Let us all kiss goodnight and go to bed."

Flora's father was wont to say that Flora, when she gave her mind to it, could be the best child and the naughtiest child he ever saw in his life. The naughty fit was on now. To do her justice, her temper was partly hysterical and the result of over-fatigue. She did not refuse Eben's proffered kiss, but when he whispered something in her ear, she answered aloud:

"I don't care much for displays and protestations, Eben; I like deeds better than words, and I don't think much of a religion that is all talk, as yours seems to be."

Flora did not say these words because she believed them, but because she knew that they would hurt Eben more than anything else she could say. She was wretched herself, and she felt a desire to make others so as well, and in her perversity, she was more vexed with her brother for owning himself in the wrong, than if he had justified himself through all. It was one of her old "moods," which had become very rare of late, and Eben knew that the best way to meet it was to let her alone till it went away. He took an opportunity of whispering to Mary:

"Don't say anything to her. She will come round best alone."

Mary nodded in token of intelligence. Unluckily, Flora saw both the look and the nod.

"I wish—" she began, when her mother checked her:

"Flora, don't you say another word to-night! Now, mind me! Not another word! You ain't yourself, and you don't half know what you do say, but, mind! I won't have another word said about this matter."

Flora obeyed, and went to bed without speaking another word.

Christian's fierce conflict with Apollyon came to pass just after he had descended into the Valley of Humiliation, "catching a slip or two by the way," a point in the story which shows Bunyan's wonderful knowledge of human nature and Christian experience. Eben had fondly imagined that, when he had acknowledged his faults and asked forgiveness of those he had offended, his task was done, but he was to find himself mistaken. His enemy was not vanquished, but only lying in ambush. Pride whispered to him that he had humbled himself needlessly as well as in vain, that he had been right all the time, that it was perfectly proper for him to employ all his leisure-time in learning, and that if Flora had not been very selfish she would have done anything rather than have him interrupted. Mr. Antis and Jeduthun had also been very unkind to him, and had made a great fuss about nothing, and, in short, he, Eben, was more ill-used than any one had ever been before.

Well as he knew Flora and her moods, the reproach she had cast upon his religion cut him to the quick, and all the more because he was conscious that there was some truth in it. He had neglected his religious duties; his Bible had remained unread in private; his prayers had been cold and formal, and, for the first time, his Sunday-school lessons had been forgotten, and only hastily looked over at the very last moment. He had suffered his armour to become dim and his sword to rust in the scabbard, and now that he needed them most they seemed likely to fail him.

But Eben's faith was a very real and strong faith, and he had the fixed habit of telling himself the truth about himself. There was no use, he very well knew, in trying to fight the battle in his own strength, and he did not try. He carried all his troubles to the place where he was wont to carry them, confessing all his faults and shortcomings, and praying for forgiveness for himself and the spirit to forgive others. When he arose, after a long time, his face was sad. He had not found the comfort he had hoped for. But he said to himself that that must come in time, and lying down at last, he was soon asleep.

CHAPTER IX.

THE OLD GENTLEMAN.

FLORA was later in falling asleep than usual, and consequently overslept herself in the morning, and when she came down at last she was far more vexed than pleased to find the fire all made, the table set, the breakfast in a good state of forwardness, and Eben splitting kindling wood in the shed, instead of reading every moment till breakfast-time as had been his custom of late.

"Why didn't you call me?" was Flora's sharp greeting.

"You seemed so tired we thought we would let you sleep," said Mary Clarke; "so Eben and I got the breakfast. Everything that is right I did, and everything that is wrong he did."

"No such thing," called out Eben from the shed. "Don't you believe it, Flossy. She would have drowned the coffee, if I hadn't stopped her, and she didn't know whether the pork chops ought to be fried or broiled."

All this banter was not to Flora's taste. She chose to take it as a sign that Eben and Mary were leagued against her, and resented it accordingly.

"I am very sorry you should have had so much trouble," she said, stiffly and coldly. "Getting breakfast is my work, and I don't know that I thank anybody for taking it out of my hands. I am glad Eben feels in such good spirits, but I don't, and—"

Flora stopped short as her mother came out of her room.

"Dear me! Do tell if you have got breakfast ready!" said she. "I've been so broke of my rest lately with that poor baby, that when I get a chance, I kind of oversleep myself. How nice your chops look, Flora!"

"They are not mine," said Flora. "Eben and Mary have taken my work out of my hands this morning."

"So if you are poisoned, you must not blame Mary," said Eben.

"Do let's have our breakfast," said Flora, pettishly.

"I'm willing, for I haven't much time to spare. I want to be at the mill particularly early."

The breakfast was not a very cheerful one, in spite of Mary's attempts at conversation. Flora would neither talk nor eat, and Eben, though he answered Mary pleasantly and cheerfully, did not seem in as good spirits as usual. He got away as soon as he could, and was at the mill as quickly as Jeduthun himself.

"Good!" said Jeduthun. "This looks like work. Some one was up bright and early, I guess."

"That's so!" answered Eben. "I split up about half a cord of kindling wood before breakfast—that is, so to speak, you know, as Grandma Badger says. And, Jeduthun, while I have a chance, I want to tell you that I know you were right and I was wrong yesterday. I have been very neglectful of my work, and the reason was, as you say, because I have been trying to serve two masters, but I see my mistake, and I am going to try and do better."

"Good for you!" said Jeduthun, very much pleased. "I thought you'd come out all right when you came to consider about it, and then you'd see that I spoke as a friend."

"I'm sure of that," returned Eben. "I only hope you will always do the same."

Eben was busy doing something in the office when Jeduthun put his head in the room.

"I say, Mr. Antis, here's the old gentleman a-coming."

"The old gentleman! Not Mr. Francis!" exclaimed Mr. Antis, starting. "What in the world has brought him so suddenly?"

Mr. Antis hastened down to the door to meet the mill owner.

Mr. Francis was a testy old gentleman with a pretty large sense of his own consequence and dignity; nevertheless, those who knew him best spoke highly of his uprightness and generosity. The moment that Mr. Antis saw him he perceived that something had gone wrong.

"I think, Mr. Antis," was his first salutation—"I think you might have exerted yourself so much as to send some one to meet me. I know it is not the fashion just now to pay much respect to old people, but I think, considering all things, you might have done as much as that."

"I am very sorry, sir," replied Mr. Antis. "If I had expected you, I should have met you, certainly."

"And may I ask, Mr. Antis—not that it signifies, of course—but may I ask why you did not expect me, when I wrote you three days ago that I should be at the Springs this morning?"

"I never received your letter, Mr. Francis. Eben," asked Mr. Antis, "did you go to the office last night?"

Eben started and coloured. The last mail came in about seven, and it was Eben's duty to go for the letters and papers and carry them down to Mr. Antis's house.

"I am very sorry, indeed, Mr. Antis," said he, "but the truth is, I forgot all about it."

"Oh you forgot all about it, did you?" said Mr. Francis, in his usual sarcastic tones. "Then let me tell you, sir, that if you were my boy you should have something to make you remember it next time. I suppose this is your paragon—your Phœnix—Mr. Antis, that you wrote to me about?"

"This is Eben Fairchild," said Mr. Antis, briefly. "He is a good boy in general, but he forgets sometimes like other boys, and men, too, I might say."

"Humph! Well, Eben Fairchild, since that is your name, perhaps you will take care of my horse. Have the goodness not to forget either to feed or water him."

Eben thought there was no danger of his doing either. Jeduthun followed him out on pretence of looking to see if the horse had not a shoe loose, and took the opportunity of whispering:

"Now, Eben, I expect the old man is going to make things fly round. He's awful cantankerous sometimes, but do you mind and keep your own temper, and answer him respectfully, whatever he says. Remember, he is the boss, and an old man besides. He does rile me awfully sometimes, and I feel as if I needed to pray for patience whenever I see him a-coming in one of his tantrums. I can tell what kind of a humour he is in just as quick as I can see the top of his hat."

"I'll take care," said Eben, "but I wish he had come at any other time, or that I hadn't been such a fool."

"And so do I, but there is no help for it now. We must make the best of it. The machinery is all in order, that's one comfort."

Eben took all the pains possible in accommodating the horse, and hastened back to the mill with a foreboding heart, stopping at the post-office on his way, where, as he expected, he found Mr. Francis's letter.

"It came last night," said. Mr. Badger, "and I had a great mind to send it up, seeing you didn't come for it. I believe I should, only I was so uneasy about the baby. Do you know what your ma thinks about him?"

"Oh, she doesn't despair of him, by any means," replied Eben, trying to speak cheerfully. "She says she never gives a baby up to die as long as the breath of life is in it. I dare say she is up at your house now. Never mind about the letter, Mr. Badger; it was my fault, and not yours."

Eben carried the letters into the office, and then busied himself with putting everything in the nicest order, while Mr. Francis and Mr. Antis were inspecting the upper part of the building. Jeduthun's department was pretty sure to be all right, yet he heard the old gentleman's voice growling in the distance, as though some one were getting a scolding.

"What is he blowing up Jeduthun for, I wonder?" he thought as he brushed up the stove and dusted the chairs and desks. "There! I think it looks pretty nicely now, and in good time, for here they come. Now it will be my turn, I suppose. Never mind; I deserve it, that's one thing."

Mr. Francis presently entered the office with Mr. Antis and Jeduthun, Mr. Antis looking as though he did not quite know whether to be vexed or amused, Jeduthun's dark face as inscrutable as a bronze mask, save that there was a little spark in his eye and just the slightest twitching about the corners of his mouth.

"Have you brought the letters, Eben?" asked Mr. Antis.

"Yes, sir; they are on your desk."

"And may I ask, young man, why you did not bring them to Mr. Antis instead of laying them there on his desk?" asked Mr. Francis, in a tone calculated to make the meekest boy double up his fists in the privacy of his own pocket. "I suppose that was too much trouble for a young gentleman like Mr. Fairchild?"

Eben's blood tingled a little, but he remembered Jeduthun's advice and answered, respectfully:

"Mr. Antis always tells me to lay them on his desk, sir. He is afraid they may be mislaid."

"Humph!" said Mr. Francis, his temper by no means improved by finding himself in the wrong. "You are a wise pair, no doubt."

