"But who, then--" began his step-mother, looking bewildered.
"Who should it be but that boy?"
"Grant Thornton?"
"Yes."
"Have you any proof of this?" asked the housekeeper, eagerly.
"I will tell you what I have found out. I learn that a boy called,on the day in question, at my room and asked to see me. Being toldthat I was out, he asked leave to go up and wait for me. As theservant had no suspicion, he was allowed to go up. I don't know howlong he stayed; but no doubt he had the bonds with him and concealedthem where they were found."
"Did you ask for a description of the boy? Was it like Grant?" askedthe housekeeper, quickly.
"Unfortunately, the girl did not take particular notice of him. Ihave no doubt that it was either Grant or the telegraph boy, whoseems to have been in the plot."'
Now, this story was an audacious fiction, and should not haveimposed upon a person of ordinary intelligence; but the housekeeperwas anxious to believe her step-son innocent and Grant guilty. Shetherefore accepted it without question, and was loud in herdenunciation of that "artful young rascal."
"You ought to tell Mr. Reynolds of this, Willis," she said.
"It would be of no use, mother. He is too strongly prejudicedagainst me. What do you think? He has refused me a letter ofrecommendation. What does he care if I starve?" concluded Willis,bitterly.
"But I care, Willis. I will not desert you," said Mrs. Estabrook, ina tone of sympathy.
This was just the mood in which Ford desired his step-mother to be.He was desirous of effecting a loan, and after a time succeeded inhaving transferred to him two of the one-hundred-dollar bonds. Hetried hard to obtain the five hundred, but Mrs. Estabrook was tooprudent and too much attached to her savings to consent to this.Ford had to be satisfied with considerably less.
"Ought I to stay with Mr. Reynolds after he has treated you in thisway, Willis?" asked his step-mother, anxiously.
"By all means, mother. You don't want to throw away a goodposition."
"But it will be hard to see that boy high in Mr. Reynolds'confidence, after all his wickedness."
"You must dissemble, mother. Treat him fairly, and watch youropportunity to harm him and serve me. Don't say much about me, forit would do no good; but keep your hold on Reynolds."
"If you think it best, Willis," said his stepmother, not without afeeling of relief, for she was reluctant to relinquish a good homeand liberal salary, "I will remain."
"Do so by all means. We may as well make all we can out of theenemy, for Mr. Reynolds has treated me very shabbily. And now I mustbid you good-by."
"What are your plans, Willis?"
"I can't tell you, but I think I shall go West."
"And I shall never see you!"
"You will hear from me, and I hope I shall have good news to write."
Willis Ford left the house, and, going to the Grand Central Depot,bought a ticket for Chicago.
Now came quite a pleasant period after the trouble and excitement.Grant found his duties at the office increased, and it was pleasantto see that his employer reposed confidence in him. His relationswith others in the office were pleasant, now that Willis Ford wasaway, and every day he seemed to get new insight into the details ofthe business. Whether Jim Morrison and Tom Calder were in the city,he did not know. At all events, they were never seen in theneighborhood of Wall Street. Grant was not sorry to have them passout of his life, for he did not consider that he was likely to drawany benefit from their presence and companionship.
He was still a member of Mr. Reynolds' house-hold. Herbert appearedto be as much attached to him as if he were an older brother, andthe broker looked with pleasure upon the new happiness that beamedfrom the face of his son.
As to Mrs. Estabrook, Grant had feared that she would continue toshow animosity toward him, but he had nothing to complain of. Shecertainly did not show any cordiality in her necessary intercoursewith him; but then, on the other hand, she did not manifest anydesire to injure him. This was all Grant desired. He felt that underno circumstances could he have made a friend of the housekeeper. Hewas content to have her leave him alone.
After the lapse of six months Grant expressed a desire to go home topass a day or two. His mother's birthday was close at hand, and hehad bought for her a present which he knew would be acceptable.Permission was readily accorded, and Grant passed four happy days athome. His parents were pleased that he was so highly regarded by hisemployer, and had come to think that Grant's choice had been a wiseone.
When Grant returned he went at once to the office. He found it ascene of excitement.
"What has happened?" he asked, eagerly.
"Herbert Reynolds has disappeared, and his father is almost besidehimself with grief!" was the startling reply.
CHAPTER XXV -- ANXIOUS INQUIRIES
After a while Grant learned the particulars about Herbert'sdisappearance. He had gone out to play in the street about threeo'clock in the afternoon. Generally he waited for Grant toreturn-home, but during his absence he had found other companions.When his father returned home, he inquired of the housekeeper:"Where is Herbert?"
"He went out to play," said Mrs. Estabrook, indifferently.
"In the street?"
"I believe so."
"He ought to be in by this time."
"Probably he went to walk with some of his companions. As he had nowatch, he might not know that it is so late."
This seemed very plausible to Mr. Reynolds.
"Yes," he said; "Herbert seems lost without Grant. He will be gladto see him back."
To this Mrs. Estabrook did not reply. She had learned, to her cost,that it would not be politic to speak against Grant, and she was notdisposed to praise him. She seldom mentioned him at all.