"So the boss has got to catch it, too," thought Eben. "Well, misery loves company, they say."

"You may count up those bags of Dennison's, Eben, and have them ready when he comes," said Mr. Antis. "Don't be out of the way, and, Eben—"

Eben came back to where Mr. Antis was standing by the office door. Mr. Antis whispered:

"Just run round to the house and tell Mrs. Antis, the old gentleman is here, and she must be sure to have a good dinner; and if you would get your mother to go up and help her—"

"I guess she can," answered Eben. "Ma is at Mrs. Badger's, close by. I'll run and tell her."

"Do; but come back as soon as you can." Eben's errands necessarily took a little time. He found Mrs. Antis terribly alarmed at the prospect of having to get dinner for the great man, especially as Mary had burnt her hands and could be of little use.

"Oh, do get your mother to come if you can," said she. "Tell her I will do anything for her, if she will."

"She won't mind the trouble, if only she can get away from that Badger baby," replied Eben. "I'll do my best, but I must hurry."

Fortunately, the baby Badger was better, and its mother was disposed to be accommodating.

"And do your very best, ma," begged Eben. "Make a chicken pie, and the very best pudding you can, and see if you can't sweeten the old gentleman up a little, for he needs it."

"I'll try," said Mrs. Fairchild. "I guess I'll make a nice light pudding. Men are just like children. You can stop their mouths quicker with a cake than you can with a stick, any day." With which highly improper sentiment, wholly subversive of all good discipline, Mrs. Fairchild put on her hood and shawl, and was soon enjoying her favourite pursuit of cooking a good dinner.

The first sound Eben heard as he re-entered the mill and began sorting his bags was his own name. The door was open, so he could not help hearing what went on, and it seemed, from the tone in which Mr. Francis spoke, that he at least had no objection to be overheard. Eben had no difficulty in understanding the conversation. In the course of his investigations, Mr. Francis had discovered Eben's neglect about the letters, and the trouble and possible loss which had resulted therefrom.

"Perfect folly to put such a boy in such a place," he was saying. "I should think anybody might have known it. What you wanted was a responsible clerk, and not a mere lad, and such an untrustworthy lad as this seems to be. I must say I never heard of a more absurd arrangement in my life."

"I consulted you about the arrangement at the time, you know, Mr. Francis," said Mr. Antis. "Eben had lived with me four months, and I had found him perfectly faithful. If you will remember, I did nothing in the matter without asking you, and waited for three weeks that I might hear from you before engaging Eben." So that had been the cause of the delay. But Mr. Francis was speaking again:

"I know that, Mr. Antis. No need to remind me of it, sir. I have not quite lost my memory yet, I believe. I also remember telling you that I thought it a risk to engage such a young lad, but you must use your own judgment. It is evident that the boy is utterly unfit for the place—that he cannot be trusted to do the simplest business properly."

Eben's heart sunk as he heard these words. At that moment Mr. Francis caught sight of him through the open door.

"Come here, sir," he said, in a harsh voice; and as Eben obeyed, "So I understand all this trouble comes from your carelessness! Do you think that is the way to treat your employer?"

"No, sir," answered Eben, promptly.

"Humph! Why did you do it, then?"

"Because I was careless, and not minding what I was about," replied Eben. "I was thinking of something else when I ought to have been thinking of my work."

Now, Mr. Francis had settled it in his own mind that Eben would try to excuse himself, that he, Mr. Francis, would put him down completely, and then, if Eben appeared very much overcome, he would relent and forgive him. He was a gentleman who had a great opinion of his own penetration, and it was naturally aggravating to find himself mistaken. So he took a pinch of snuff, and asked, sarcastically:

"Oh I you were thinking of something else, were you? And may I beg to be informed as to what that something was?"

Eben hesitated a moment, and then answered frankly:

"Dr. Porter lent me some books about physiology and anatomy, and I got so much interested in them, that I forgot what I was about. I am very sorry, but—"

"Oh yes, you are very sorry, no doubt," interrupted Mr. Francis. "Really, you are a very aspiring young gentleman. Anatomy and physiology, indeed! Well, sir, since your tastes are so grand, I advise you to go to your anatomy and physiology, and let milling alone. That is my advice to you. What is the meaning of that bell, Mr. Antis?"

"It is twelve o'clock, sir, when we have an hour for dinner. I hope you will go home and take some with me."

"Humph! Well, Mr. Antis, I don't mean to be too hard upon you, but I must say that in this matter you have been too hasty—entirely too hasty, Mr. Antis—and it has turned out as I expected. We have lost more by this young man's carelessness and incapacity than all our profits will make up."

Mr. Antis ventured to suggest that the loss was not certain yet, and that at the worst it would be only a hundred or two dollars.

"A hundred or two dollars! I am glad you feel so rich, sir. When I was at your age, Mr. Antis, a hundred or two dollars were of some consequence to me. But, however, we will drop the subject for the present, as your good wife's dinner must not be kept waiting. Anatomy and physiology, indeed! Now, sir, you had better give your whole attention to your anatomy henceforth, for, take my word for it, you will never make a miller."

Eben went home to his dinner feeling as if a gulf had opened under his feet. Somehow, the idea of being discharged had never entered his head. He expected to be found fault with, and to have his wages lowered, but he had never thought of this. It seemed as though he had not only lost everything, but as though he were disgraced for ever. Who would employ him if it were known that Mr. Antis had turned him off, and for such a reason? What would his mother and Flora say? He felt utterly stunned and miserable, and for the first time since their troubles commenced, he was ready to give up in despair.

"Why, Eben, what is the matter?" exclaimed Mary Clarke as he entered the house. "You are as white as a sheet!"

"I suppose you have got the sick headache by reading all night again," said Flora. "I should think you have tried that often enough already."

It was one of the worst features of Flora's "moods" that she seemed determined to hurt in some way every person within her reach, and make everybody as unhappy as herself. Eben answered her briefly:

"I have not the sick headache, and I did not read a word last night after I went up stairs. I have lost my place at the mill."

"Lost your place!" exclaimed both the girls, and Mary asked, "How did that happen?"

"By my own fault, I suppose," said Eben. "I forgot some letters, and made a great deal of trouble; in short, I did not mind my business, and so I have lost it."

"What a perfect shame!" said Flora, glad, as it seemed, of a legitimate object to expend her ill-humour upon. "Just as though anybody could not make such a mistake! But that is just like Mr. Antis, and all that set, for that matter. You thought so much of him—nobody like Mr. Antis—and now, because he has got all he wants of you, or has got somebody he wants to put into the place, he turns you off without a moment's warning. I dare say Jeduthun Cooke is at the bottom of it. It would be quite in the line of his tremendous piety."

"If you will listen a moment, Flora, you will see that you are making bricks without straw," said Eben. "It was Mr. Francis that turned me off. Mr. Antis had nothing to do with the matter."

"Oh no, of course not."

"On the contrary, he took my part all he could. Mr. Antis has been a kind friend to me—" Eben's voice failed, and he went quickly out of the room.

"Well, Flora," said Mary Clarke, "I have heard of Job's comforters, but I never saw one before. I should think you would be ashamed of yourself, treating your brother so!"

"What have I done now?"

"When you see he feels so unhappy, I should think you might try to comfort him. Instead of that, you seem anxious to make him feel just as badly as you can, by abusing Mr. Antis and Jeduthun—friends that you know he thinks everything of. I wouldn't have believed it of you."

And Mary in turn departed, leaving Flora alone. She was a very gentle, amiable girl, and Flora had never heard such an outburst from her before. It had the effect of bringing her in some degree to her senses, for she both loved and respected Mary, and she was sensitive to the good opinion of those whom she respected. It was with a much-softened tone and manner that she said as she called Eben and Mary to dinner:

"I have made some tea, for once. I am sure Eben's head aches, though he won't own it, and no wonder. I should like to give that old Mr. Francis a piece of my mind."

"I don't suppose that would do any good," said Eben, trying to smile. "But you must not be too hard on him, Flora. He is a very exact business-man, and the prospect of such a loss is naturally very vexatious."

"How much?" asked Mary.

"A hundred or two dollars, Mr. Antis says. However, it is not certainly lost yet."

The girls looked at each other in dismay. "A hundred or two dollars" looked a much more formidable sum to them than to Mr. Antis.

"The thing that makes me feel the worst," continued Eben, "is, that Mr. Antis took me into the place against Mr. Francis's will and judgment. Mr. Francis wanted him to have a regular clerk, but Mr. Antis thought I was trusty, and he wanted me to have the place and the wages. He said I could do the work as well as if I were older, and so I could have done if only I had had my wits about me. And now Mr. Antis has to bear the blame of all just because he trusted me."

Eben's head went down on the table-cloth. Flora began to experience the sore pain at her heart which was always left behind by her "tantrums," as Jeduthun would have called them. It did not make her any more amiable towards Mr. Francis.

"The old prig! The hateful old miser!" she exclaimed. "Just as though he had never made a mistake himself! Do try to drink your tea and eat some dinner, Eben. I am sure you need it."

Eben drank the tea, but the dinner was beyond his power.

"I can't eat, thank you, Flora, but I will have some more tea, and then go back and let Jeduthun get his dinner, and put everything in order, so Mr. Antis need not get any more scolding on my account."

"I wouldn't put my foot inside the mill if I were you," said Flora. "I would let Mr. Francis put things in order himself, since he is so very particular."

"Now, I should feel as Eben does—as if I wanted to leave everything in the most perfect state," said Mary. "I should have a pride in not leaving the least thing out of the way."

"Well, I don't know but I should too," agreed Flora; "yes, I think I should. Does ma know anything about it?"

"No, unless she has heard it from Mr. Antis. She went up there to help Mrs. Antis about her dinner, because Mary has burnt her hand."

"I wish I had the seasoning of his dinner,' said Flora, venomously, and with this amiable sentiment the remainder of her ill-humour evaporated, and she set herself about preparing Eben's favourite cake for supper.

"Well, Jeduthun, I've come back once more," said Eben as he entered the mill. "You may as well go to your dinner."

"Once more," echoed Jeduthun. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I have got my walking-paper, as Tom Wilbur says. Mr. Francis has turned me out of the mill."

"No!" exclaimed Jeduthun, starting up from the heap of bags where he had been reposing. "I guess you're mistaken, Eben. What did he say?"

Eben repeated Mr. Francis's words as well as he could remember them.

"I rather guess you're borrowing trouble," said Jeduthun. "I don't think the old gentleman meant to turn you off, only to show off his own wit. You see, he thinks he's awful sharp and sarcastic—which is a dreadful good receipt for any man that wants to make a fool of himself—and he was kind of riled this morning. Anyhow, don't despair yet—not till you know for certain. I guess I'll go to dinner, as you say, and when I come back I'll find out all about it. The old gentleman will feel better when he has had a real good dinner—kind of oils his works, don't you see?—and I guess we'll make it all right yet."

"You are real clever, not to say 'I told you so,'" said Eben.

"Well, that ain't my kind," returned Jeduthun. "It don't make a man feel much better when he has just broken a leg to stick a pin into him. But don't you give up yet."

Mr. Francis did not seem in any hurry to get back to the mill, and when he did come it was evident, as Jeduthun had predicted, that he was in a better humour. He was complimenting Mr. Antis on having such an excellent wife.

"A woman who can get up such a dinner as that, Mr. Antis, is worth a thousand strong-minded females who can't cook a decent meal."

"My wife is a very good cook," replied Mr. Antis, "but I suspect the credit of the dinner belongs mostly to a kind neighbour who slipped in to assist her—Mrs. Fairchild, poor Eben's mother."

"That's the widow of Fairchild, who signed for Furness and lost his property, and afterwards died?"

"The same, sir. They live here in the village."

"And how are they off? I heard that poor Fairchild behaved very honourably. Did he lose everything?"

"Pretty much everything. The daughter has a sewing machine, and the mother has gone out nursing, and with that and Eben's wages they live comfortably, though I fancy they pinch pretty closely sometimes."

"Indeed! I am sorry to hear it. I shall be glad if you will send them a bag of fine flour, with my compliments, Mr. Antis—or I will speak to the boy myself. Jeduthun, where is young Fairchild?"

"I guess he is up in the loft, sir," replied Jeduthun. "He feels dreadful badly about losing his place, but he says he means to leave everything in first-rate order, so he's putting the loft to rights, to begin with."

"Losing his place! What do you mean?" asked Mr. Francis. "Who has dismissed him?"

"He thought you had."

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Francis. "Nothing of the kind. Send him here directly."

"The old gentleman wants to speak to you," said Jeduthun, coming into the loft. "Now, keep up a good heart, and let him have it all his own way. I knew he'd feel better after dinner. Law bless you, he thinks he's a great man, but I can read him just like a book. There! Don't keep him waiting, whatever you do."

Eben hastened down stairs, and entered the office with a beating heart.

"Come here, Fairchild," said Mr. Francis. "So you thought I meant to dismiss you, did you?"

"Yes, sir, I thought so."

"Not at all, not at all, my boy. You should not be so hasty. What made you take me up in that way?"

"I thought you told me to go, sir, and you thought it was so foolish in Mr. Antis to hire me—"

"So I did think so," said Mr. Francis, "but it don't always follow that because a man has done a foolish thing, that the next thing is to undo it. Your father, for instance, did a foolish thing in endorsing for Furness, but it was better for him to pay his obligations, like the honourable man he was, even though he lost all he had, than to sneak out of paying his just debts, as Furness himself did. Don't you think so?"

"Yes, indeed, sir," said Eben, heartily. "I always thought so."

"Then you thought right," returned Mr. Francis, in a still more friendly tone. "So you see, I think it wasn't very wise in Mr. Antis to put so much responsibility on such a young boy, but it doesn't follow that he would be right to turn you off the first time you did anything wrong."

"Then I am to keep on with my work, sir?" asked Eben, hardly able to believe his ears.

"Of course. Keep on and do the best you can, and if you convince me that Mr. Antis was right and I was mistaken, why, so much the better, that's all. I dare say I was cross this morning. I got up very early and had a poor breakfast, which disturbed my digestion, and I have had a good deal to worry me. Now go about your business, and when you go home carry a sack of fine flour to your mother, with my compliments. Do you hear?"

Eben expressed his thanks he hardly knew how, and went about his work with a grateful and thankful heart, longing for the time when he could run home and relieve Flora by the news.

"Mr. Antis, how far is it from here to Lyons? Could you drive me over there in two hours?"

"Oh yes, sir, easily," replied Mr. Antis. "The mare will do the distance in less time."

"I believe I will go there, see Mr. Jones to-night, and run over to Millby to-morrow," said Mr. Francis. "I suppose the roads are good. Can you send some one over to the Springs with a telegram? Here's young Fairchild; let him go."

"You can ride the old gray, you know, Eben," said Mr. Antis.

He interpreted this commission as a full and free pardon to the boy, and was pleased accordingly, for he was very fond of Eben.

"Well, be off and get ready," said Mr. Francis. "How soon can you set out?"

"Just as quick as I can saddle the horse, sir, only I should like to stop at home and get my coat," replied Eben, rejoicing in the chance to tell the good news a little sooner. "I won't be ten minutes."

Eben's cheerful shout brought Flora out to the gate.

"It's all right, Flossy. I can't stop now to tell you, but it is all right, and I keep my place. I must get over to the Springs with this message, but I'll be home as soon as I can. I'm glad mother didn't know anything about it."

It was a joyful party that assembled to eat Flora's cake and what remained of the nice pudding, which Mrs. Antis had insisted on Mrs. Fairchild's taking home with her. At first Flora was disposed to blame Eben for being so readily "coaxed round," as she said, but she was led to see that it would have been neither right nor wise for him to quarrel with his bread and butter, and displease Mr. Francis.

"Well, I am glad he had the sense to come round at last," said she.

"I guess he had been put out about something," remarked Mrs. Fairchild. "He's quite an old gentleman now, Mr. Francis is. I remember him a young man studying law in Ithaca, when I was a little girl going to school, and his father lived in the Baldwin place, next my grandfather's. He's always been called an odd-tempered man, and was as long ago as that, but he has always had the name of being honourable and generous. I dare say he thought he'd been too hasty."

"It was all your pudding and chicken pie, ma," said Eben, laughing. "Jeduthun said he'd feel better when he had his works greased."

"Well, that shows what I've often said—that it never does any harm to be neighbourly," replied Mrs. Fairchild. "However, all's well that ends well, and I guess maybe we've all got a lesson that will be worth what it cost."

CHAPTER X.

EBEN GETS AN ADVANCE.

"SEEMS to me I don't see you with your big books any more," said Mary Clarke to Eben as they walked home from prayer meeting one night. Neither Flora nor Mrs. Fairchild had cared to go, and Mary and Eben were walking slowly and enjoying the beauty of the evening.

"I have never looked at them since that night," replied Eben. "A burnt child dreads the fire, you know."

"But because the child has burnt himself once, he need not go cold all the rest of his life," said Mary, smiling.

"That's true, but to tell you the truth I don't think I shall ever make much of it," said Eben, in rather a desponding tone. "Even before I left off studying I found I forgot, and mixed things up so that I got discouraged and out of patience with the books, and myself, and everybody."

"That was because you worked too fiercely," said Mary. "You didn't allow yourself a minute's rest or recreation. I did just so when I first came here to go to school."

"I know it," remarked Eben. "You thought you couldn't spare an evening for prayer meeting any way in the world."

"Exactly so, and I soon found out what a mistake I was making. I got so tired and so confused I couldn't remember anything straight, and I began to think I was getting softening of the brain. I told Dr. Henry about it, and he said my brain must have been pretty soft to begin with not to see that it was nothing but overwork that ailed me. Now I rest two evenings in the week—one at prayer meeting and the other at sewing society—and I find I gain by it."

"Well," said Eben, as Mary paused, "and what then?"

"Why, if I were you, I wouldn't give up the anatomy altogether, but I would take it moderately. Set yourself a certain amount—say as much as you can do in an hour—and go over it again and again till it is fixed in your mind, and then put it away. I believe you would learn more in that way than you did in driving away as hard as you did the other time."

"Maybe so. I'll think about it. I can tell you, however, Mary, that it was not so much my studying that got me into the scrape as some other things. I just lived in a world of my own about those days. I was thinking all the time I was busy in the mill of the time when I should be a great doctor, and have people coming to me from all over the world; and in short," said Eben, candidly, "if there was a bigger fool in Lake County than I was in those days, I should like to see him, that's all. I got off a great deal better than I deserved."

"Didn't Dr. Porter say something about your studying French?" asked Mary, after a little silence.

"Yes; he advised me to leave off my Latin and go to work at French. He said that the modern languages would be more useful to me if I ever studied medicine."

"I was thinking," said Mary, "that if we studied French, Flora might join us, and it would be so good for her to have something to think of besides her everlasting sewing machine, and tucks, and ruffles."

"I didn't think of that, I am ashamed to say," replied Eben. "Flora likes languages too, and she is a very good Latin scholar, considering. I believe we will do that thing, Mary, and we will set about it directly."

Flora entered into the plan with enthusiasm, and henceforth an hour of every evening was spent over the French grammar and exercises. Mrs. Fairchild was much pleased with the arrangement.

"It's so much nicer for you to be doing something that you can all do together," was her comment. "My grandfather used to say that the day was the time for separate work and the evening for sociability. He was a very sensible man, was Grandfather Fisher. I think Eben takes after him more than any of the other children. Sister Fletcher's children ain't a bit like the family. They're all Fletcher."

Eben smiled, as he often did, to see how entirely his mother had forgotten the fact of his being an adopted child.

"Did you ever study French, Aunty Fairchild?" asked Mary.

"Oh yes; when I went to school in Ithaca, we had a native French master, the nicest and funniest old man that ever was, who used to give us sugar-plums when we learned our lessons well. I don't suppose I could remember a word, though. Yes, I learned French and music. I could play quite a good deal before I was married, and Mr. Fairchild always said he meant Flora should have a piano and learn to play. Dear me! How different things do turn out from what we expect! But, after all, we might be a good deal worse off. Your dear father was so unhappy about leaving us. I often wish that he could look at us and know how nicely we get on, after all."