The dinner bell rang, and still Herbert had not returned. His fatherbegan to feel anxious.
"It is strange that Herbert remains so long away," he said.
"I shouldn't wonder if he had gone to Central Park on someexcursion," returned the housekeeper calmly.
"You think there is nothing wrong?" asked the broker, anxiously.
"How could there be here, sir?" answered Mrs. Estabrook, withunruffled demeanor.
This answer helped to calm Mr. Reynolds, who ordered dinner delayedhalf an hour.
When, however, an hour--two hours--passed, and the little boy stillremained absent, the father's anxiety became insupportable. Hemerely tasted a few spoonfuls of soup, and found it impossible toeat more. The housekeeper, on the contrary, seemed quiteunconcerned, and showed her usual appetite.
"I am seriously anxious, Mrs. Estabrook," said the broker. "I willtake my hat and go out to see if I can gain any information. ShouldHerbert return while I am away, give him his supper, and, if he istired, let him go to bed, just finding out why he was out so late."
"Very well, sir."
When Mr. Reynolds had left the house a singular expression ofgratified malice swept over the housekeeper's face. "It is justretribution," she murmured. "He condemned and discharged my stepsonfor the sin of another. Now it is his own heart that bleeds."
Only a few steps from his own door the broker met a boy about twoyears older than Herbert, with whom the latter sometimes played.
"Harvey," he said, "have you seen Herbert this afternoon?"
"Yes, sir; I saw him about three o'clock."
"Where?" asked the broker, anxiously.
"Just 'round the corner of the block," answered Harvey Morrison.
"Was he alone?"
"No; there was a young man with him--about twenty, I should think."
"A young man! Was it one you had ever saw before?"
"No, sir."
"What was his appearance?"
Harvey described Herbert's companion as well as he could, but theanxious father did not recognize the description.
"Did you speak to Herbert? Did you ask where he was going?"
"Yes, sir. He told me that you had sent for him to go on a
nexcursion."
"Did he say that?" asked the father, startled.
"Yes, sir."
"Then there is some mischief afoot. I never sent for him," said theagitated father.
Mr. Reynolds requested Harvey to accompany him to the nearest policestation, and relate all that he knew to the officer in charge, thatthe police might be put on the track. He asked himself in vain whatobject any one could have in spiriting away the boy, but no probableexplanation occurred to him.
On his return to the house he communicated to the housekeeper whathe had learned.
"What do you think of it?" he asked.
"It may be only a practical joke," answered the housekeeper calmly.
"Heaven grant it may be nothing more! But I fear it is something farmore serious."
"I dare say it's only a boy's lark, Mr. Reynolds."
"But you forget--it was a young man who was seen in his company."
"I really don't know what to think of it, then. I don't believe theboy will come to any harm."
Little sleep visited the broker's pillow that night, but thehousekeeper looked fresh and cheerful in the morning.
"Has the woman no feeling?" thought the anxious father, as hewatched the tranquil countenance of the woman who for five years hadbeen in charge of his house.
When she was left alone in the house Mrs. Estabrook took from herworkbasket a letter, bearing date a month previous, and read slowlythe following paragraph: "I have never forgotten the wrong done meby Mr. Reynolds. He discharged me summarily from his employment anddeclined to give me a recommendation which would secure me a placeelsewhere. I swore at the time that I would get even with him, and Ihave never changed my resolution. I shall not tell you what Ipropose to do. It is better that you should not know. But some dayyou will hear something that will surprise you. When that timecomes, if you suspect anything, say nothing. Let matters take theircourse."
The letter was signed by Willis Ford.
CHAPTER XXVI -- A WESTERN CABIN
"Abner!"
The speaker was a tall, gaunt woman, in a loose, faded, calicodress, and she stood at the door of a cabin in a Western clearing.
"What yer want?" came as a reply from a tall, unhealthy-looking boyin overalls, who was sitting on a log in the yard.
"I want you to split some wood for the stove."
"I'm tired," drawled the boy.
"I'll tire you!" said the mother, sharply. "You tall, lazy,good-for-nothing drone! Here I've been up since five o'clock,slavin' for you and your drunken father. Where's he gone?"
"To the village, I reckon."
"To the tavern, I reckon. It's there that he spends all the money hegets hold of; he never gives me a cent. This is the only gown I'vegot, except an old alpaca. Much he cares!"
"It isn't my fault, is it?" asked the boy, indifferently.
"You're a-follerin' in his steps. You'll be just another JoelBarton--just as shif'less and lazy. Just split me some wood before Iget hold of yer!"
Abner rose slowly, went to the shed for an ax, and in the mostdeliberate manner possible began to obey his mother's commands.
The cabin occupied by Abner and his parents was far from being apalace. It contained four rooms, but the furniture was of the mostprimitive description. Joel Barton, the nominal head of the family,was the possessor of eighty acres of land, from which he might haveobtained a comfortable living, for the soil was productive; but hewas lazy, shiftless and intemperate, as his wife had described him.Had he been as active and energetic as she was, he might have beenin very different circumstances. It is no wonder that the poor womanwas fretted and irritated almost beyond endurance, seeing how allher industry was neutralized by her husband's habits. Abner tookafter his father, though he had not yet developed a taste for drink,and was perfectly contented with their poor way of living, as longas he was not compelled to work hard. What little was required ofhim he would shirk if he possibly could.