"Perhaps he does," said Eben.

The French went on prosperously, and Eben found a new and most unexpected help in Jeduthun Cooke. One most uncompromisingly rainy day, when there was not likely to be much doing at the mill, Eben ventured to carry his French grammar up with his dinner-basket to amuse himself with in his hour of intermission at noon. He fancied himself alone in the counting-room, and was busily going over with, "How many figs has the grocer?" when the question was unexpectedly answered in good French by a voice behind him. He turned round in a hurry, and saw Jeduthun standing in the door.

"Why, Jeduthun, was that you?"

"I reckon," answered Jeduthun, returning to the vernacular, and sitting down by Eben, he took his book out of his hands.

"So you're learning French?" said he, turning over the leaves. "What sets you about that?"

Eben explained that he was doing so on Dr. Porter's recommendation.

"Ay, the old doctor knows French, he does. I had a nice talk with him one day when I met him over at the Springs. Learned it in Paris, he did, when he was a student. Maybe that's what you'll do some time. I shouldn't wonder a bit. I should be awful proud to get a French letter from you from Paris, Eben."

"I will be sure to write you one if ever I go there," said Eben. "If I ever turn out anything, it will be as much your doing as anybody's. But you haven't told me yet how it was you learned French."

"Oh! Well, it's a kind of native language of mine," said Jeduthun. "I was brought up in New Orleans till I was quite a boy, and then my young master married a Virginia lady, and went there to live. I couldn't speak much but French when I was twelve years old. I forgot pretty much all about it, till once, when I was down South, they had two Creole boys in the hospital. Creoles, you know, are people born in this country of French or Spanish parents. The father of these boys had come from Lyons and set up in New Orleans, and so they got into the army, and there they were both sick with fever. Well, nobody could speak French, so they got me in to take care of them, and with a little practice I found I could talk the lingo as well as ever. After that I kind of thought that I would like to keep it up, so I bought a French Bible and some other books, and studied it a little."

"How glad I am!" said Eben. "Now you can help us, and I do want to learn to speak so much!"

"Well, if you want to learn to speak, you must speak, that's all," said Jeduthun. "Practice makes perfect, you know. Now, I'm going to talk to you in French, and you must answer me. That's the only way anybody learns to any purpose. See how quickly the Germans learn English—just because they are obliged to."

After this the French went on swimmingly. Jeduthun was flint and adamant in the matter of speaking French, and Eben found it necessary, in self-defence, to be fluent and ready. Jeduthun advised the young people not to spend all their time on the grammar, but to begin translating directly.

"Same as if you wanted to learn to be a miller, why, you must go to milling," said he. "A man might spend half his life in reading books about milling and about the different kinds of flour and feed, and yet be as helpless as a baby the first time you put him in a grist mill. That's the way a great many folks do things. They never accomplish anything that is any good to them, because they spend all their time learning how and getting ready."

"There's a great deal in that," remarked Mrs. Fairchild, at whose house this conversation took place. "I've noticed folks never learn to keep house till they have it to do themselves."

"Exactly so, ma'am," said Jeduthun, bowing to Mrs. Fairchild. "One of those poor Creoles I was telling you about put me up to a notch about that. He said if I wanted to learn French well, it was a good way to translate something from French into English, and then back again into French, as well as I could, and then compare my French with that in the book; so I used to work at it with him and his brother, teaching them English while they taught me French. Poor boys! It kind of amused them, and kept them from being homesick, you see."

"Poor things!" said Mrs. Fairchild. "What became of them?"

"Oh, they both died—one of fever, and the other, I verily believe, because he wouldn't live without his brother. They were twins, you see, and had always been together. They dictated a letter to their grandfather in France—in Lyons the old gentleman lived—and after they died I added some to it, and sent it away. By and by I got a real good letter from the poor old man. I'll show it to you some day."

"Just think how nice it was that you could speak French!" said Mrs. Fairchild. "I always say to the children, 'Learn all you can of all sorts of good things. Learning is light luggage, and you never know when you may have occasion to use it.'"

"That is certainly so," said Flora. "I little thought, when I was amusing myself with Aunt Lizzy's sewing machine, learning to do all sorts of nice things on it, how convenient the knowledge would come some day."

The days were now growing rapidly shorter, and the hills and woods about Boonville were in all their autumn glory. Eben had found or made time to take up all Mrs. Antis's tender bulbs and put her garden in order for winter, and she in return had given him a fine assortment of geraniums and other plants for his mother's south and east windows. There was a great deal of business going on at the mill, and Eben came home every night so tired that he fell asleep over his French books, and laughingly declared that he was no more fit for study than one of the team horses. He and Jeduthun practiced speaking French at every opportunity, till at last they unwittingly gave serious offence to old Mr. Wilbur, who sent to Mr. Antis and complained that Eben and Jeduthun were impudent to him.

"I'm sure I didn't mean any impudence," said Eben, when called to account. "What did I say, Mr. Wilbur, that you thought was impudent?"

"I didn't know what you said, that was the thing of it," returned Mr. Wilbur. "You went on talking your French all the time I was hitching my horses and unloading my bags, and I know you were talking about me."

"Oh no," replied Eben, suppressing a smile. "We were not saying a word about you, Mr. Wilbur. Jeduthun understands French, and I speak with him for practice—that's all, I assure you."

"I don't think either Eben or Jeduthun meant any offence," said Mr. Antis.

"Oh, well, if you like to stand such nonsense, I'm sure I don't care," returned Mr. Wilbur. "I'd just like to see any boy that worked for me pretending to talk French, that's all. That black fellow's a sight too big for his place, anyhow."

After this Jeduthun and Eben were more careful.

One day, as Eben passed the office door, Mr. Antis called him in. "I want to speak to you, Eben," said he. "I have just received a letter from Mr. Francis which concerns you. Sit down."

"I wonder what kink the old gentleman has got in his head now," thought Eben, but he said nothing, and sat down as desired.

"Mr. Francis has taken a fancy that we ought to have a watchman in the mill," continued Mr. Antis, unfolding the letter he held in his hand, "or at least somebody to sleep in the building. Here is what he says: 'I do not think it safe to leave the mill alone, now that there are so many robberies all over the country. I think we should have a watchman, or at least some one to sleep in the building. Perhaps young Fairchild would be willing to do the latter. There is a very decent bed-room on the floor above the office, if I remember rightly, and if he chooses he can fit it up from that furniture of mine which has been so long stored in the loft. He is a stout young fellow, and seems to be upright and trustworthy. You may suggest it to him, and if he agrees, you may as well give him what you used to give Barnard—forty dollars a month.'"

"That is quite an increase of wages, you see," said Mr. Antis, laying down the letter. "Really, I don't think there is much, if any, danger from robbers, and you might fix up a very nice, pretty little room. Why, Eben, you look very much pleased."

"I am," said Eben—"not so much about the money, though ten dollars more a month will help us a great deal through the winter, but I am so pleased to think—"

"That the old gentleman trusts you?" asked Mr. Antis, smiling, as Eben hesitated.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, he is sure to do that," said Jeduthun, who had "assisted," as the French say, at the conference. "Once the old gentleman takes anybody up, he does it for good and all. I've no doubt he thinks by this time that he invented you in the first place. He has his ways, Mr. Francis has, but he's as good as gold and as true as steel."

"That he is, and I am glad he has taken a liking to Eben. Well, my boy, what do you say?"

"I should like to talk to mother about it before I decide, Mr. Antis," replied Eben. "I don't know but she will be afraid to stay alone."

"There's an easy way of fixing that," said Jeduthun. "Mr. Barton wants a place to board this winter—you know his wife is dead, and he's going to send his little children home to their grandmother in Hobartown, and break up housekeeping. He is a steady, clever, middle-aged man, and a very pleasant, quiet man to live with, else he never could have stood it with that wife of his'n, and I know he'd jump at the chance of going to Mrs. Fairchild's to board. Everybody knows there isn't such a cook anywhere round as Mrs. Fairchild."

"Well, you can talk to your mother and settle the matter, only decide as soon as you can, that I may write to Mr. Francis," said Mr. Antis. "He is always in a hurry to get everything settled."

Mrs. Fairchild demurred a little at first, and thought she could not have Eben run such a risk. Eben, however, made light of the danger, and assured her that he should be as safe as if he were at home in his own room.

"It will save me a deal of work in winter," said he, "because I shall be on hand to make the fires and ring the bell in the morning. I can do all that before I come home to breakfast; of course I shall spend my evenings at home the same as ever. Then, if Mr. Barton comes to board here, he will take just as good care of you as I could do."

"That is true, and he's willing to pay a good price for his board, and I don't suppose he will be much trouble about the house."

"He will never be here except at meal-times and at night," said Eben. "He stays at the mill all the evening."

"It isn't only Eben's wages that I am thinking of, but the trust that Mr. Francis puts in him," remarked Flora. "It isn't often that a young man of Eben's age gets put into such a place."

"That's true, and I think all the more of it, coming from Mr. Francis. He is so very strict in his notions."

At last, after a great deal more talking, the matter was settled. Mr. Francis was evidently pleased, wrote Eben a gracious letter, and empowered him to take anything he needed from the furniture stored in the loft for the embellishment of his apartment, adding that he believed there were some rolls of old-fashioned wall-paper in a certain drawer which Eben might use to cover his walls.

All young folks and most old folks love to fit up a room, and to young folks at least the pleasure is wonderfully heightened by the necessity of shifts and expedients. Great was the delight felt by our three young friends in hunting up and pasting on the pretty though cheap and old-fashioned paper, in pulling out and putting in nice order the furniture necessary to Eben's room, and making wonderful discoveries, such as a pair of old plated candlesticks, some water-coloured pictures and engravings in tarnished gilt frames, and, best of all, a trunk full of books, principally travels and biographies, and a set of mahogany hanging shelves. Eben hesitated, however, about appropriating these till he consulted Mr. Antis.

"I don't think it will do any harm," said Mr. Antis. "However, if you think there is any doubt about the matter, you had better write to the old gentleman yourself."

Eben wrote, and received the following curt answer:

"DEAR FAIRCHILD: Yours of the 16th received and noted.
Of course! Anything you can find. Yours truly,"
"J. B. FRANCIS."