This cabin was situated about a mile from the little village whichhad gathered round the depot. The name of the township was Scipio,though it is doubtful if one in fifty of the inhabitants knew afterwhom it was named. In fact, the name was given by a schoolmaster,who had acquired some rudiments of classical learning at a countryacademy.
To the depot we must transport the reader, on the arrival of themorning train from Chicago. But two passengers got out. One of themwas a young man under twenty. The other was a boy, apparently aboutten years of age, whom he held firmly by the hand.
He was a delicate-looking boy, and, though he was dressed in acoarse, ill-fitting suit, he had an appearance of refinement andgentle nature, as if he had been brought up in a luxurious home. Helooked sad and anxious, and the glances he fixed on his companionindicated that he held him in fear.
"Where are you going?" he asked timidly, looking about himapprehensively.
"You'll know soon enough," was the rough reply.
"When are you going to take me home, Mr. Ford?" asked the boy, in apleading tone.
"Don't trouble yourself about that."
"Papa will be so anxious about me--papa and Grant!"
The young man's brow contracted.
"Don't mention the name of that boy! I hate him."
"He was always good to me. I liked so much to be with him."
"He did all he could to injure me. I swore to be even with him, andI will!"
"But I have never injured you, Mr. Ford."
"How could you--a baby like you?" said Ford, contemptuously.
"Then why did you take me from home, and make me so unhappy?"
"Because it was the only way in which I could strike a blow at yourfather and Grant Thornton. When your father dismissed me, without arecommendation, not caring whether I starved or not, he made me hisenemy."
"But he wouldn't if you hadn't--"
"Hadn't what?" demanded Ford, sternly.
"Taken Mrs. Estabrook's bonds."
"Dare to say that again, and I will beat you," said Willis Ford,brutally.
Herbert trembled, for he had a timid nature, and an exquisitesusceptibility to pain.
"I didn't mean to offend you," he said.
"You'd better not. Wait here a minutes, while I look around for someone of whom I can make inquiries. Here, sit down on that settee,and, mind you, don't stir till I come back. Will you obey me?"
"Yes," answered the boy, submissively.
CHAPTER XXVII -- THE RIDE TO BARTON'S
Willis Ford went to the station master, who stood at the door with acheap cigar in his mouth.
"Is there a man named Joel Barton living hereabouts?" he asked.
The station master took his cigar from his mouth and surveyed hisquestioner with some curiosity.
"Does he owe you money?" he inquired.
"No," answered Ford, impatiently. "Will you answer my question?"
"You needn't be in such a pesky hurry," drawled the station master."Yes, he lives up the road a piece."
"How far is a piece?"
"Well, maybe a mile."
"Straighten?"
"Yes."
"Is there any way of riding?"
"Well, stranger, I've got a team myself. Is that boy with you?"
"Yes."
"I'll take you over for half a dollar."
"Can you go at once?"
"Yes."
"Then it's a bargain."
The station master, whose house was only three minutes' walk away,appeared in a reasonable time with a farm wagon, drawn by an oldhorse that had seen better days, it is to be hoped, for she was amiserable-looking mare.
"Jump in, Herbert," said Ford.
The boy obeyed, and sat on the front seat, between the driver andhis abductor.
"I suppose the horse is warranted not to run away?" said Ford,regarding the animal with a smile.
"He ran away with me once," was the unexpected answer.
"When was that?"
"'Bout fifteen years ago," replied the driver, with grim humor. "Ireckon he's steadi
ed down by this time."
"It looks like it," said Ford.
"Know Joel Barton?" asked the station master, after a pause.
"I saw him once when I was a boy."
"Any relation?"
"He married a cousin of my stepmother. What sort of a man is he?"
"He's a no-account man--shif'less, lazy--drinks."
"That agrees with what I have heard. How about his wife?"
"She's smart enough. If he was like her they'd live comfortably. Shehas a hard time with him and Abner--Abner's her son, and just likehis father, only doesn't drink yet. Like as not he will when he getsolder."
Willis Ford was not the only listener to this colloquy. Herbert paidattention to every word, and in the poor boy's mind there was theuncomfortable query, "Why are we going to these people?" He wouldknow soon, probably, but he had a presentiment of trouble.
"Yes," continued the station master, "Mrs. Barton has a hard row tohoe; but she's a match for Joel."
"What do you mean by that?"
"She's got a temper of her own, and she can talk a man deaf, dumb,and blind. She gives Barton a piece of her mind whenever he comeshome full."
"She ought to have that satisfaction. From what you tell me, I don'tfeel very proud of my unknown relatives."
"Goin' to stay there any length of time?"
"I don't know my own plans yet," answered Willis Ford, with a glanceat the boy. He foresaw a scene when he announced his purpose toleave Herbert in this unpromising place, but he did not wish toanticipate it.