"P. S. It was very proper for you to ask, however."

When Eben's room was finally finished, it would have been hard to find a prettier or snugger little place, with its old-fashioned but roomy bureau, on the top of which stood the two plated candlesticks, which Mrs. Fairchild had cleaned up to look nearly as good as new, his well-filled book-shelves hanging over the cherry desk his father had given him long before, the walls hung with old engravings and all the various knickknacks which the girls had routed out of the garret. Eben loved what was pretty and elegant as well as any young lady, and as he looked around he thought he had never seen a room so much to his taste. He had a kind of house-warming, with Mr. Antis's permission, when he took possession of his new abode, and had his mother and the girls to spend the evening with him.

"Yes, it is all very nice," said his mother. "I'm only afraid it is too nice, and that Eben will be tempted to spend his evenings here."

"No danger," said Eben; "I am not so fond of my own company as all that."

CHAPTER XI.

MR. ANTIS FORGETS THE BELL-ROPE.

WHEN Eben came back from seeing home his mother and the girls, and shut himself into his room, with no company but his lamp and his little stove, he did not find the solitude so pleasant. He could not but own that the voice of the water as it rushed and moaned and gurgled under the mill, and the sound of the wind around the corners of the large building, were rather airy and lonesome. The room itself was as bright and cheerful as possible, but he did not quite like to think that it was the only inhabited corner in the great rambling old building, where ever so many people might hide and never be found out.

"But this will never do!" said Eben, rousing himself from the mood that was stealing over him. "I shall be seeing robbers next. I am just as well off here as if I were at home, and I am not going to be afraid, now that I have undertaken the job. So come down here, old Carpenter, and let's have a grind at you before bed-time, if you have no objection."

Old Carpenter made no objection, and by the time Eben had mastered the subject of insect respiration his fancies had vanished, and his dreams that night were haunted by nothing worse than the persuasion that he was obliged to breathe through holes in his sides, like a caterpillar, and found himself sadly embarrassed by his clothes. After a few nights, he grew accustomed to his solitude, and liked it, and he never had a thought of being afraid.

"So, Fairchild, you have fitted up a very snug place here?" said Mr. Francis, surveying Eben's room with approbation on the occasion of his first visit. "The old books look very well. I had no notion there were so many. Where is the first volume of that set of Hume?"

"I took it home to read aloud to my mother and the girls," replied Eben. "I will be very careful of it."

"Very good, very good!" said the old gentleman. "So you spend your evenings at home? Very right! Always a very good sign to see a young man attentive to his mother and sisters. But I thought you had only one sister?"

"Mary Clarke boards at our house this winter," said Eben, blushing a little, he hardly knew why.

"Oh ho!" said the old gentleman, smiling. "So she's 'the girls,' is she? And I suppose she's a very nice girl—all the same as your sister, eh? Very good! I am pleased with you, Fairchild. You seem to be doing well in every respect, and I am much pleased with you. I have suggested to Mr. Antis that the rope from the mill bell be carried into this room, so that you can reach it in a moment if anything happens. Yes, yes, I am pleased with you, and especially that you are so dutiful to your mother. Very nice thing to have girls at home to read to, eh?"

And the old gentleman departed chuckling, leaving Eben not quite certain whether he was much pleased or vexed.

Day after day passed by, and still the bell-rope was not altered. It could not be done without making some changes which involved a half day of carpenter's work, and the one Boonville carpenter was a man of consequence, and not to be easily obtained. Jeduthun more than once asked Mr. Antis to let him do the work, declaring that if it were not fixed before the old gentleman came again he would make them all see sights, but Mr. Antis said Jeduthun had enough to do now, and the carpenter had promised to come the first of next week to set glass and do a good many odd jobs, and there was no use in doing his work for him. But a good many things were destined to happen before the first of next week came round.

Eben had had a very fatiguing day, and had gone to bed early, too tired even for the hour's "grind" with Carpenter which he usually permitted himself after returning to his hermitage, as the girls called his room at the mill. It seemed to him that he had only just fallen asleep when he was awakened by some sudden noise below, as he thought at the mill door. He sat up in bed and listened. There was certainly something going on below. He could hear steps, and even whispers, and then some one in the office.

"Oh, that bell-rope!" was his first thought as he sprang to his feet, and striking a light, proceeded to hurry on his clothes. "If it was here at the head of my bed, as it ought to have been, I could have given the alarm by this time, and now, there it hangs by the office door, as much out of my reach as though it were in China. What will the old gentleman say? But I will have a try for it, or at least for the front window, where I can make somebody hear. There would be no use in shouting from this one. If it were summer, I could drop out into the water and take my chance, but the water is too cold now to run the risk. Lord, help me to do what is right!"

All these thoughts passed through Eben's mind in much less time than it has taken to write them down. He opened the door of his room, and was disagreeably met by a hand on his throat which thrust him into a chair, while the owner of the hand, a stout, rough-looking man in a mask, stood over him.

"Now, look here, young man!" said he. "You just keep quiet and answer questions, and I won't hurt you. I know Mr. Antis got a thousand dollars at the bank yesterday. Where is it? Here in the safe or at his house?"

"Here, I suppose," said Eben. He was not certain about the matter, but judged it best to keep on the safe side, and spare Mrs. Antis, who was very delicate, the alarm of a visit from burglars.

"Have you got the keys of the safe?" was the next question. Eben would not answer at first, but in reply to repeated threats, he said, "I'll get them for you, if you'll let me get up."

"No, you don't!" said the robber. "I know a trick worth two of that. Where are they?"

"All my keys are in that little upper drawer," was the answer. "The key to that is in my pocket."

Eben could not see, but he could hear, the drawer opened and the keys taken out. The robbers then proceeded to tie his hands and feet, and to put a gag in his mouth. They then left him and went down stairs.

Eben might have been excused for being a good deal scared, for his position was far from being agreeable. He was entirely in the power of a set of ruffians, who might kill him on the spot, or, worse still, set the mill on fire and go off, leaving him helpless to perish in the flames. A good deal to his own surprise, however, he found himself perfectly cool and collected, and able to consider clearly all the details of his situation and all the chances of escape. In giving up the keys, he had not thought it necessary to say that they belonged to an old safe in the loft filled with account books, and it was even with a feeling of amusement that he heard the robbers below in the office working at the lock.

"They must be rather green hands," he thought, "or they would see in a minute that the keys don't fit. There! They have got tired of it. I wonder what next?"

One of the robbers now came up stairs and said to Eben:

"Do you understand the lock?"

Eben nodded.

"Then come down and show us the trick of it. We can't get it open."

"Better knock him in the head and blow the lock open!" growled the other man.

"Yes, and make no end of noise and take no end of time," said the first. "No, no, the shortest way is to make the boy do it. Now, I am going to untie you, young man, and take you down stairs, and, remember, my revolver is close behind you."

A thrill of joy passed through Eben's heart at these words. He thought he saw a chance for giving the alarm, if not for escaping, and he determined to run any risk in order to do so. The bell-rope hung in a dark corner just outside the office door, and he knew that the very first clang of the bell would bring Jeduthun to his aid. He uttered a short, fervent prayer for help, and then professed his willingness to go down stairs.

"I don't want to unlock the safe myself," said he, "but I can show you how to do it. There is a trick to the lock."

"Come along, then," said the least brutal of the men; "nobody wants to hurt you, if you'll be accommodating."

Never had the mill stairs seemed so long to Eben as on this occasion, but they reached the office at last, where another person was standing, engaged in transferring a box of Mr. Antis's choice cigars, a present from Mr. Francis, to his own pocket. The man was masked, but something about him seemed familiar, and Eben started to hear him say, half aloud, "Well, I wouldn't have believed Eben would give up so easy."

"Hold your tongue, you fool!" growled Eben's first acquaintance. "Now, young man, show us the trick of the lock, or unlock it yourself."

"I don't want to do that, but I can show you how it goes," said Eben, whose object was to keep near the door. "You must hold the plate back with one hand while you turn the key with the other. No, no! Push the plate back and up. The key always turns very hard."

The first robber did as directed. Insensibly, in his interest in watching the process of unlocking the safe, Eben's guard loosed his hold. In an instant Eben's hand grasped the bell-rope, which hung close by him, and he gave it three or four quick jerks, making the loud bell send forth an irregular peal, which he knew would arouse Jeduthun and Mr. Antis at once. Then, by a violent wrench freeing himself from his detainer, he darted round the corner, followed by a shot from a revolver. His object was to reach the lever by which the water was let on the wheel. He knew that the moment Mr. Antis opened his door, he would hear the sound of the mill and know that something was wrong.

He succeeded in finding the lever in the darkness, and made one desperate exertion of his fast-failing strength. He knew that he was wounded and bleeding terribly, but he hung on with desperate energy till he heard the dash of the water and the clank and hum of the machinery. Then a deadly faintness overcame him, and he dropped upon a heap of oats close by. He heard heavy feet, a shout from Jeduthun's trumpet voice, then more shots, and his own name called. He tried to answer, but his voice failed him, and he knew no more.

As Eben had anticipated, Jeduthun was awakened by the first sound of the bell, and before the echo had died away he had struggled into his clothes as only a soldier can, snatched his revolver, and was flying towards the mill. Mr. Antis was there as quickly as himself, only to be knocked down by a man issuing from the door. Crack! went Jeduthun's pistol, followed by a plunge into the water, and when Mr. Antis rose, he found Jeduthun holding down a prostrate figure, from which proceeded a voice begging for mercy.

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Antis, stunned and half bewildered by the blow he had received, which was a heavy one.

"Lots of things," returned Jeduthun. "Are you hurt, boss?"

"No, I guess not," said Mr. Antis, only half comprehending the situation.

"Then take hold of this fellow and help me tie him. If you don't lie still, you rascal, I'll put a bullet through you!" said Jeduthun, whose wild blood was up with the excitement.

"Oh, don't! Oh, Mr. Antis, don't let him kill me!"

"Don't I know that voice?" exclaimed Mr. Antis.

"Of course you do," said Jeduthun, "but never mind now. I want to find out what they've done with Eben. I'm afraid they've made way with the boy."

"He got away," said Tom Wilbur, for it was no other. "Oh, Mr. Antis, let me go, and I'll never come near here again!"

"But where is the man that knocked me down?" asked Mr. Antis, still a little confused.

"He ain't far off, I guess!" replied Jeduthun, grimly. "I reckon he's got all he wants, and a little over. Here, Barton, do take hold of this fellow. Boss has got all the sense knocked out of him, I think."

"Not quite, I hope," said Mr. Antis. "I am all right now. Barton, is this you?"

"Yes, sir," said Mr. Barton, who, like Jeduthun, had been aroused by the bell, but who, living farther away, had only just reached the scene of action. "What has happened? Is anybody hurt?"

By this time Jeduthun had produced a light from somewhere. Tom was secured, and the party entered the mill. The office was examined first, and then Mr. Antis went up to Eben's room.

"He is not here," called he from the top of the stairs. "What can have become of him?"

At that moment Jeduthun discovered the trail of blood on the floor. Uttering an exclamation of horror, he followed it up till he found Eben lying on the pile of oats, senseless and apparently dead.

CHAPTER XII.

JEDUTHUN IS GROSSLY CARELESS.

WHEN Eben at last recovered his consciousness, he was lying on his own bed in the mill, with his mother and Jeduthun attending him. He felt very weak and confused, and almost thought he must be dreaming, till he heard Jeduthun say, emphatically, "Praise the Lord! He's coming to himself." Then he roused himself a little more, and drank the contents of the glass which his mother held to his lips.

"What has happened?" said he, faintly. "Oh, I remember now. Did they get the money?"

"No!" replied Jeduthun. "Everything is safe but yourself. Ah! Take care! Don't move!" For Eben had uttered a sharp cry of pain.

"Oh, my knee!" he exclaimed.

"There! Keep still as you can," said Jeduthun. "We've stopped the blood, and Barton has gone over to the Springs for the doctor, but you mustn't move till he comes. If the blood starts again, you are done for."

Eben lay still a few minutes. Then he asked, "What time is it?"

"Just morning. It's getting gray in the east this minute."

"If I could only have got hold of the rope before," said Eben, in a dreaming tone. "I heard them when they first got in, and I was just making a reach for the rope when they stopped me. There were three of them. Did they get away?"

"All but one," replied Jeduthun.

"He mustn't talk any more," said Mrs. Fairchild. "His pulse is nothing now. Keep still, my son, like a good boy!"

"I will!" said Eben. "Only, Jeduthun, if I should die, will you please return Dr. Porter's books, and tell Mr. Francis I did the best I could? He'll scold because the bell-rope wasn't altered, but that wasn't my fault. I read in the spelling book that we shouldn't put off till to-day what could be done to-morrow; or was it the other way?"

"The other way, I guess, but it don't matter," said Jeduthun. "You keep still, and I'll tell the old gentleman all about it. He's kind of wandering in his mind, ma'am," added Jeduthun, in a whisper, in answer to Mrs. Fairchild's look of alarm. "That's nothing strange. Likely enough, he'll be as crazy as a loon before he gets through. I wish the doctor would come."

It was a long hour, with the best speed he could make, before Mr. Barton got back with the doctor. The young surgeon dressed the wound, but looked very grave over it. It was a bad business, and he was afraid the leg would have to be taken off.

"Not if I know it—at least, not till we have had better advice than his'n," said Jeduthun, after the doctor had gone. "Don't you feel too bad, Miss Flora. I've seen more gunshot wounds than ever he did. We'll get Dr. Rose from the Cure; he has been in the army and knows a thing or two, and boss has telegraphed to the old gentleman to bring Dr. Porter over with him. I'd cut a better surgeon out of a pumpkin shell than this fellow, with all his airs. I don't see what Barton got him for."

"Then you don't think there is any danger of Eben's losing his leg?" said Flora, greatly comforted by Jeduthun's contemptuous disparagement of the doctor.

"Well, I wouldn't say there is no danger," was Jeduthun's prudent reply. "It is an ugly business—a wound in the knee—but we shall see when Dr. Rose comes."

"Dr. Green won't like it if we call in any one else," said Flora.

"Then he may give it up," replied Jeduthun, conclusively. "I guess he hain't got a patent-right to all the legs in Lake county! If Green was a real surgeon, he wouldn't be in such a hurry to cut off folks's legs."

Mr. Antis had sent a telegraphic message to Mr. Francis with the first dawn of light, and ten o'clock brought with it the old gentleman, together with Dr. Porter and Dr. Rose from the Cure. Both the young and the old surgeon laughed at the idea of amputation.

"It is a bad wound, and will be a long time in getting well, and I am afraid it is more than likely the knee will be stiff," said Dr. Porter; "but as for the boy's losing his leg, you may put that entirely out of your head, Mrs. Fairchild. I have not the least idea that it will be necessary."

"I'm sure I'm very glad to hear it," said Mrs. Fairchild, wiping her eyes. "Of course we ought not to murmur so long as his life is spared, but it did seem a dreadful thing that my boy should lose his leg. I've thought this morning it might be a judgment on me because I was so fond and proud of him."

"And so you ought to be!" returned the doctor. "That's a heathenish idea, and unworthy of a woman of your good sense. Why do you think the Lord sent you such a son, except that you might be fond and proud of him?"

"I think there is something in that," said Mrs. Fairchild; "but my aunt that partly brought me up used to be always talking about judgments, and about the Lord taking away our idols. I'm sure I never meant to make an idol of Eben; but you see, being all the boy we had, and such a comfort as he always was—But Mr. Fairchild, he thought just as you do. How well I remember," continued Mrs. Fairchild, accepting a pinch from the doctor's snuff-box, "how often I've thought of what Mr. Wilbur said to us when we adopted Eben. 'You'll never have no comfort with him,' says he. 'Adopted children are always a curse. It's flying in the face of Providence,' says he. And Mr. Fairchild, says he, 'Seems to me, neighbour, if Providence puts a destitute orphan child into my hands, and gives me the means to take care of him, it shows pretty plainly that Providence means I should do it,' says he."

"Poor man! He won't have much comfort out of his own son," said Dr. Porter.

"I know it. Ain't it dreadful? And to think, after all Mr. Antis tried to do for him, that he should have acted such a treacherous part! Mr. Antis says Tom came into the bank while he was there and saw him draw the money, so it must have been he that gave information to the robbers. When do you think we can move Eben down home, Dr. Porter?"

"Not for some time yet: it would be a very unsafe operation. I should not allow it even if he were in a good deal less comfortable quarters than he is at present."

"Oh, he's comfortable enough," said Mrs. Fairchild. "The only thing is, it would be so much easier to take care of him. However, everybody is very kind, and Jeduthun would do anything for Eben, so I guess we shall make out pretty well, after all."

Mr. Antis had rather dreaded the meeting with Mr. Francis. His own conscience reproached him sorely about neglecting, or rather putting off, the alteration in the bell-rope, which would have saved all the trouble, and he had not the least idea what Mr. Francis might say or do about the matter. However, as Jeduthun said, there never was any knowing where to have the old gentleman, and if he was just as likely to be in a bad humour as a good one, why the chances were even the other way.

"We won't say any more about the matter, Mr. Antis," said he as Mr. Antis expressed his regret. "You have been invariably faithful to my interests hitherto, and I can overlook such a matter as this, I hope, especially as I have lost nothing, thanks to young Fairchild's bravery."

"That is the worst of it," said Mr. Antis. "I could have made up the loss of the money, but to think that the poor boy must suffer from my neglect."

"It is sad indeed," said Mr. Francis gravely, as Mr. Antis stopped and turned away. "No occasion to hide your feelings, Mr. Antis. They do you credit, sir."

"I am sure it will be a lesson to me all my life," said Mr. Antis, striving to regain his composure.

"We will let it be a lesson to all of us. How is the poor boy?"

"Dr. Green thought the leg would have to be taken off, but Dr. Porter and Dr. Bose say that will not be necessary. He cannot be moved, however, and they say he may have a stiff knee."

"Poor little fellow! It is a wonder he escaped with his life. Let him have every possible comfort, Mr. Antis, and spare no expense. Perhaps, as you say he cannot be moved, you had better fit up another room for his mother. I must see the good woman before I go."

"Perhaps you will look in on Eben, sir?" said Mr. Antis. "He is a little disturbed in mind, and fears you will think he neglected his duty."

"Certainly, certainly. Poor child! It is hard to see how he could do more."

"There! Don't say any more about it, Fairchild," said Mr. Francis, as Eben strove to explain to him why he had not given the alarm sooner. "You did the very best you could—the best anybody could have done. Don't excite yourself about it any more. I am perfectly satisfied with you, Fairchild—more than satisfied: I am very much pleased. You justify all the confidence I have placed in you, and I had a good opinion of you, from the first time I saw you."

"I told you so," whispered Jeduthun to Mr. Antis in the shadow of the door. "I knew the old gentleman would think he had made the boy."

"Never mind, let him think so," whispered Mr. Antis in return.

"They tell me you will have to stay here," continued Mr. Francis. "You must let them make you comfortable, and you also, madam," bowing as he spoke to Mrs. Fairchild. "Call for everything you want. But I see the doctor is longing to throw me out of the window, so I will go. I repeat I am pleased with you, Fairchild. If you were my own son, I could not have wished you to do better than you have done."

"Eben always was a comfort," said Mrs. Fairchild through the tears which had come in response to Mr. Francis's praises of Eben. "Mr. Fairchild said he would be, the very first week we had him, and he always has been."

"I just want to say one word to Mr. Francis, ma, if you will please to go away a minute," said Eben. "Mr. Francis," he continued when they were alone together, "if I should die, will you see to mother and Flora and take care of them?"

"You must not talk of dying, my boy," said Mr. Francis, kindly. "I trust you will be spared many years yet."

"I hope so too," returned Eben, "but yet people do die of gunshot wounds, you know, and it will not happen any more for talking about it. I am not at all afraid to die, but I should feel easier in my mind if I knew that they would be cared for."

"I understand," said Mr. Francis. "Make yourself easy, my son. Your mother shall be my care as much as if she were my own, and your sister also; and I am glad to see that your mind is so collected and settled. God bless you!"

Mr. Francis actually stooped and kissed Eben's forehead, and then hastily retired. He was met outside by Jeduthun.

"I think, sir, we had better raise the gate and let off the water," said he.

"Why so?" asked Mr. Francis.

"Why, you see—step this way, if you please, sir—that man I shot last night jumped right into the pond. I've been round the other side, and there's no sign of his having got out anywhere. He wasn't in a very good state to swim, neither, especially in ice water."

Mr. Francis recoiled in horror. "You don't think you killed him, do you?"

"Looks a good deal like it. If I didn't, the water finished him, I do expect, but I meant to hit him, and I guess I did."

"But a fellow-creature!"

"Well, Mr. Antis is a fellow-creature too, ain't he?" asked Jeduthun.

"To be sure!" replied Mr. Francis, recovering himself a little. "I don't mean to blame you, Jeduthun. You did right, of course, but, then, human life is so sacred."

"Some human lives is sacreder than others, seems to me," argued Jeduthun, "and the boss's is a heap more sacred to ma than a fellow's like that. I suppose I feel different from you, Mr. Francis. That's only natural. I've been in battle, you see. Of course I wouldn't take no man's life without reason, but I can't think so much of what I did last night as you would. But how about the water? It won't be much to let it off, you know."

"Let it off, of course."

"And what's to be done with that other fellow, Tom Wilbur? I feel kind of sorry for him. He's only a boy, and a most uncommon foolish boy at that."

Mr. Francis hesitated and wiped his glasses.

"I feel sorry for him, and that's the truth!" continued Jeduthun. "Here's been his poor old father and mother crying over him like everything. He never had no sense, nor no bringing up, and you know if he goes to state's prison, as he'll have to, that will be the end of him."

"True!" said Mr. Francis. "I am sorry for him as well as you. I suppose these fellows got him into their power, and he thought he could not help himself. However, I don't see but he must stand his trial—unless, indeed, he should escape," added the old gentleman, looking calmly at Jeduthun, "and of course you will take care of that."

"Yes, sir, I'll take care," said Jeduthun, with equal gravity. "I suppose they'll be after him before long."

"Not before the five-thirty train, I should think. You might drive him over to Shortsville, Jeduthun, and I could telegraph the officers to meet you there. It would save a scene here."

The water was let off the pond in the course of the morning, and to everybody's horror, the bodies of both the robbers were found. It seemed as though the unwounded man had tried to help the other, and being caught in the death grasp of the drowning man, had sunk to rise no more. One of them was recognized as the keeper of a low saloon and gambling hole in Hobartown. The other was unknown, and had probably come from a distance.

Somehow or other, during the ride to Shortsville, Tom Wilbur managed to make his escape, and was never caught again. Mr. Francis, on being apprised of the circumstance on Jeduthun's return, remarked that there must have been gross carelessness on his part, and gave him five dollars.

"After all, I am not so very sorry," added Mr. Francis, in a musing tone. "He was but young, and this may be a lesson to him."

"It may be a lesson to him, but he won't learn it," said Jeduthun, accepting the reproof and its accompaniment with due humility. "When a fellow makes 'it isn't pleasant' a reason for not doing anything that ought to be done, he won't never come to much."

CHAPTER XIII.

EBEN GETS A NEW PLACE.

EBEN'S wound proved a very serious matter. The joint inflamed, fever set in, and for a time it really seemed as if Dr. Green's prediction would be realized and Eben would lose his leg, after all. But, as Dr. Henry said, faith, care, and water-dressings brought him round at last, and by Christmas, Eben was able to be removed from the mill and carried home. That was a joyful going home for all parties.

"Why, what does this mean?" asked Eben as Jeduthun helped him into the little parlour. "Where did you get so much baseburner?"

"Oh, Mr. Francis sent that, and a great load of coal, besides—enough to keep it going all winter," said Flora. "Just wait! You haven't seen it all yet."

A very small bed-room opened from the parlour. It was too small, Mrs. Fairchild declared, for any one to sleep in, and had therefore been used for a kind of store-room. Flora opened the door and displayed to Eben's astonished eyes the little room stretched out to three times its former size by an addition, and neatly furnished with new furniture.

"There! That is your room," said she. "Mr. Francis had a man come over from the Springs to do it, because he said you would need a bed-room down stairs till your knee got well. He sent over the furniture himself from Hobartown, and yesterday he came down to see the room."

"I kind of hated to have him do it at first," said Mrs. Fairchild. "It seemed too much of an obligation, but he said you had saved him from a great loss, and sacrificed your knee to him, and he didn't feel as though he could do too much for you. It is a great convenience, you see, and when you don't want it any more, it will do for a spare room."

"I am sure he is very good," said Eben, rather overwhelmed. "I didn't do any more than my duty."

"Well, no, perhaps not," replied Jeduthun. "Few of us do, for that matter. Fact is, Eben, you never knew quite how much you did do that night, because it wasn't thought best to tell you while you was so weak, but them fellows had laid all their plans to fire the mill. The next day, when I was hunting round, I found a great bunch of paper and shavings and kindlings soaked with kerosene stuffed in behind Mr. Antis's desk. They meant to get all they could, and then set the mill on fire. If that had gone, the sawmill must have gone too, and nobody knows how much more!"

"Just to think what wickedness folks will do for money!" said Mrs. Fairchild.

"It wasn't altogether for money, either," replied Jeduthun. "One of the men had a spite at the old gentleman for trying to break up the drinking and gambling hole he kept over in Hobartown. He chose his time well, if he had but known it, for the insurance had been run out for two or three days, so if the mills had burned, they would have been a dead loss."

"I shouldn't suppose that Mr. Antis would have let the insurance run out," remarked Flora.

"Well, he oughtn't to, that's so, Miss Flora, but that's about the only fault I ever see in Mr. Antis. He's a little too apt to put things off—to think they can just as well be done another time, when it comes a little more convenient. That was the way about the bell-rope. But he's got a lesson now, the boss has, and I don't think he'll ever forget it. I never saw a man feel so bad as he did that time Eben was crazy, and used to talk so much about the bell."

"Did I?" asked Eben. "I don't remember anything about it."

"Folks don't often remember what they say when they are out of their heads," replied Jeduthun. "But for two or three days you were always talking about that bell-rope, and saying if you could only get at it; it was as much as I could do to keep you in bed sometimes. Well, once I just stepped out of the door to get some ice, and there was Mr. Antis leaning up against the wall listening and as white as a sheet. I made as if I didn't notice him, for folks don't always like to be looked at when they feel bad, but he caught hold of my hands and cried just like a girl. 'Jeduthun,' said he, 'if that boy dies, I shall be his murderer!'"

"I think that was going too far," said Flora. "I suppose it takes intentions to make a murderer?"

"Well, I don't know about that," said Mrs. Fairchild. "Not that I think Mr. Antis a murderer—far from it. But just look at Lucinda Bell's children," alluding to a terrible kerosene tragedy which had taken place in the neighbourhood not very long before. "Lucinda knew how dangerous it was to fill a lighted kerosene lamp. I have told her of it myself many a time, and so had Mr. Fairchild."

"'Lucinda,' says he, you will blow yourself up some day.'"

"'Oh no, I sha'n't!' says she. Well, finally she did blow herself up, sure enough, only it fell mostly on the innocent little children. Now, wasn't she responsible for the death of those little girls?"

"'Course she was!" said Jeduthun.

"Old Mrs. Bell, her mother-in-law, was talking about mysterious dispensations of Providence," continued Mrs. Fairchild, "and she went on till I couldn't stand it, and says I:"

"'Now, Mrs. Bell, don't put it on Providence. If a man was to put a match into a barrel of gunpowder, you wouldn't call that a very mysterious dispensation of Providence if he was blown up,' says I. 'Lucinda had been warned times enough, and she knew her danger,' says I, 'and Providence don't work miracles to keep folks from the consequences of their own carelessness,' says I."

"And when I told the old lady how it happened, she hadn't another word to say. Now, I do think that was something like a murder."

"I think so too," said Eben. "But I hope Mr. Antis will not distress himself any more about me. I shall do very well, I dare say. Never shall I forget how I felt when I got my hand fairly on the rope. I should have been still more glad if I had known all about it. Did Mr. Francis know that the insurance had run out?"

"Oh yes. Mr. Antis told him all about it."

"Did he scold?"

"Not a bit. All he said was, 'Mr. Antis, let this be a warning to you, never to put off what needs to be done to a more convenient season. That is what has wrecked thousands of men for time and for eternity,' says he. I could see that touched Mr. Antis, because, you see, he's been kind of on the fence this good while about religion—off and on, as you might say. But he's made up his mind at last, and he's going to join the church next Sunday. He told me so himself. However, Eben, you have talked enough, and done enough, for one day. You'd better lie down and rest, or you'll be getting feverish again. I'll bring over your books and the rest of your things to-morrow."

Christmas brought a shower of presents to the Fairchild household. Mrs. Fairchild said they should live on turkey till they should all begin to gobble. Mr. Francis sent fruit and oysters, and all kind of good things—presents for the children—and a beautiful muff and tippet for Mrs. Fairchild. Miss Barnard sent Flora a package of valuable books, and she had other presents from ladies for whom she had worked at the Springs. There was no end to the nice and pretty and useful things which came to the little white house that day. Mrs. Fairchild said she never could have believed, when Mr. Fairchild died, that she could be so happy again.

"To be sure, your dear father isn't here," said she, wiping her eyes, "and it never can be the same without him, but I don't feel to murmur. We have been so marvellously helped through this year, that seemed at first as if it would be so dismal and so hard. Flora has more work than she can do, and Eben, he makes friends on every side, and I could have all the work I wanted going out nursing. I do think we have a great deal to be thankful for. If Eben's knee was only well, I should feel quite content."

Eben's knee was indeed his only serious trouble. He was gaining health and strength day by day, but his knee was still stiff, and likely to remain so. Dr. Porter, being one day at the Springs, rode over to see him, and after examining the joint told him kindly but decidedly that he would never have any use of it again. This was a terrible blow to Eben. He had got used to his business in the mill, and liked it; he was trusted, and had every prospect of rising, and now to be laid aside was very hard. He had hoped that, by being careful and saving, he could eventually lay aside money enough to gain the medical education on which his heart was still set, but now that chance seemed to vanish into air. He did not see how he was to earn his living, much less lay by anything. He might, to be sure, learn bookkeeping, and in time get a place as clerk or accountant, but he disliked figures, and never could work at then long at a time without making his head ache. It was a dreary lookout. Eben needed all his philosophy and all his religion to meet it.

Two or three days after Dr. Porter's decision, Eben was agreeably surprised by a visit from Dr. Henry. Eben happened to be alone in the house when he came, for his mother had been sent for in desperate haste to meet a sudden emergency, and Flora had seized the chance of a ride to carry some work over to the Cure. The doctor, however, made his way in without ceremony—with which, indeed, he was seldom troubled—and sat down by Eben's sofa.

"All alone?" said he.

"Mother was called to go to Mrs. Bennett's in a desperate hurry just now, and Flora had to go out," said Eben. "I suppose she will be back presently."

"Your mother seems to make herself generally useful. So she ought, for she is one of the best nurses I ever saw, and people who have that talent ought not to hide it in the earth. Well, how are you getting on?"

"Pretty well," said Eben, but he sighed as he spoke.

"That didn't sound much like it. What's the matter? Does your knee pain you still?"

"Not much, except at changes in the weather, but Dr. Porter was here a few days ago, and he says I shall never have any use of the joint again."

"That is as I supposed," said Dr. Henry. "It is a wonder you got off as well as you did. Can't you bend it at all?"

"Only a very little," replied Eben, showing how much.

"I see. And how is your general health? Are you growing pretty strong again?"

"Yes, sir; as far as that goes, I am picking up every day. I managed to get to church yesterday, though it tired me a good deal, and to-day I went over to the mill."

"Don't over-exert yourself at first. That is always bad economy. Well, and what are you going to do when you get well? Go back to the mill again?"

"No, sir, I am afraid not," replied Eben, sadly. "You see a person needs the use of all his limbs to be a miller. I am very sorry, for I was growing to like the business and had great hopes of getting on, but I must bear it as well as I can," he added, sighing.

"Why do you do that?" asked Dr. Henry, bluntly, but kindly. "Why don't you cast your burden on the Lord, and let him bear it for you?"

"I do try to," said Eben. "I have no doubt I shall be reconciled to everything in time, doctor, but it does come hard at first."

"No doubt it does, and he means it should. When he chastises us, he means to hurt us, I suppose. But now, Eben, I want to talk to you about a plan of my own. Mr. Antis told me that day I met you on the train that you had a great desire to study medicine. Is that still so?"

"Yes, indeed, sir!" replied Eben. "It was for that reason, more than any other, that I wanted so much to keep on in the mill. I was earning good wages, and I thought I might manage to lay by something, so that in time I could afford to study."

"Well, well! There is more than one way to the woods," said Dr. Henry. "How would you like to come to the Cure and study with me?"

"Like it?" said Eben. The words spoke a great deal.

"Then you think it would do, eh?"

"It would be the next thing to perfect happiness," said Eben, "but, you see, doctor, there is a lion in the way."

"How so?"

"I must help my mother and Flora," said Eben. "I must at least try to earn my own living, if I can do no more. I should never feel it right to be living on them, as I must do while I was studying."

"I think that lion can be got out of the way, or at least tamed," said Dr. Henry, smiling. "My plan for taming him is this: I want a young man in the office, not as bookkeeper—Mr. Liston attends to all that—but some one to take care of the mails, and attend to the library, and ring the bells, and help the people out of the stage, and carry their things to their rooms, and, in short, do a hundred and one odd jobs which I can't think of now. I want a trusty, well-mannered person—trusty, because he must occasionally take a good deal of responsibility, and well-mannered, because he must meet with ladies and gentlemen. They say I am sometimes a bit of a bear myself," added the doctor, smiling. "I don't know how that is, but, at any rate, I mean to be the only bear in the house. I think you could do all these things, and do them well, and yet have plenty of time to study. We have an excellent medical library, and Dr. Rose will always be at hand to help you. So you will be earning your living and something besides, and your health will gain by the change. Well, what do you say? Have I tamed your lion for you?"

"It seems too good to be true," said Eben "Do you really mean it?"

"I am not apt to say more than I mean," returned the doctor. "Oh, it is no such great favour. I mean to have you earn your living, I assure you, and besides, I shall expect you to take hold and help me when you got your education."

"As if I could ask anything better than that!" said Eben. "Oh, Dr. Henry, you don't know how I have dreamed of such a chance as this, and never dared to hope for it, and now, in the very darkest time, when I couldn't see anything before me but—"

"Tut, tut! Don't be hysterical!" said the doctor as Eben choked and turned away his face. "Is this fresh water? There! Take that every fifteen minutes, and get yourself quieted down. I am going over to see Mr. Antis, and will look in again before I go home. You can talk to your mother and see what she says."

When the doctor looked in again, Mrs. Fairchild had come home; and was waiting to see him.

"Well, madam, and how is your patient?" asked the doctor.

"Oh, nicely. There wasn't anything to be scared at, but Mrs. Bennett's nervous, and that Dr. Green is no more good than a tow string. If Eben couldn't make a better doctor than he is, I should think he had better do 'most anything else."

"Then you like my plan for him?"

"Indeed I do, and thank you with all my heart, and so would Mr. Fairchild if he were here," replied Mrs. Fairchild. "I never did see how things come round! I don't think I'll ever borrow trouble again. Eben, he was saying something about leaving us alone, but, says I, 'Now, Eben, don't you say one word. You are not going to throw away any such chance as this. It would be flying in the face of Providence,' says I. Of course we shall be lonely without him, but then that's to be looked for. Boys have to go away from home some time, and parents shouldn't be selfish. I should like it if he could come home to spend Sundays now and then."

"There will be no trouble about that," said Dr. Henry. "I think, from what I have seen, that Eben will suit me exactly."

"Eben isn't as smart as some," said his mother. "No, Flora, he isn't!" as Flora made a gesture of dissent. "Flora never likes to have me say that, but it's true. Eben isn't naturally as quick as some, but he makes it up in another way. He's such a faithful boy. You always know just where to find him. If he promises to do a thing, he does it, and if he undertakes any work, he never disappoints you."

"That is better than being smart," said the doctor.

"Oh, he isn't any way deficient," replied Mrs. Fairchild; "all I mean is that Eben isn't as quick to learn as some. Now, there was that poor Tom Wilbur. He could always learn anything in half the time it took Eben, but he never would stick to anything longer than it went easy and he liked it, and see what he has come to. I've been very much blessed in my children, and every other way," said Mrs. Fairchild as Flora left the room for a minute. "Flossy has her little ways, to be sure, but a more industrious, generous girl don't live, and now that she has got a real sense of religion through Eben's sickness, I don't seem to have anything left to wish for her. Then, Mary Clarke is such a good girl, and the same as a daughter to me, and as for Eben, he always was a comfort from the very first day he came into the house. I did feel to murmur last spring when he went into the mill, because, you see, Mr. Fairchild had set his heart on Eben's getting an education and being a doctor, and I am afraid I was very rebellious. But it's all come round right now, and I don't seem to want for any good thing. I feel as if the Lord had been better to me than I deserve."

"So he is to all of us," said the doctor.

The next week saw Eben established in the Cure, liking his place and doing well in it, the happiest boy in all Lake county. He had the pleasure of seeing Flora and his mother very often, for as the Cure and the hotels filled up for summer, Flora's work became more and more celebrated, till she had more than she could do. Mrs. Fairchild, too, was not unfrequently sent for to supply some one who needed the exclusive attention of a nurse, and at last, by the advice of all her friends, Mrs. Fairchild rented her house at Boonville and established herself permanently at the Springs, where her nursing and Flora's machine afforded a handsome maintenance without any help from Eben's earnings. Eben is now attending lectures at Hobartown, and has every prospect of making a good physician.

In the course of one of his yearly wanderings into all sorts of wild places in search of the rest from professional labours he so much needed, Dr. Henry stumbled over poor Tom Wilbur, sick, alone, and dying, in a forlorn little settlement at the West. He had been in several good situations, but never stayed in any of them, because there was always something he did not like—"something that wasn't very pleasant," as he said—but he had come to the end of all his wanderings at last. The poor fellow was very penitent, and sent a great many messages to Mr. Antis and his father, as well as to Eben.

"Eben was always in luck," said he. "He wasn't a bit smart in school; the boys always used to call him the slow coach. But somehow, he has always got on. I'm glad of it, too, for it isn't very pleasant to be lying here as I am."

"How did you get into such a scrape as that about robbing the mill?" asked the doctor.

"Well, you see Smith lent me money and gave me credit. I began by taking things out of the store for him—sugar, and so on—and so he got me in his power, so I couldn't help myself, or thought I couldn't. I happened to let out one day that I had seen Mr. Antis draw some money from the bank, and said, joking, that I could get it if I was a mind to, because I had the key of the mill. You see, I'd carried it off with me without meaning to. So, then, Smith and the other man got up this scheme, and they made me go along. But I never knew they meant to burn the mill."

"How did they make you?"

"Well, they told me that they would certainly kill me if I didn't, and they would make me," continued Tom, feebly. "But, doctor, you tell them I never meant to hurt Eben nor to burn the mill."

These were the poor fellow's last words.

Dr. Henry saw him decently buried, and carried home his messages to his friends. Such was the end of Tom Wilbur, a boy endowed with abundant talents and favoured with every chance for making a man of himself, but throwing them all away because he could never make up his mind to do anything which he did not like to do.

I shall have failed in my design if the moral of this story does not tell itself. But if any one is troubled to discover the same, he may find it in two very short texts of Holy Scripture:

"He that is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in much."

"Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might."

In these two Bible proverbs may be found the secret both of Eben's success and of Tom's failure.

THE END.

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Table of Contents

- THE FAIRCHILDS;

- CHAPTER I.

- CHAPTER II.

- CHAPTER III.

- CHAPTER IV.

- CHAPTER V.

- CHAPTER VI.

- CHAPTER VII.

- CHAPTER VIII.

- CHAPTER IX.

- CHAPTER X.

- CHAPTER XI.

- CHAPTER XII.

- CHAPTER XIII.

- THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE