For Home And Honor
Author: Browne, George Waldo
Date: 2017-01-27T06:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction
Description: Ebook prepared by crutledge@knology.net
Rights: Public Domain

TABLE of CONTENTS

CHAPTER I—A STARTLING MISHAP.

CHAPTER II—AN UNPROMISING HERO.

CHAPTER III—EVERYTHING AGAINST HIM.

CHAPTER IV—FOUND IN THE CAVE.

CHAPTER V—INTO A TIGHT PLACE.

CHAPTER VI—THE CHARCOAL CRATER.

CHAPTER VII—OUT OF THE FLAMES.

CHAPTER VIII—UNWELCOME VISITORS.

CHAPTER IX—THE SEARCH WARRANT.

CHAPTER X—MORE TROUBLE.

CHAPTER XI—NICK'S DIFFICULT WORK.

CHAPTER XII—A WILD TEAM.

CHAPTER XIII—DESPERATE ALTERNATIVES.

CHAPTER XIV—TWO STARTLING DISCOVERIES.

CHAPTER XV—RUNNING THE GANTLET.

CHAPTER XVI—LAST HOUR OF GRACE.

CHAPTER XVII—A RICHMAN’’S SWORD.

CHAPTER XVIII—NICK ACCUSED OF THEFT.

CHAPTER XIX—STERNS SERVES NOTICE.

CHAPTER XX—AN ARTIST IN DISGRACE.

CHAPTER XXI—DARING TOO MUCH.

CHAPTER XXII—NICK’S SAD DISCOVERY.

CHAPTER XXIII—HIS OWN FAULT.

CHAPTER XXIV—HEROISM AND DESPAIR.

CHAPTER XXV—ANOTHER NOTICE.

CHAPTER XXVI—jOE BLARE’S SENSATION.

CHAPTER XXVII—NICK’S RESOLVE.

CHAPTER XXVIII—THE TERRIBLE TRUTH.

CHAPTER XXIX—THE SECRET OF THE CAVE.

CHAPTER XXX—A GREAT MISTAKE.

CHAPTER XXXI—CONDEMNED.

CHAPTER XXXII—NICK A PRISONER.

CHAPTER XXXIII—HOW BELL KEPT HIS WORD.

CHAPTER XXXIV—A KNAVE OR A FOOL?

CHAPTER XXXV—OLD LIIFE AND N EW

LIST of ILLUSTRATIONS

- “LET THEM ENTER IF THEY MUST, MOTHER”

- HE HUNG SUSPENDED IN MID-AIR

- “THE KILN HAS BROKEN! HE WILL BE BURNT TO DEATH.”

- THE WHOLE LOT IN A HOPELESS TANGLE

CHAPTER I
A STARTLING MISHAP.

“I tell you, Virg, it leads somewhere.”

“Then follow it if you want to, Vast Sterns. I am going back to the picnic. If it isn't lunch time, it will be before we get there, and I am as hungry as a bear.”

The speakers were two pupils of Miss Ada Spencer's school, at what was called the “Narrows District,” situated at the western extremity of a country town in Northern New England. The occasion was a half-day's outing, or picnic, of Miss Spencer and her scholars in that rugged locality known in local geography as Blake's Hill.

This is a picturesque region, with a surrounding scenery noted far and wide for its beauty and variety of landscape. Looking southward, the beholder gazes on a far-reaching vision of hills, variegated with patches of forests and green pastures, valleys teeming with the products of the husbandmen's watchful care, farmhouses hero and there lending an appearance of human life to the scene. Upon the left, near at hand, Old Brokenback Mountain cuts off the view, though around the abrupt angle formed by its left shoulder the gazer catches a glimpse of the red monarch, Chief Pawtuckaway (great deer place, according to Indian folk lore), looking like a stern-browed sentinel on duty. To the right, in the background, a long backbone of hills forms a rugged frame for the beautiful valley of Sunny River, which, in turn, makes a fit setting for those crystal gems of nature, Silver and Sunny Ponds. Let the beholder of this prodigal display of nature's wealth now look northward, and he sees the handiwork of man in the thriving little hamlet of the Narrows, where, converging from as many points, five roads meet, appearing in the distance like silvery threads banding hills and valleys.

Between the Narrows and the picnic grounds, though no signs of human habitations are in sight, dense volumes of black smoke rise sluggishly above the tree-tops, and then, as if bent upon casting a blur on the beautiful autumnal scene, settle gloomily back upon the earth.

This smoke cloud, which refuses to clear away, marks the one desolating feature of the fair countenance of Nature. Hemmed in by forests and hills, save on the one side where the slender neck of highland between a wide territory of swamp on the one hand and the backwater of Sunny Pond on the other, affords a pass-way to the place called the Narrows, this isolated spot was known as “The Birches,” and its inhabitants, consisting of a dozen families of evil repute, were called “the Charcoal Burners of the Narrows.”

The school pupils, about forty in number, having brought their luncheons in baskets, were arranging for their outdoor feast in the very best of spirits, their kind-hearted teacher seeming everywhere present, lending her assistance toward making the occasion as joyous as possible.

Partly to escape helping in these preliminary arrangements, for either of them was ever ready to walk a mile to avoid five minutes of work, and partly to satisfy their desire to hunt for squirrels, Virgil Bennett and Vastly Sterns had left the crowd, and, penetrating deeper into the solitude of the woods, climbed to the summit of the hill.

The growth here was sparse, owing to the rocky surface of the earth, and the youthful twain soon found themselves on the brink of a cliff with a sheer descent of more than forty feet.

Its surface composed of jagged lips and spurs of rocks, with dark fissures and seams and thin layers of poor earth, the perpendicular wall of granite was partially covered with tufts of bushes and moss.

A fringe of stunted growth marked the edge of the chasm, so the boys had to make an opening before they could gaze into the depths.

They had been prompted to make this examination from no stronger motive than curiosity, but Virgil Bennett's first glance brought a cry of wonder from him.

The object catching his attention was a rope dangling from the top of the cliff down about half the distance to the bottom.

There were no bushes of any size at this place, and the line stopped at a shelf of bare rock.

“Who do you suppose put it there, and what is it for?” asked Vastly.

“It looks as if it had been there some time,” replied his companion. “Isn't there an opening in the rock just above that shelf?"

“Looks like it. If the bushes only grew here as they do further along I would climb down and see."

“Well, you can't climb down there, that is certain. But say, Vast, it may have been put there by some old duffer who meant to hang himself, but lacked the courage. You know Johnny Shute-”

“Nonsense! I tell you it leads somewhere.”

After this bit of sage comment, which I have repeated, the boys started to leave the place, when four or five of their companions, who had followed them hither, appeared upon the scene.

Among the newcomers was little Sammy Dow, who was not over five years old, and small for his age.

At sight of him, Vastly Sterns exclaimed:

“Hold on, Virg! Let’s lower Sammy down to the shelf by the rope, and he can see if there is a cave or not. We can do it as slick as a whistle.”

The novelty of the idea struck his companion favorably, and he entered into the spirit of the proposition at once.

Too young to comprehend the real danger his headstrong companions were asking him to incur, Sammy Dow quickly agreed to allow himself to be lowered to the rocky shelf. Accordingly, no time was lost in adjusting the rope about his body under the arms, and the reckless twain, assisted by two others, began to lower their smaller schoolmate downward.

“Look sharp, Sammy, and see if there isn’t a—”

Little Sammy Dow was nearly down to the shelf, when, in the midst of Vastly Sterns’ speech, a loud snap was heard, and the rope parted midway, the doomed boy’s shriek of horror ringing out sharply on the clear afternoon air, as he was thus suddenly dropped into the depths.

“The rope’s broke—Sammy’s killed!” cried Virgil Ben nett, the first to speak of the horrified group, and the remnant of the rotten line fell from the grasp of the startled boys.

At first not one of them had the courage to look over the brink to ascertain the fate of their victim.

“Perhaps he wasn’t killed,” said Vastly, as he parted the bushes with a trembling hand, and gazed into the chasm.

The next moment he exclaimed, joyously:

“He didn’t fall to the bottom, boys; he struck on the shelf. He lies there just as if he was dead, though.”

“What has happened, scholars?” asked a voice, at this juncture, which caused every one to turn abruptly, finding their teacher and several schoolmates rapidly approaching.

“What was the meaning of that cry?” asked Miss Spencer. “Has any one been hurt?”

Then, in broken language, Virgil Bennett told of the accident, Miss Spencer’s countenance growing pale as he continued.

When he had finished she approached the brink of the chasm to note carefully the situation of the unfortunate Sammy.

“I do not believe he has been killed,” she said, with a breath of relief. “But he lies there unconscious, and, oh, dear me! he is lying on the very edge of the rock, so the least move he makes will send him down to certain death. What shall we do to save him?”

“I will climb down to him—I think I can do it,” said Bert Johnson, one of the largest boys, and he was about to attempt the impossible feat, when Miss Spencer fortunately recovered her presence of mind sufficiently to pull him back.

“No—no! you cannot do it—no one can, and it would be madness to sacrifice another life. We must have a rope and ladder as soon as possible. Some of you run over to Mr. Hill's for help. Go as quickly as you can, for your lives.”

Three of the largest boys started at once upon their errand; but, as it was two miles to the nearest house, there was little hope that they could summon assistance in season to save the life of the unconscious child, who was lying so white and motionless on the very brink of the rock-shelf.

Frightened at what they had done, like the cowards they were, Virgil and Vastly followed those who had gone for help.

Miss Spencer began a close watch over the imperiled boy, her fear increasing each moment.

“Our only hope is that he will not recover consciousness before help gets here. But he is sure to come to his senses soon—if he ever does,” she added, in a low, unnatural voice. “The moment he moves he is sure to fall —mercy! he is starting up—he is going over the edge! What can I do?”

CHAPTER II
AN UNPROMISING HERO.

Miss Spencer recoiled from the startling scene, unable to witness the fate of her pupil, while her young companions huddled about her in terror.

Fortunately, the fright of the onlookers was caused by the fluttering of little Sammy's jacket as it was lifted slightly by the wind, and not from any movement on his part. But the color was coming back to his cheeks, and in a moment he was sure to rouse up, unconscious of the peril the slightest action on his part was certain to bring him.

In the midst of this trying scene, his coming unnoticed by the terrified group of anxious ones, a newcomer appeared on the brink of the precipice by the side of Miss Spencer.

“What's the trouble?" he asked, simply.

Looking around with surprise, the teacher saw a boy smaller than the oldest of her scholars.

In her excitement she did not notice his unpromising appearance enough to give it a second thought, though his tattered clothes, with his face and hands, and bare feet completely covered with coal dust, gave him a most unprepossessing look.

“I heard the cry down to the kiln, mum, and I thought something had happened to somebody,” he said, as Miss Spencer hesitated in her reply.

“Sammy Dow has fallen over the cliff! He—”

“He’s opening his eyes, teacher!” cried one of the children.

The strange boy turned with the startled woman to look over the chasm, comprehending in an instant the cause for alarm.

“He’s not going to lay there long,” he declared, tersely, looking hurriedly around as he spoke for some means of rescue.

Simultaneously with that glance his course of action seemed clear, and, with a rapidity of movement that amazed the others, he began to climb, hand over hand, a gray birch standing near the edge of the abyss.

Tall and slender as trees of that kind grow, he had not ascended far before the lithesome birch began to sway and bend beneath his weight.

Keeping on the side toward which he wished to have it lean, the nimble climber went higher and higher, until the strong and supple tree bowed its top so it carried him out over the yawning chasm, where, if he loosened his hold, he must fall to certain death upon the rocks below.

Still the undaunted boy, descending now rather than going higher, crawled toward the tapering crest of the birch, which continued to lower him into the depths.

Breathless and speechless, the spectators watched him until he had gained the topmost branches, and, finding the tree no longer moving downward, he paused to survey his situation.

Finding that he was still several feet above the shelf, he then unclasped his feet, and hung suspended in midair from the tiptop stem of the birch.

Somewhat to one side and several feet above the shelf he must reach, he seemed helpless to help him he had risked his life to save.

“It is beyond his reach cried Miss Spencer, wringing her hands in agony. “They will both be killed! What shall we do?”

But as she spoke the rescuer, finding he must quickly abandon his precarious hold, began to swing himself to and fro by striking his feet against the rocky wall, making the pendulum-like movements longer each time, until finally he sprang lightly down upon the inner side of the shelf from little Sammy Dow's quivering figure.

Catching upon a crevice in the rock in order to maintain his own equilibrium, he seized with the other hand upon Sammy barely in season to save him from his threatened fall.

A cry of relief came from the spectators overhead, almost instantly followed by a scream of terror from the frightened victim, who, the moment he recovered his senses, struggled to break from the hold of his rescuer.

Trying to quiet his charge in vain, the latter had no slight task on hand in maintaining his grasp upon the terrified child and his own position on the narrow ledge.

After a few minutes, however, Sammy, finding he was in friendly hands, ceased his struggles.

“If you can remain there a few minutes, help will be here,” called down Miss Spencer.

“All right, mum,” was the cheery response.

Though the interval of waiting seemed long, it was really but a short time before a couple of men came, bringing with them a long, stout rope, one end of which was soon dropped to them on the rocky shelf, and in a few minutes little Sammy was safe in the arms of the teacher.

“This is the happiest moment of my life!” exclaimed Miss Spencer. “If you had been killed, I should never have forgiven myself.”

The men hesitated as they realized the task they must have in pulling up the larger boy, but he quickly helped them out of their difficulty.

“Fasten the end to the foot of the birch,” he said, and no sooner had it been dune than he ascended hand over hand.

“You brave, noble boy!” cried the teacher, rushing to meet him, and, regardless of his grimy appearance, clasping him in her arms.

“I’m afraid you will smooch your fine clothes,” said the strange youth, breaking from her hold as soon as he could.

“Clothes are nothing beside what you have done today. You are a true hero. What is your name?”

“Why, teacher,” broke in Bryant Hill, her oldest pupil, “don’t you know that he is the son of Old Nick—one of the Bleaks of the Birches? His father is in State prison, and no one thinks of associating with any of the crowd of old Nick Bleak.”

Miss Spencer tried to stop the speaker, saying, as soon as he had stopped:

“I don’t care who his folks are, he has proved himself a hero. What may I call your name, my hero?”

“Nick Bleak, mum, though everybody calls me the son of Old Nick. But I must go. You see, I left the kiln mighty suddint, and ’tain’t best to leave ’em long when they get to this p’int.”

“You must come down and eat lunch with us. The tables are all spread, and I couldn’t think of letting you go without it.”

“I must, mum; hope you’ll excuse me.”

“Well, if you think you must, I. shall have to let you go. Is it so very far to your work?”

“No, mum.”

“Then you will come back? We will wait for you.”

All of the school had by this time gathered about the speakers, one after another exchanging significant comments, and nodding toward the unfavorable-appearing boy, who showed by his looks and manner that the situation was anything but pleasant to him.

He had lost his frayed straw hat in his descent over the precipice, and his disheveled hair streamed about his head in worse disarray than ever, while he moved uneasily before the kindly gaze of Miss Spencer.

Realizing his discomfiture, she said:

“You can go to your work, Nicholas, if you think best, but promise to come back. Will you, to please me?”

“Yes, mum,” and, without stopping to say more, he bounded away into the undergrowth like a frightened deer.

“You won't see anything more of him, Miss Ada,” said Mr. Hill, with a smile. “Hark! I can hear him running half a mile away.”

“I should think you would be glad he is gone, teacher,” said Annie Blake. “Oh, my! he has ruined your dress. To think one of those charcoal-burners should have dared to come near you!”

What do you mean, Annie? It was I who went to him, and I could have kissed him with all the dirt on his face, I was so happy. If it hadn't been for him, Sammy would have been killed, and I should have always blamed myself for taking him here to-day."

“But the Bleaks and Blares are real mean people, Miss Spencer. Everybody is afraid of them and dislikes them."

“Whatever his people are, he has done an act to-day that will make me always remember him. He doesn't seem like an evil boy. At any rate, he is coming back to eat lunch with us, and I want you all to treat him well."

. Miss Spencer was generally liked, and, though this was the beginning of her first school at the Narrows, she had already won the friendship of her pupils.

Thus nothing more was said openly against Nick Bleak, while the party followed their mistress back to their lunching ground.

This was one of the prettiest spots that could be found in midforest, and under the spreading branches of two giant oaks two tables had been placed, the tempting viands on them tastefully arranged with evergreen vines twined around and about the different dishes and the borders of the boards.

At the moment that our school party came in sight of the place a loud crash rang in their ears, followed by the collapse of one of the tables and the sound of some person running away through the woods.

“Our lunch is ruined!” cried a chorus of voices, while above the childish cries came the louder tone of Virgil Bennett, saying:

“It’s that Nick Bleak, teacher! Shall I chase him down?”

CHAPTER III
EVERYTHING AGAINST HIM.

Miss Spencer caught a glimpse of a youthful figure fast disappearing into the depths of the forest beyond, but her attention was quickly called to the scene of the wrecked lunch tables by the movements of a huge yellow dog, which was greedily devouring the viands scattered about the place.

“Get out!" she screamed. “Oh, Mr. Hill! drive away that dreadful creature before he destroys everything.”'

Mr. Hill, as well as the others, had seen the thieving animal, and, catching up a club, he hurled it with a precision and force that sent the brute off into the woods with a howl.

It was a gaunt, ill-favored dog, which looked as if it was nearly starved to death.

“It belongs to that dreadful Nick Bleak, and it has spoiled our dinner. Look here, teacher, and see where he has bitten into my mummer's pie that she made for me yesterday," cried Alice Harvey, beginning to cry.

“Perhaps we can save enough for our lunch,” said Miss Spencer, hopefully, though she felt very much like giving way to her feelings.

Under her directions, the children, assisted by the older ones, who, by this time, had been called hither by the alarm that had been made over the adventure of Sammy Dow, soon rearranged the tables, sorting out the food that showed the least vestige of the depredation which had been made.

“Why, I believe it looks better than it did before,” declared the teacher, “and, as we shall not be likely to leave them again without some one to watch over them, we won't let our good time be marred by thoughts of what has been done. Even little Sammy here is forgetting his trouble, and beginning to look as cheerful as any of us. See, the lump on his head, where he struck on the rock when he fell, is growing beautifully less. What a narrow escape that was!"

“We came pretty near getting him, teacher,”’ cried Virgil Bennett, suddenly reappearing upon the scene, Vastly Sterns and two or three others following closely upon his heels.

To tell the truth, he and Vastly were quite anxious to do something to divert attention from the cause of Sammy Dow's fall.

“Never mind, Virgil. Of course you don't think it was Nick Bleak that upset the tables."

“We know it was, teacher. And that yellow dog is his Robin, the very worst dog in town.”'

“There is one thing certain,” remarked one of the oldest girls, “he won’t dare to show himself now, so our picnic won’t be spoiled by his presence.”

Not knowing what reply to make, Miss Spencer remained silent, and, under the excitement and enthusiasm of the occasion, the preparations for the lunch went on without further reference to the young charcoal-burner, until, as the party began to be seated at the tables, the sound of footsteps fell on the scene, and, to the amazement of all, Nick Bleak and his dog paused near Miss Spencer.

“I hope I haven’t kept you waiting, mum, but I’ve come as soon as I could. The kiln was in a bad way when I got back.”

She was pleased to notice that he had somewhat improved his personal appearance by brushing his clothes, evidently with a switch, as there were marks of the same left where the coal dust had been but partially removed, and he had washed his face and hands. But this last act could be scarcely called an improvement, as he had failed to obliterate all traces of the dirt, so his features were corrugated with dark lines of grime and dust.

Looks of displeasure had suddenly appeared upon the countenances of the majority of her pupils, while murmured words of dissatisfaction were heard on every hand.

Trying not to notice all this, Miss Spencer turned to the young charcoal-burner, saying:

“You are just in season, Nicholas. Here, take a seat on this side.”

“I don’t want him sitting by the side of me, teacher,” whispered Annie Blake, loud enough to be heard around the table.

“You can move down by the side of Cora Watson if you wish to, and Vastly Sterns can sit here. It will make it better—”

“Look at that miserable dog! He is jumping—

”

“Down, Robin!” called out Nick, who had not failed to see the frantic actions of the animal. “Why can’t you keep still, Robin?”

“Give him something to eat; he is hungry,” said Miss Spencer, tossing the creature a piece of meat, which the famishing Robin carried away to a distance, and began to devour greedily.

Nick Bleak had overheard enough to understand that something had taken place previous to his coming which had caused trouble.

“Did Robin get to your dinner, mum?”

“It is of little account, Nicholas. He was not really to blame.”

“I’m sorry, mum, and I’m sure Robin didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

“But you were here with him,” spoke up Vastly. “I can prove it by three or four of the boys.”

A look that no one understood appeared on the grimy, pinched features of the charcoal-burner, who finally said, in a low, firm tone:

“I went straight to the coal kiln after I left you at the big rock.”

“Never mind,” Miss Spencer hastened to say. “The lunch is spoiling, so take hold and eat, one and all.”

It was a hungry crowd, and, busy with satisfying their appetites, the children soon forgot the presence of Nick Bleak, if Vastly Sterns be excepted.

The latter improved every opportunity he could get to prod his seatmate with a pin, capping the climax of his persecutions by pushing the supports of the bench from under it, and thus precipitating all on it upon the ground in a promiscuous heap.

“He did it!” declared Vastly, jerking his thumb in the direction of Nick Bleak.

The thin lips of the latter twitched, his hands clinched, and for a moment it seemed as if he would throw him-self upon the accuser, but, looking up at Miss Spencer, and seeing the discouraging expression on her countenance, he quickly changed his attitude, at once lending his assistance toward repairing the seat, saying simply:

“Everything is against me, mum.”

Despite these little unpleasant features, the lunch was voted a grand success, and when Nick Bleak declared, at its close, that he must return to his work, Miss Spencer thanked him for the pleasure of his company, and invited him to call at her boarding-place, all of which he received with a painful bashfulness that showed he was bewildered by this unexpected kindness.

“My faith, Miss Ada,” said Mr. Hill, with a laugh, “I really believe you are smitten by the young scamp.”

“All heroes do not carry their trade-marks on their faces, Mr. Hill. Something tells me that boy has the right qualities in him to make a true man.”

“If he does make an honest man, Miss Ada, it will be a miracle. He is made up of the very worst elements in humanity.”

“We are not all good at our best, Mr. Hill, nor all bad at our worst.”

At a loss to know how to reply, Mr. Hill turned to some of the boys to say:

“We forgot to take that rope along with us in our excitement. Won’t some of you run up to the cliff and get it?”

“Virg and I will get it,” cried Vastly Sterns, starting at once on the errand, with his friend accompanying him.

“I want to see what is at the foot of that rope,” said Vastly, as they reached the summit. “I'll bet there is something there worth looking for.”

As he considered himself the leader of the undertaking, Vastly insisted upon being the one to descend to the rocky shelf, and, without delay, he began the hazardous descent.

By holding smartly on the swaying line, and bracing his feet against the rough side of the cliff, he managed to descend in safety, until he was nearly to the end of the rope.

Glancing downward then, he saw a dark opening into the wall, which was evidently the entrance to a cavern, and he shouted to his companion:

“There is a hole in the ledge, as I told you. And that rope did lead some——”

In the midst of his speech he suddenly discovered the figure of Nick Bleak crouching at the mouth of the cave, and he added, in a tone of terror:

“Pull me up—quick, Virg! The son of Old Nick is here, and he’s got a knife, and means to cut the rope!”

CHAPTER IV
FOUND IN THE CAVE.

Though Nick Bleak made no hostile movement, the sight of a long-bladed knife in his hand sent a thrill of terror through the frame of Vastly Sterns, and with a wild cry on his lips, he loosened his hold on the rope.

Virgil Bennett shouted a word of warning, but started back at the sight of the peril of his friend.

Realizing the deadly peril of the falling youth, Nicholas Bleak dropped the knife he held, and sprang forward to save him, if possible. He succeeded in seizing upon Vastly’s coat, but the garment yielded as the doomed one continued to descend, until his rescuer managed to catch more firmly upon his clothing with the other hand.

But even then the young charcoal burner was unable to withstand the fearful strain brought to bear upon him, and with Vastly clinging to him, he, too, went over the edge of the shelf.

In his desperation, however, Nick Bleak caught with both hands on the sharp rim of the rock with so firm a hold that he hung suspended on the side of the cliff, while the other clung to him for dear life.

"We shall be killed!’’ cried Vastly Stern. “Help, Virg! quick!’’

“Don't pull so,” warned Nick, “or you will tear my hands from the rock."

“I can’t hang here long!" panted the other. “I shall fall in a minute."

“Can’t you climb over me? I think I can keep my hold for you to do it."

Vastly made the attempt at once, and by dint of severe struggling, during which it seemed as if Nicholas Bleak’s hands must have been made of iron, or they would have been torn from their grasp, he managed to raise himself a foot or more.

By that time Virgil Bennett had reached the shelf, when, with his assistance, young Sterns gained the rock, where he fell prostrate.

Freed from the other’s weight, Nick then tried to climb to the shelf, but the side of the rock was too smooth for him to get a foothold, and he hung there, helpless to save himself.

“Lend a hand," he implored. “Give a feller a lift— quick!"

“Don’t be in a hurry," replied Vastly, who had somewhat recovered from his fright. “It will serve you right to hang there a while to pay for pushing me off in the way you did.”

“You let go the rope, when I tried to help you. Ain't you going to give a feller a lift?”

“In a minute. I like to get a chap like you where he has to beg,” was the thoughtless reply.

Nicholas Bleak closed his lips tightly together, and made no response, as he maintained the grasp that he felt was weakening every moment.

Then, as Vastly Sterns and his companion were bending over the brink to lend their tardy assistance, his fingers slipped from the rock and his form shot downward out of sight.

“Why, he has fallen!” exclaimed Virgil, in genuine terror.

“I didn't suppose the fool was going to let go so soon,” declared his companion, with some anxiety. “I wonder if he is killed. Well, they can’t blame us, for I know he intended to kill me with that knife.”

“I guess— Lock there, Vast!” cried his companion, concernedly. “Some one is carrying him off on his smoulders.”

Vastly looked downward to see the burly figure of a man disappearing around an angle of the bluff, carrying the limp form of Nick Bleak in his arms.

“What does it mean, Virg? Say, of all men that is Black Daniels!”

Black Daniels wouldn’t dare come into these parts so soon.”

“It was he—I am sure. I have seen him too many times to be mistaken.”

It was no wonder the twain were greatly excited over the discovery they had made, for the name Vastly had spoken was that of the worst character ever known in that part of the country. Though he had always managed to elude the officers of the law, he was generally supposed to have been connected with about every crime committed in that vicinity for several years. A remote relative of the Bleaks and Blares, he was pretty sure to put in an appearance at the Birches at irregular intervals, his coming being hailed as the precursor of some new offense.

When they had seen the outlaw vanish around the corner of the ledge, the boys began to think of moving from the place.

“First let’s see what there is in this cave,” said Vastly, turning to look into the dark opening in the side of the rock. “See! the hole leads in there farther than you can look. Here is the knife he was going to stab me with,” picking up a long, wide-bladed knife.

“But what is this?” asked his companion, picking up some golden balls about the size of peas. “Why, they are gold beads!”

“And here is a small box filled with silver spoons!

Aren’t we in luck, Virg? Let’s look around and we may find more.”

But further search failed to reveal other treasures, though it was too dark for the twain to distinguish anything beyond a few feet of the mouth of the cave.”

“Here is a name on the box,” said Virgil, “but I can’t quite make it out. The first letter of the word seems to be a capital L; then there is an o—c—k—e. Why, that spells the name of Locke.”

“Why, yes; don’t you see—James Locke. These are some of the things that were stolen from Mr. Locke’s folks at the time Nick Bleak was sent to prison. It is the lot he stole, and that boy of his was after them.”

“Won’t we get a big reward for finding them? I shall claim two-thirds of it, because I was really the one to find it.”

“But I was with you and did just as much as you did. In fact, I found the beads before you did the box, and I shall keep them for my part, and I guess they are worth as much as your old spoons.”

“Oh, we’ll divide even, Virg. I was just fooling. Come, as there don’t seem to be anything more, let’s leave. I am anxious to show what I have found. Won’t folks stick out their eyes!”

A difficulty confronted the couple of which they had not dreamed, for upon making the attempt, neither found himself able to climb to the top of the cliff.

They lacked the agility and the nerve of Nick Bleak, who had strengthened and toughened his muscles by hard work all his life.

The boys looked upon each other with dismay, but their cries for help soon brought the whole number of picnickers for the second time to the cliff.

“What has happened now?” asked Mr. Hill, looking around, without discovering those who had made the appeals for help.

“Here—we can’t climb the rock!” cried the imprisoned boys, in the same breath.

“Well, I must say you are a pair of lubbers!” exclaimed Mr. Hill, looking down upon them. “That Nick Bleak came up the line like a squirrel. Here, boys, lend a hand and we will pull them up.”

Neither Vastly nor Virgil paid any heed to what was said to them, but produced the treasures they had found in the cave, to the astonishment of their friends.

“It is a part of the James Locke jewels and silverware that was stolen by the Bleak gang two years ago. Is this all you found, boys?”

“Yes, sir. How much do you suppose we shall get for doing it?”

“I don’t know. The cave must be searched in every
part. There was considerably more stolen. I remember there was a watch, two gold rings, a collection of rare coins, earrings, and I don't know what else.

“Johnson, you keep watch here while I go to the village for ladders and a lantern, which we shall need to explore the place properly.”

“Oh, Mr. Hill!” cried Vastly, “I want to tell you that we saw Black Daniels at the foot of the ledge.”

“Black Daniels? That cannot be, for he would not dare to show himself around here so soon.”

“We certainly saw him; didn’t we, Virg?”

“If Black Daniels is in the vicinity, we have got to move with extreme caution. Keep your eyes open, Johnson, while I am gone.”

“Better bring along your gun, for we ought to be armed, the way things look.”

CHAPTER V
INTO A TIGHT PLACE.

Though somewhat disappointed at the unsatisfactory way in which Mr. Hill had answered them in regard to the matter of their reward, both Vastly and Virgil felt that they were the heroes of the occasion, and the consternation created by their announcement that Black Daniels was in the neighborhood, added to their pleasure.

It was already time to break up the picnic, if that had not already been done, so the entire party started at once for the village, the many glib tongues flying very fast over the day's events.

Though a thorough search under the direction of Mr. Hill was made at the cave, nothing more was found, nor a trace of anything.

Miss Spencer boarded at a Mr. Alden Veasey's, and as soon as she had arrived home, she made all the inquiries she could in regard to the charcoal burners, though the more she learned the more unfavorable became their reputation.

“The truth is," said Mrs. Veasey, who was an honest, kind-hearted woman, “nothing good can be said of them.

My husband has known them all his life, and he long since gave up having anything to do with them, sorry as I am to say it, Ada.

“Nick Bleak, the father of your hero, is just my husband’s age, and I know when we were first married, he hired Nick to work for him a year at a fair rate of wages, hoping he could thus encourage him to do better. But he hadn’t been here six weeks before that Levi Blare came hanging round, and then Alden had some money stolen, a harness and several other articles, so he turned Nick off. Soon after that he was arrested and sent to jail.

“Then that robbery took place at James Locke’s, when Grandmother Locke lost all of her heirlooms. Nick was arrested among others of the charcoal burners, and though the case was not very clear against him, his past record was, and he was sentenced to prison for fifteen years.”

“But the boy does not seem really evil-minded.”

“If he doesn’t, I don’t know why he should not. Though it has never seemed they were such thieves, almost every one considers the Blairs, young Nick's mother’s folks, worse characters than the Bleaks. They are deceitful and treacherous. They have a wonderful gift of talk—‘gab,’ my husband calls it—and they might be somebody if they would, but they won’t, and that is the amount of it.”

This conversation was continued all the evening but nothing disheartened by its discouraging tone, Miss Spencer grew more and more determined in her mind to have Nicholas Bleak attend her school.

“It is a laudable purpose, Ada, and I will help you all I can, but I must tell you at the outset that nearly every one who sends children to school will oppose it.”

Having made up her mind to induce the young outcast to come to her school, if possible, it was necessary that she should see him, and as there was small chance of his coming to the village, she decided to visit the home of the charcoal burners.

Not caring to go alone into a neighborhood of such doubtful repute, she asked four of her largest boys to accompany her, Vernon Veasey being the chief of the quartette, Eddie Dow, a brother of Sammy, Luther Swayne and Henry Hoyt making up the number.

She had not spoken of her intentions to any one, except those who were to go with her, so those who witnessed their departure, did so with great curiosity.

It was a common saying at the Narrows that nothing could take place there without the “Troublesome Twins,” as Virgil Bennett and Vastly Sterns were nicknamed, being mixed up in it. And it would seem that the rule was going to prove true in this case, for just as Miss Spencer and her companions were starting on their trip, this redoubtable twain were returning from a jaunt through the woods on a squirrel hunt, and discovered the little party.

“I’ll bet they are going up to the Birches,” cried Vastly. “Come, let’s follow them.”

“I can’t. I am going over to the Blue Hills with Uncle Josh this afternoon, or I would. Say, you had better go with me and let Miss Spencer and her black-faced hero alone. Look! Vern Veasey is leading them, and I never liked him.”

“I am going after them, if I have to go alone. I’ll bet you I’ll have loads of fun; tell you about it to-morrow.”

Without waiting for his friend to reply, Vastly, unmindful of the fact that he had not had any dinner that day, started in pursuit of the little party.

“Mean old thing!” he muttered. “She might have told me she was going, and I would have shown the way a good deal better than that shallow-headed Vern Veasey. I shouldn’t be surprised, though, if he gets an awful licking from some of the burners, and I don’t care if he does.”

With such thoughts as these in his mind, Vastly Sterns followed, cautiously, after the others, until they had gone nearly a quarter of a mile, when he stopped suddenly, exclaiming:

“I will do it! Won’t the schoolmarm be surprised to find me there ahead of her. That shortcut will just help me do it, and then I shall be able to know all that is going on without it's looking as if I had put myself in the way.”

No sooner had he come to this conclusion than he turned from the road into the woods at a right angle from the course followed by the highway, increasing his speed as soon as he felt that he had got beyond the hearing of the others.

The country was uneven, and at places the growth was so thick that he could not get ahead as fast as he wanted to in his impatience; but he had kept on as rapidly as possible for five minutes, when he was startled by the footsteps of another a short distance away.

Stopping abruptly, and looking wildly around, he quickly discovered a boyish figure half-concealed by a clump of hazels a few rods to the right. The youthful individual had also come to a sudden stop, and he was peering cautiously out from his covert toward Vastly.

“It’s that Bub Bleak!” exclaimed the latter, with a look of relief. “He’s watching me, but I’ll scare him so he won’t be able to tell that he ever saw me.” Then he added, in a louder key:

“I am after you, you little ragbag—get!”

“Bub” Bleak, as he was called, was a brother to Nicholas, but not over ten years of age and small for his years.

The moment Vastly Sterns uttered his cry and started toward him, the little fellow turned and fled for his life.

This was high fun for the other, who gave pursuit at the top of his speed.

On through the growth the twain sped, Bub Bleak hardly seeming to touch the ground for rods at a stretch. Once, suddenly finding himself confronted by the top of an overturned tree, he actually scaled its thick mass of branches and passed down on the other side with the agility of a squirrel.

His pursuer was obliged to go around the obstacle, while he laughed in great glee at the terror of his victim. Though he had not originally intended to follow the fugitive so far, the sport was too great for him to give it up, so he kept on until he was amazed to find that the boy had disappeared.

“I don't see where the little rat could have gone," he said to himself, as he continued to look for the missing boy. “One thing is certain, he couldn't have got over the ridge without being seen—ha!"

The exclamation was called forth by the sight of the trunk of a huge hollow tree, which had been hurled to the earth that summer by a bolt of lightning.

“Hullo, you little imp! are you in there? I hear you! Char-co! char-co! you just wait and I will pull you out."

If he had had any doubts of Bub Bleak's presence in the hollow log before, these were dispelled by the movements of the hunted boy.

Thinking that it would be fine sport to capture the fugitive and pull him out of the tree, Vastly Sterns dropped down upon his hands and knees to begin to crawl into the dark recess.

The aperture was at first fully three feet in diameter, but as it grew smaller as he advanced, he felt confident that he would soon be able to put his hand on his victim, who was trying to keep out of his reach.

“Char-co! char-co!” called out the pursuer, while he crept ahead, though beginning to get sick of the senseless chase.

The hole had now decreased in size so that he had to crowd himself forward, and he found that the sides were lined with long and short splinters of wood, which occasionally scratched him. But as the point of all seemed to be turned forward, he did not mind them very much.

Finally he had to stop, unable to get any further, though Bub Bleak was still beyond his reach, being enough smaller to crawl out of his grasp.

“If I could get my hand on you, Bub Bleak, I’d make you ki-yi.”

“I’ll kick you if you come any nearer,” replied the other.

“Well, kick away where you are, if you want to; I only wanted to scare you any way. I am going to crawl out now and stop up the hole, so you can’t get out. I would before if I had thought of it.”

Anxious to get out of the narrow quarters, he moved backward, when he was startled by a sharp punch from something behind!

“Who’s there?” he called out, in alarm, but not a sound responded to his voice.

His body completely filled the aperture, so he could not look in that direction. But after waiting a moment he repeated his attempt at retreat, and suddenly found a dozen sharp points sticking into as many places in his clothes and body.

A shiver of horror ran through his frame, as he felt that somebody was behind him, armed with sharp knives, and he at once imagined it was a friend of Bub Bleak.

“I didn’t intend to hurt him; I only chased him for fun. Let me out!”

Still that terrifying silence. Vastly Sterns had never been so frightened in his life. Had it been light, it would not have seemed so bad, but to be cooped up in that way was terrible.

He lay perfectly still for several minutes, and then he mustered up courage enough to make another attempt to retreat. But the resistance was sharper than before, and he uttered a yell of horror, which added to his terror by its strange, unnatural sound. A queer sensation came over him, and he felt that he was fainting.

At that moment a smothered cry came from Bub Bleak, followed by appeals for help and the startling words: “Snakes! snakes!”

CHAPTER VI
THE CHARCOAL CRATER.

Vernon Veasey led his little party along the Blake's Hill road in silence, until he reached a place in midforest, where a rough wheel way diverged from the left.

“This is the way to the Birches," he said. “It wasn't regularly laid out by the town, so it’s pretty rough. But it is the only way the charcoal burners have of getting out with their loads."

“I should think they would make it better themselves," said Miss Spencer. “Why, look at this bridge! I am almost afraid to cross it."

The bridge in question, though spanning a stream of considerable size, was very loosely constructed of small maple and birch trees. As the latter is not a wood that lasts long when exposed to the weather, many of these poles had rotted away.

The bridge was near the foot of a steep hill, the roadway being nothing more in appearance than a gully washed out on the hillside by rainstorms at different times.

At the top of this ascent a large opening in the woods was to be seen on the higher slopes beyond,

“It is where the charcoal burners have cut off the wood for coke,” explained Vernon. “They are getting the wood pretty well thinned out now, so they will have to go somewhere else soon.”

“Do they own all this land?” .

“Oh, no. They own considerable of it, but all the upper strip belongs to ’Squire Thrasher, and he lets them cut off the birches on his land by paying him so much. He’s awful stingy and mean, and he would do anything for a dollar.”

“You shouldn’t say that, Vernon. But if the burners own this land, they musts be quite well off after all.”

“It is too poor and rocky to be worth anything. Old Joe Bleak bought the whole territory of Captain Coe for two sheep and an odd yearling steer. Nick Bleak, Levi Blare and Mose Shingle are supposed to own it now, but it has been sold for taxes, two or three times, and Fletcher Sterns has the collector’s deed for it. I heard him say that if the matter wasn't settled up soon, he should take possession. I think folks hope he will, so the charcoal burners will have to move away.”

By this time they had reached a place where they could get a view of the little valley lying like a basin in the midst of the hills.

“You can see the coke burner's huts in a row on the farther side,” said Vernon. “The coke pits are up yon der, where you see that smoke. They are burning two at the same time this fall, something I never knew them to do before.”

Miss Spencer had noticed the dense clouds of smoke rising above the tree tops, but she was anxious to see the dwellings of these poor people, so she said:

“Where did you say their houses were? I do not see them.”

“Why, those ‘camps,’ as we call them, over there by the rocks are all the houses they have. That one to the very left by the square bowlder is where Nick Bleak lives.”

Miss Spencer now saw half-a-dozen rude sort of huts, such as she would have expected to find among the natives of some uncivilized country, but to see them within a mile of her schoolhouse was more than she could believe at first, though she was looking upon the sight herself.

These primitive dwellings were built largely of poles, and with sod walls and roofs thatched with brush and leaves. It is true the ends of some of them were built of boards, but poles and sods were more generally used.

The habitation pointed out as the home of the son of Old Nick was slightly larger than the average, and it was built by the side of a high rock, so that the latter formed one of its walls. The front end was made of boards, with a door in the middle. A stone chimney had been built on the outside at the farther end. While they gazed upon this simple home, a thin wreath of smoke curled lazily from the top of its rude chimney, and the door being open, they could see a woman moving about within the hut.

“Is it possible my hero fives there!” exclaimed Miss Spencer.

“There are other huts just out of sight,” said Vernon. “Shall we go down to them?”

“I suppose Nick is up to his kilns; we will go there first, as I want to see him.”

“Why, teacher! what a funny expression you have on your face. Didn't you think they lived like this?”

“It is a burning .shame—a disgrace to humanity that well-to-do people should suffer this to be,” she replied, with an earnestness that surprised her companions.

“They don't seem to want to live any different,” said Vernon. “But there is Nick working about his kiln.” “Now, children, remember your promise not to be too inquisitive, and you must let me have a chance to talk with him alone. He will feel more free in that way, I think.”

“Yes, teacher; but look! he has seen us.”

The young coke burner, who had turned away from the smoking kiln long enough to clear his eyes so he could resume work, started with a frightened look upon his face as he unexpectedly saw his visitors.

“I don’t suppose you expected company, Nicholas,” said Miss Spencer, advancing toward the kiln; "but I could not resist the temptation to see you at your work. It is something I know so little about.”

"It’s very simple, mum,” replied the boy, gaining courage and confidence by her apparent simplicity. "But don’t go too near; that smoke and dust will ruin your dress.”

"Never fear for that. I cannot see for my life how it is done. I want you to explain it all to me; but first, I am anxious to know how you escaped from your fall on the cliff Saturday. I was afraid you were seriously hurt.” He showed his surprise that she should know anything about it, but hastened to say:

"It was a queer thing to happen, mum; but jess as I was falling, Uncle Irum come along, and seeing me a-coming down there headlong-like, he run and ketched me in his arms. Fact, mum.”

"So you weren’t hurt?”

"Not worth mentioning. How did the boys come out?” "Safely, with more thanks to you, I think, than they were willing to own. Do you like this work?”

"I have to, mum. It’s the money I have got to have; but I reckon I’ll get it out of these two kilns.”

“What! do you mean to say both of them are yours?” “Yes, mum. I cut the wood for them, and I tended them till yesterday alone, when I got Breck Shingle, that boy there, to help me. They have to be watched purty close now. He’ll help me to draw them as soon as they are uncovered.”

“Hold on, Nicholas, you will have to explain those terms, or I shall not understand you. You must remember I am new to the business.”

It was surprising how easily she had won his confidence by her friendly, straightforward way, but unheeding her last words, he exclaimed:

“Mum, why are you different from everybody else?”

“I didn’t know that I was, Nicholas. Please explain your meaning.”

“Nobody ever spoke to me like that afore.”

There was a tremor in his voice, and she fancied she saw tears glistening in his eyes.

She was about to reply, when a piercing scream rang on the air, and, looking in the direction of the other kiln, she saw a sight which brought a cry of terror to her lips.

It seemed that Miss Spencer’s young escorts had literally obeyed her request to leave her alone with Nick, Vernon Veasey having wandered into the edge of the growth, accompanied by Eddie Dow, while Henry Hoyt and Luther Swayne had gone on to the second coal pit.

Near this kiln the last couple found a boy of fourteen, bent nearly double over some task which was not apparent to them at first. So intent was the other over his work that he did not look up at their approach, nor show any indication that he realized their presence.

It was plain that he was a brother to Nick Bleak, though he was dressed even poorer than the other, his whole attire consisting of a blue drilling shirt and a pair of pants made from a meal bag. He was more slender than his older brother, and despite the deep coating of grime and coal dust, he was not a bad-looking boy. Certainly the blue eyes and thin, pinched features showed little, if any, of the viciousness attributed to his family.

Near by him lay the yellow dog which had made such havoc with the picnic dinner, and the task so completely engrossing his attention at that moment was the transferring of the homely likeness of this animal to a piece of coarse, brown paper that he had spread out as smoothly as possible upon the surface of a fiat rock. His pencil .was a lump of charcoal.

But, although an artist working under great difficulty, the result of his painstaking efforts must have surprised one competent to judge of art in its crude form. Even the careless boys who had stolen upon him unawares stood for a white watching with manifest interest the swift movements of his hand, noting with wonder the effect brought out by each line.

“Humph!” exclaimed young Swayne, suddenly breaking the silence hanging over the scene, “if I didn’t know it, I should say you were trying to make that dog’s picture.”

Before he had finished speaking, the startled artist had sprung to his feet, and stood facing them, though ready to flee at the least sign of hostility.

“Wot yer wanter scare a feller for?” he demanded.

“Hope you’ll excuse us, but we were so fascinated by your work that we forgot to cough or do anything to let you know we were coming. Say, what do you get for a work of art like that?” catching up the paper and holding it so the drawing could be seen.

“Do folks sell picters?” asked the artist, in surprise.

“How did you suppose they got them if they didn’t buy them?”

“S’posed they made ’em. I like to make picters.”

“I should judge so by the way you were working when we came up. What fine paper you use! Where did you get it?”

“It came round the last fish Nick bought. I smoothed it out with a flat rock.”

“I should say you did. See, Hen, works of art are on the rise,” at the same time shying the sheet of paper upward into the air, which, catching a gust of wind, was wafted to the top of the coal kiln, where it fell in the depression at the summit of the smoking, throbbing monster cone.

“Oh, don’t! save my paper!” cried the boy. “It’s all I have got!”

“Climb, then, and get it,” replied Luther Swayne, who, while not a bad boy at heart, delighted in the amusement the other’s anxiety gave him.

“I can’t climb the kiln—Nick won’t let me.”

“Afraid of soiling your clothes, I suppose. They are pretty fine, I must say.”

“The kiln ain’t fit to climb now, it is so near drawing. But I’ll get my paper with this pole.”

“No, you won’t, either. If you are afraid to climb up there, you shan’t have it.”

“I ain’t afraid, but the kiln will break in. Oh, let me get my paper.”

“Bah! you are afraid to go up there. I’ll show you that there is no danger in climbing the kiln. See——”

“Stop!” cried the other, catching him by the sleeve and trying to hold him back. “Nick’ll be awful mad and it’ll ruin the kiln and—”

Breaking from him with a taunting laugh, Luther ran swiftly up the slanting side, until he stood at the top.

“Looks like breaking in!” he shouted, waving his cap in the air. “Do you own up now, Bell Bleak, that you were afraid? If you will, I will get your paper for you. See! this would hold up an ox team,” jumping into the air as he spoke and coming down with all the force he could muster. Though he felt the sod surface beneath his feet yield at his first stamp, Luther Swayne repeated his foolhardy maneuvre, but as he came down the second time the whole top of the kiln seemed to give way, and he was plunged into a raging volcano of fire.

“Help!” he shrieked, as he clutched at the treacherous sides in vain, while a dense cloud of black smoke shut out the surrounding scene from his gaze.

CHAPTER VII
OUT OF THE FLAMES.

“The kiln has broke in, and he will be burned to death!” cried Nick Bleak, who saw the startling scene plainly, save for the black smoke that rolled in huge volumes above the doomed boy's head.

No sooner had he uttered this startling announcement, than the boy charcoal burner rushed in the direction of the exciting scene, knowing that only prompt action could save the unfortunate youth.

“I am choking to death!” shrieked the victim, trying in vain to save himself from the fiery depths below.

The smoke was growing hotter about his head each moment, and clouds of sparks began to fly upward. The instant the air should reach the interior the whole pit would break into flames.

Henry Hoyt, who had not spoken during the conversa tion with Bell Bleak, stood as if riveted in his tracks, while Vernon and his companion watched the sight spellbound. From out of the dwellings scattered over the valley came rushing half-a-dozen screaming women and as many children.

Miss Spencer was following’ Nick, with a wild, terrified look upon her features.

The only one who had the presence of mind to try and save the imperiled boy was Nick Bleak, who reached the base of the kiln at a few bounds. In a moment he was ascending the side, and dropping flat upon the hot surface, he reached out bis hands to Luther, saying:

“Ketch hold and Til try to pull you out. Hold hard.”

At that moment a tongue of flame darted upward, and Nick could feel the fierce beating of the volcano beneath him.

Luther Swayne caught frantically upon the strong hands held out to him, and as a drowning person will hold upon another, he clung to them.

But he was as large as his would-be rescuer, and the latter found himself baffled in his efforts for a time. The kiln under him was “slumping” and was liable to break in, when the fire must burst forth in a deluge of flame, but Nick did not falter. With renewed strength he tugged at the other, lifting him slowly upward.

“Ketch upon Nick’s feet!” cried Bell. “It will help him,” and suiting action to his words, he ran up far enough to carry out his purpose.

The next moment, with the assistance of Nick, Luther succeeded in clearing the crumbling edge of crater, and he fell headlong down the side of the kiln.

A thicker cloud of sparks sprang upward, quickly followed by a volume of flames. A deep roar sounded in the heart of the huge cone-like structure, telling that the fire was getting under strong headway.

Nick Bleak was on the ground before him he had rescued, and carrying the latter to a safe distance, he rushed back to try and save the kiln. A pile of sods were heaped up a few feet from its side, and he began to cover the top of the kiln with these, hoping to stifle the fire.

“Help, Bell, or the kiln is lost!”

Not only his brother but several of the women hurried to his assistance, and so rapidly did they work that in a few minutes the roaring had abated and the flames no longer leaped forth. Nick had to work with great care in laying these sods over the fractured surface, but he did his work so well that at last he stopped work long enough to brush the perspiration from his begrimed countenance.

Miss Spencer and the boys who had come with her had given their attention to Luther, who had come out of the ordeal better than might have been expected. It is true his clothes had been nearly ruined, the hair half-burned from his head, and several blisters raised, but he had not received any serious injuries. Still he presented a sorry-looking appearance, and he was a sober-looking boy.

“You were lucky to get out so well,” said Nick, “I thought at first I shouldn't be able to lift you.”

“It seems to be the fate that we should be your debtors continually," said Miss Spencer. "Nicholas Bleak, again I must thank you from the depths of my heart for your heroic action."

“It's nothing. He 'hadn't oughter have gone on the kiln, and Bell is to blame for not telling him.”

"It wasn't Bell’s fault at all," declared Luther. "Nobody is to blame but myself. If you don't mind, Miss Spencer, I will go home now. You will go with me, Henry?

"I am very sorry it happened," said the teacher. "It does seem as if I was getting some of you into trouble all the time. I hope your folks won't blame you, Luther. I will call on my way home."

Nick renewed his work upon the kiln, assisted by the boy called Breck Shingle, and Bell, the women returning to their humble homes without speaking to the young woman who had appeared among them so unexpectedly.

"Has it done very much injury, Nick?" she asked.

“I can't tell yet, mum, though I'm afraid we shall lose considerable in the middle. You see, if a fire gets started in a kill it’s hard to put it out. I was going to draw it in the morning.”

“I am very sorry, and I will try to see that you do not lose anything by it,” though just how she was to save him his loss she was unable to tell. “I came over to talk with you, Nicholas, but I do not suppose you feel like sparing the time now.”

"I don’t see how I can, mum, though if it's very ’portant, I’ll stop long enough to hear it. I hope you’ll excuse me, mum; you see, I must save this coal if I can, for it’s all I have to count on.”

“I don’t blame you, Nick, and I wish I could help you. If you won’t mind it, I will sit here on the grass, and wait until you are more at liberty. I am very much interested in your work.”

“I don’t see how the wood can be scorched over and not burned into ashes, as is done in stoves,” said Vernon, as he and Eddie took a seat beside their teacher to watch the operations of the charcoal-burners.

“I am afraid I can’t enlighten you very much,” replied Miss Spencer. "I know something of the principle and theory of the matter, but I should have to ask Nick in regard to the application of my little knowledge.

“Wood, you will learn when you come to study chemistry, is composed of carbon, hydrogen, and oxygen gases. You will also learn that water is composed of the two last, in parts of eight to one. When wood is fired in the open air, or where the atmosphere can affect it, the oxygen of the latter unites with that of the wood and forms a flame, consuming the carbon, so that only the earthy part—what we call ashes—is left. But when the wood is burned where the air does not reach it, the oxygen and the hydrogen are liberated by the intense heat, and escape in a sort of acid, which is the thin vapor we call smoke. As there can be no flame in this case, what we might call the body, or woody fiber, the carbon, is only charred, and is the charcoal. But what can have happened now to cause such a commotion?”

CHAPTER VIII
UNWELCOME VISITORS.

Miss Spencer's attention had been arrested by excited exclamations from the little group of boys standing but a short distance from the kiln. She soon learned that one of them, who had just returned from a ramble through the woods, reported that he had heard shouts and cries that had startled him, so he had come home with all speed possible.

No amount of questioning could get from him any plausible explanation, so Nick finally declared that some of them had better go with the other, and see if they could find out what the cries meant.

“You go with Joe, Bell, and Breck, and mind that you are not gone longer than is necessary. I can’t leave the kiln, or I would go. You had better take an ax with you.”

“You might go, too, Vernon, if you wish,” said Miss Spencer. “Eddie and I will wait here until you return.”

Without more delay, the five started on their errand, while Miss Spencer watched the work of the young charcoal-burner with increasing interest,

“How many bushels do you expect to get from a kiln, Nick?”

“One hundred and fifty, mum, if I have good luck in drawing. I meant to have put in wood enough to have two hundred bushels, but I didn't have time to cut it.” “This is all sold, mum, to a Mr. Bragg, of Lee, and I have to get it to Portsmouth. I get twenty cents a bushel.”

“Let’s see; there will be three hundred bushels in the two kilns, and at twenty cents a bushel you will get sixty dollars. That will be quite a sum for you.”

“Yes, mum; but you know it may not turn out as well as I expect. Then I have got to pay Mr. Thrasher five dollars for wood I had of him. I shall have to hire some of it drawed off, too. I hope to get fifty dollars for it. I must,” he added.

“Some particular object, I suppose.”

“Yes, mum,” then, after a moment’s hesitation, he added: “You see, I have got to make out fifty dollars next Friday, or we shall lose our homes.”

“A debt? You need not be afraid to tell me all, Nick, for I am interested in your welfare.”

“I know I can trust you, mum, though ’tain’t many one I can trust. ’Tisn’t just a debt, mum, but it’s the taxes. You see, they haven’t been paid for three years, and the places were sold by the collector for last year and year before, and Fletcher Sterns bid them' off. He. holds a - * * l ' collector’s deed for ’em, but I made him promise that he’d give me till Friday to settle for ’em.”

“But the taxes for two years can’t be fifty dollars on your place.”

“It’s the costs, mum, that runs ’em up. Our tax isn’t quite six dollars a year; and then there is Uncle Levi’s place that I am looking after till he gets home; his is half as much as ours. I don’t know just what the amount of all should be, but Mr. Sterns can do as he’s a mind to, now he’s got ’em deeds. It’s tough to lose your home, mum, and I’m doing my best to save it.”

“Mr. Sterns ought not to be hard with you. I hope he will give you plenty of time, and that you will get as much out of your coal as you expect.”

“I tell you, mum, a feller with a father and an uncle in State prison ain’t got much show for hope,” he said, his lip quivering as he spoke.

“Aren’t there any men living here?” she asked.

“Yes; they are all away this afternoon on Brokenb ack Mountain gunning. They don’t like to work, mum.” “When you have got your coal off you will be more at liberty, I suppose.”

“Not much, mum. You see, I shall have to go right to work burning more, for this year’s taxes have got to be paid inside of a month, or there'll be costs on ’em. Then

we have to buy something to live on, to say nothing of clothes, which ain't much," he said, looking down at his own with a smile.

“Have you ever been to school, Nick?"

“Not since they drove us out three years ago. Mother has tried to learn us some, but we’re about beyond her now."

“I want you to come to my school this fall."

“I would like to, mum, but it would never do. Folks are so down on us they would never ’low it. And I can't spare the time if they would. I tell you, mum, I wish Bell could go. He's a great scholar, and he can draw such picters. I wish I had one of them for you to see."

This conversation was continued for half-an-hour longer, when the sound of footsteps was heard in the growth beyond, and then half-a-dozen persons came into sight.

They were those who had gone away under the leadership of the boy called Joe, to investigate tne cause of his alarm. Bub Bleak was now added to their number, and the story of his captivity in the hollow log was soon told.

“Who was the boy who chased you?" asked Miss Spencer.

“It was Vastly Sterns, teacher," replied Vernon; “but he got well paid for what he had done, as he was as fast as Bub in the log. You see, the inside of the shell of the tree was lined with long, sharp splinters, made, I suppose, by the breaking of the grain of the wood by the lightning, and these picks all stood toward the top of the tree. Thus the moment they tried to move back they would stick into them, and they could never have got out. I never saw such a frightened fellow as Vastly— Hullo! who are those coming here? Why, as I live, it is Sheriff Trask and the selectmen of the town. What can they be after?”

With a glance at the four men, Miss Spencer turned to see what effect their appearance would have upon Nick Bleak, but she was not prepared for the white, haggard look that suddenly overspread his countenance.

What did this visit of the sheriff and his men mean?

CHAPTER IX
THE SEARCH WARRANT.

The wondering group by the coal kiln awaited the approach of the officer and his companions in silence.

If the men were surprised at the presence of the visitors among the coal-burners, they did not show it, but Sheriff Trask broached the subject uppermost in his mind in his blunt way.

“We are looking for Irum Daniels, commonly called Black Daniels,” he said. “Will you tell us wliere he is, Nick Bleak?”

“I cannot, sir,” faltered the charcoal-burner.

“He has been seen in this vicinity within twenty-four hours, and it will do neither you nor him any good to equivocate. We are bound to get him.”

“Uncle Irum was here Saturday,” acknowledged Nick, “but more than that I cannot tell you.”

“You mean you won’t. But before we get through you will be glad to. Smith,” speaking to one of his companions, “you keep your eye on this scamp while we search the place.”

Nick Bleak understood that this order meant for him to remain where he was, and, without speaking or moving, he watched the three men as they hastened toward the humble dwelling he called “home.”

Miss Spencer was as speechless as he, though she was calmer, and she gazed after the departing men as closely as he. At the doorway of the hut they were met by Mrs. Bleak, with her youngest child clinging to her skirts.

“Stand aside, madam,” said the officer, brusquely. “We want to come inside.”

“What do you want to come into peaceful folks' houses for?” she demanded, without offering to step aside.

“I have good reason, madam, as you well know. Will you stand one side, or shall we have to resort to force?” “Lay a hand on me—a woman—if you dare, Jont, Trask!” she replied, defiantly.

“Nonsense, Mrs. Bleak, you know better than to stand in the way of the law. I have a search-warrant here, which empowers me to tear your old shanty to the ground if I think it is demanded.”

“Tear it down!” she cried, bitterly, “but you will do it over my head. Beware how you lay a hand on me.”

“I will have that worthless boy of yours arrested if you offer to oppose me. Is that enough?”

In a moment her whole demeanor had changed, and in the place of her defiance came an attitude of supplication.

"Spare my boy!” she implored. "Oh, Jonathan Trask, is it not enough that you have robbed us of his father? Nick! Nick! I want you In answer to that pleading cry the boy charcoal-burner, regardless of the man guarding him, bounded to the side of his mother, Mr. Smith and all the rest following him.

“Let them enter if they must, mother,” said Nick. “Whatever they may find, we are innocent.”

Without another word, she stepped aside, when the officer and his companions entered the dingy abode, which presented a more uninviting appearance within than without, if that were possible.

Moving rapidly about the unpretentious quarters, as if anxious to have their unpleasant duty over as speedily as possible, the men had soon rummaged every part of the dwelling, overturning and piling promiscuously together such furniture as it contained. Still their search was in vain, and Sheriff Trask showed his disappointment on his stern features.

“Well, this is only a beginning. Ha! have you found anything, Morris?”

The sharp eye of one of the selectmen had been attracted by the imprints of a hand in the dust surrounding a flat rock that formed one corner of the hearth floor. Raising the granite slab, something bright and glistening caught the gaze of the three men.

“You have made a discovery, Morris; what have you found?”

“If you will wait until I tear away this old cloth wrapped about them, I will tell you. It is spoons— more of those belonging to the Locke lot, stolen by Nick Bleak. And here are the balance, I should say, of grandmother’s beads.”

“We’re in luck!” exclaimed the sheriff. “I told you we should find something worth looking for if we didn’t find our man. What else is there?”

After a vigorous search, the selectman was obliged to say that he could find nothing more.

“The rest must be around here, and we won’t go away till we find it. Look here, Nick Bleak, show us where the rest is hidden, it is the best thing you can do. Show us the hiding-place of the rest of the stolen property, and tell us where we shall find Black Daniels, and I promise that you shall not be molested.”

“Mr. Trask,” replied Nick, speaking firmly, though in a low tone, “I do not know where Uncle Irum is, and if I did I would not tell you.”

“But we can arrest you if we choose, and, as true as I know my name, we will unless you reveal all you know.” i “I have no more to tell, sir. The spoons and the beads I found in the cave on Blake’s Hill ledge. I ought not to have brought them here, for I did not intend to keep them. I did not know whom they belonged to.”

‘‘A likely story. But what were you going to do with them?”

“I—I think I should have carried them back to the cave. I know I—”

“That is sufficient. We have not the time to listen to your twaddle. Let the search go on, men.”

CHAPTER X
MORE TROUBLE.

Not only was the home of the Bleaks searched by the sheriff and his companions, but every dwelling in the isolated village. But nothing was found to reward them for their trouble. Neither was any trace discovered of Black Daniels.

Sheriff Trask showed his disappointment, but finally, to the great relief of all in the valley, he and his companions left the place.

Miss Spencer had remained until after their departure, not knowing that she was doing right in staying thus, but finding it hard work to leave.

“You see how it is,” said Nick; “they are all down on us. If I should go to your school it would break it all up. No; I am only the son of Old Nick, and everything is against me.”

Miss Spencer spoke cheerfully to him, and before she left she had the satisfaction of seeing him in a more hopeful state of mind.

“I do not believe Mr. Trask will trouble you again, and when you have got your coal off you will feel quite rich.

But it is getting to be nearly night, and I must leave you. Remember you are to let Bell come to school, if you cannot.”

Nick thanked her for her kind words, and even his mother, whose countenance wore a habitual melancholy, lightened for a moment.

“It must be dreadful to live like that,” declared Vernon, as the little party paused at the summit of the hill to take a farewell look at the lonely homes of the outcasts.

The yellow hues of autumn had fallen on field and forest, and the solitary grain field, denuded now of its harvest, looked sere and barren. Half-a-dozen scrubby apple trees formed a group on one side of the valley, and one, larger than the rest, was heavily laden with fruit, the red cheeks of the pippins sparkling in the golden haze of the mellow sunlight like so many bright jewels in a brown and green setting. Further away, on the hillside, the variegated foliage of the birches and maples formed a beautiful frame for the vale nestling at its feet. The shrill tones of an August cricket broke the silence of the scene.

Miss Spencer's gaze had nearly made the circuit of the place, when she was surprised to see the figure of a man slowly rise from what had appeared to be a pile of sods heaped up, as if in readiness to be used on one of the kilns. He was a tall, powerful-framed man, and even at that distance she could see that his hair and beard were of a jet-black hue, while his skin looked uncommonly dark.

As he rose to his feet his head was thrust forward in the attitude of one listening intently, and his gaze swiftly swept the surrounding scene. As if satisfied with the cautious glance, he then boldly stepped from his covert, shaking his powerful form to free his clothes of the dirt that clung to them, very much as a huge mastiff shakes itself upon emerging from a pool of water. Without further delay, he moved rapidly across the clearing in the direction of the home of the Bleaks, behind whose walls he soon disappeared.

"It is Black Daniels!’' whispered Vernon, who had also seen the outlaw. '‘Doesn’t he look ugly enough to kill anybody?”

Miss Spencer's thoughts were too busy for her to reply, for the words of Nick Bleak had come unbidden into her mind: "I do not know where Uncle Irum is.” Had her hero lied? Then, with this suspicion fixed in her mind, came another question: Had he told the truth of the stolen property found in his house?

“Is this Black Daniels, as you call him, an actual relative of Nick Bleak? I have not heard of any other by that name among the coal-burners,”

“He’s an uncle to young Nick. He married Mrs. Bleak’s sister, so I have been told. She is dead, I think.”

“Then he is not a blood relative,” and Miss Spencer felt a gladness for this fact that she could not well explain. “We must hasten on our way, or we shall find ourselves belated in the woods, which I do not imagine would be a very desirable situation.”

The journey home was made in almost entire silence, as Miss Spencer was at a loss what to say, while her companions did not feel like breaking in upon her deep meditations.

“Well, Ada,” said Mrs. Veasey at the tea table, “what do you think of the charcoal-burners of the Narrows now?”

“It is too bad for people to live in this civilized country in the manner they do,” was her rather evasive reply.

“They are making their own beds. It is strange, folks should fall so low. I have been told that Grandfather Bleak was quite a man, and old Cyrus Blare used to preach occasionally. But that is nothing strange for a Blare, as a sort of religious streak runs through the whole family. Why, Uncle Joe Blare, if I am not mistaken, is holding one of his revivals at the Iron Works now, and he is as bad as any of them, only more sly. Singular, he can’t read a word, but he knows the Bible by heart, and can preach a sermon the best of our ministers might envy. As I have told you, all of the Blares have a wonderful gift of gab. By the way, I heard this afternoon that Sheriff Trask, of the Center, is looking for Black Daniels. He’ll get him, too, if the scamp is really in these parts, which I do not believe. There has been a robbery at the Pond, and Black Daniels is supposed to have done it.”

To this long speech Miss Spencer made no reply. In fact, she did not know what to say. Somehow she did not have the courage to acknowledge that she had seen the hunted man within an hour, yet she wondered what would be thought of her silence should the truth become known. To her surprise, neither of the boys with her at the time had betrayed the secret, out of respect to what they imagined were her wishes.

Meanwhile, the charcoal-burners had got done talking of their visitors that afternoon, though thoughts of them were still in their minds. Nick, however, was thinking more of the beautiful school teacher, who had dared to come into the midst of him and his associates with her friendly manners, than of Sheriff Trask and his companions, though the officer’s coming portended him trouble in the near future, if not immediately.

It was already dark, but he knew that he could hope for little rest that night, as his kilns would demand all of his attention. He was at work upon the one where Luther Swayne had come so near losing his life, when he was joined by his uncle.

"I thought you were going away, Uncle Irum,” he said. "You can’t realize the danger you are running in staying here longer. Only think how near you came to being caught this afternoon. I don’t know what I should have done if I had known you were actually here in hiding then.”

"Well, that’s over, Nick, an’ this is the safes’ place I could find now. Lightning, you know, never strikes in the same spot twice. But that ain’t whut I come out to say. Thet kiln is ready for drawin’, an’ if you say th’ word I’ll take hol’ an’ help you do it this very night.”

"I have thought of beginning at midnight. I have got to keep on the lookout anyway. Dave says he’ll help, and I believe he will.”

Future events would seem to indicate that the decision was a sort of inspiration, and, with the help of Black Daniels, before sunrise the coal lay in encircling piles around what had been the bed of the kiln.

"It’s a good lot,” declared Nick, with a feeling of pride. "Now, to-day I must draw the other, and to-morrow I shall be ready to start with a load for the market.”

The outlawed Black Daniels did not dare to leave the hut during the day, and he slept most of the time. But two of the other men took hold and helped Nick, which, with what the boys, Breck and Bell could do, enabled him to get it all laid in similar shape to the first kiln by four o’clock.

“I think there will be fully three hundred bushels,” and the boy coal-burner felt an honest pride in his work. “Hilloa, Bub! what is the trouble with you, and what did Mr. Thrasher say about letting his team go off with a load day after to-morrow?”

“He says it won’t be so he can go, Nick. But that ain’t the wuss I’ve heard. Joel Carpenter is going to send Sheriff Trask up here to-morrow morning to take all your coal toward paying that bill father owed him.'’ “Take my coal? what do you mean, Bub? You’re joking now!”

“I ain’t, Nick. I overheard Mr. Carpenter tell Fletch Sterns that he should have sent the sheriff here to-dav if * he had been at home, and Mr. Sterns said, 'Good! Go ahead! It will work like a pin, and you’ll be so much in.’ ”

Nick Bleak was unable to speak for several minutes, for the startling news took away his last hope.

“Where were you, Bub, when you heard this? Did they know you overheard them?”

“No. I was taking a short cut home after seeing Mr. Thrasher, and, coming through Mr. Sterns' orchard, I heard some one coming, so I skulked into a clump of bushes to get out of their sight. I overheard them talking as they went past. Carpenter used a long word— something like ‘tachmentd Oh, I know they are in earnest, and that Sterns is putting him up to it. You are going to lose your coal after all., Nick. Isn’t it orful?”

CHAPTER XI
NICK'S DIFFICULT WORK.

“What is that Bub is sayin’, Nick?" asked Mrs. Bleak, who had overheard a part of what had been said. “Mr. Carpenter is going to put an attachment on your coal?” “Yes, mother, as soon as the sheriff gets home. He’ll be here in the morning, early, for Jont Trask doesn’t sleep much with such a job as that on hand. He does it on a bill that father owed Joel Carpenter. Can he do it?’’ “Oh, dear! I s’pose he can, you being a minor. What will you do now? Small chance there will be for you to pay Fletch Sterns. You might as well give up. I tell you, Nick, when everybody is down on you, ’tain’t any use. Your father might have been quite a man, but everybody was down on him ’cos he was a Bleak. An’ now they all pick at you ’cos you’re the son of Old Nick. Set the coal afire an’ let it burn! You can cheat ’em in that way,” and the old, revengeful spirit of her nature showed in her looks as well as words.

“Never, mother! Too much of such work has been done by the Blares and Bleaks. I’m going straight in this.”

“And lose all your work for your pains. You ain’t got any of the spunk of the Blares erbout you or you wouldn’t submit to sich an outrage.”

“I hope I have got enough of the better nature of the Blares to do what is right. If father really owes Mr. Carpenter a bill, it shall be paid some time, but I don’t want to be used in this way. It’s Fletch Sterns that’s putting him up to it, and he’s doing it so I sha’n’t be able to pay them taxes and save our home. But I’ll beat ’em yet.”

“Only way you can do it is to burn th’ plaguey coal; I’ll leave it to Irum here if ’tain’t.”

“Of course it is, an’ ef you don’t care to do it, I’ll set her a blazin’ in a minnit.”

“No—no, Uncle Irum! I’ll save that coal somehow, and pay my bills.”

“How?” and not one but a dozen asked the question.

It will be readily seen that the son of Old Nick—and I call my hero that with no disrespect—had his most dangerous battle to fight right at home. It was there, among those who should have stood manfully by him, that he was most likely to fail. But I am inclined to deal charitably with his mother, remembering, as I do, the temptations and animosities that environed her. Hers was a misguided, misspent life. For Black Daniels I have little, if any, extenuation.

In that trying moment Nick called his brother Bell, Breck Shingle, and another by the name of Tom Blare aside for a consultation.

“Boys,” began Nick, “you know what is threatening us. Now, while I don’t want to cheat Mr. Carpenter out of an honest debt, something has got to be done to save us that coal."

“Tell us what you want done, Nick, and we will help you," said Bell, and the others heartily seconded his words.

“I see but one thing for us to do. That coal has got to be pulled into Portsmouth before the sheriff can get his hands on it!"

“What! before morning? Why, it’s over thirty miles to Portsmouth, and we haven't got a speck loaded nor a team to draw with."

“I know it, and the worst yet is that it isn’t safe to move it so soon on account of its getting on fire. But, in spite of all that, we must and will do it."

His mother and Black Daniels had come near enough to hear these words, and in a moment thev entered into the spirit of the movement, there being that element about it that appealed to their natures. Others caught up the idea, but Nick instantly checked all manifestations of excitement.

“Hold on! You must all do just as I say, or we shall fail. In the first place, it will never do to touch a lump of coal until after dark, for if any one should ketch onto our plan our game would be up. But we can and must get the carts and teams all ready. That can be done at once.”

Here was where the real difficulty came in, for onlv two old horses were owned by them. As they had no cart suitable to hold as much as the two horses in double harness could draw, Nick was obliged to see that two single wagons were rigged up for these animals.

“Them horses can draw fifty bushels apiece, which will make one hundred. We have got to get teams to draw the rest. I will look after them while the rest of vou get the two single teams ready, and keep a sharp lookout that the coal doesn’t break out on fire."

Nick knew that in getting the teams he had got to work with extreme caution so as not to arouse the suspicions of outsiders; hence he did not dare to trust any of the others—not even Bell—to look after them.

A man by the name of Morrison, living on the Blake’s Hill road, had drawn a two-horse load for him early in the summer, and he resolved to see him first.

The sun was then about half-an-hour high, and he found Mr. Morrison driving his cows home from pasture. Himself a man who had been the world over, and seen much of the dark side of life, he was inclined to be quite friendly to Nick, so the latter was not surprised to be greeted with the exclamation:

“Hullo, Nick Bleak! I was just thinking of you, and wondering if I hadn’t better come down and see you. Got your coal drawed, I hear.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Nick, without thinking to ask him how he had received his information so soon after the work had been completed, “and I have come up to see if you will take a load to Portsmouth for me. You shall be paid out of the money I get for it there, so you'll not have to take any risk about getting your pay.”

“Oh, shucks!” was the inelegant reply. “I ain’t one of those fellows who is always worrying about my pay. Never lost a cent either bv Tom, Dick, or Harry. When do you want me to go with a load?”

This was the delicate part of his errand,, and Nick hesitated in regard to the manner in which he should state his wishes. It was a question as to how far he could trust the other with his secret. Though startling him with his abrupt declaration, the other quickly opened the way for him by saying:

“Perhaps if you knew what was on foot you would not have taken the trouble to see me.”

CHAPTER XII
A WILD TEAM.

Stopping a moment, as if to enjoy Nick’s look of amazement, Mr. Morrison resumed:

“I don’t suppose it is just the square thing for me to do, and yet, under the circumstances, it is as wide for you as it is long for them. Nick, I am afraid you won’t have any coal for me to draw. Carpenter means to fasten onto it in the morning. Pie would have done it to-day if Trask had not been off scouring Strafford for Black Daniels.”'

“I have heard of it,” was the calm rejoinder. “He is going to do it to recover one of father’s debts. At least, he says father owes him.”

“So that’s the way the squirrel sits, is it? It’s a mean trick to play on you. It is a shame for any boy to be made to meet his father’s obligations.”

“Fletch Sterns is putting him up to it. You know I was to pay the taxes with the money I got, and he doesn’t want me to for some reason.”

“Whew! worse and worse. I thought Carpenter wasn’t the man to start out on that. I can tell you why Sterns wants to hold onto that deed of your place. It’s on account of that timberland running off toward the mountain. I heard him say that was worth more than a thousand dollars. I wonder that he promised to let you have the privilege to pay up.”

“He didn’t think I'd have the money, and, now I’m likely to, he’s trying some other way to beat me. Will the collector's deed hold a piece of property?’’

“It is so considered, and in that case, if Mr. Sterns finally concludes not to let you pay up, he’ll have you fast where you can’t help yourself. However, I wish to say for your benefit that I heard the whole matter discussed at the store the other day by a dozen or more, and Captain Coe, who knows more law than any man in these parts, said positively that he had never known a collector’s deed to hold in court. But, of course, you cannot go to law.”

“Of course not, but I don’t want to let that coal go in that way. And I’m not going to if I have a friend to help me out.”

“Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you to go to Portsmouth with a load to-night,” replied Nick, boldly.

“Whew! Ha—ha! I see your game!” slapping Nick on the shoulder. “Well, sir, the ends justify the means, and I and my horses are at your disposal. I can draw a hundred bushels, and if you want me to, ten or fifteen more. I'll have so much safe and snug in Portsmouth before Mr. John Trask wakes up. Have you made any arrangements for the rest?”

“Our horses can draw a hundred bushels, and there will be three hundred in all.”

‘"Making it necessary for you to get another team capable of drawing a hundred bushels. Ill tell you where you can get it. Drew has four cattle in Osgood’s pasture that he has promised to let me have whenever I wanted them, and I’ll sub-let them to you. I have an ox hayrick that we can fix up in an hour so it will hold all you can draw. But before we go any further, I want to ask you one question: Am I right in supposing you get your pay in Portsmouth?”

“Yes, sir. I am paid as soon as the coal is unloaded." “That makes it all safe. I knew the man you sold to lives in Lee, and I thought if you had got to come back to his place for your money Trask could slip in ahead of you after all. But, if nothing happens, we will have the coal in Portsmouth and the money in your pocket before Mr. Trask appears on the scene. Then let him whistle and know that for once he was outwitted.”

Mr. Morrison, leaving the milking of the cows to some one else, at once lent his assistance to Nick, and a little after dark they had the hayrick in readiness to hold a hundred bushels of coal. He then began to look after his horses, so as to have them ready to harness by nine o'clock, it being agreed that they should begin to load at ten.

Nick returned to his home to get his supper, and also to have Bell and Bub go with him to help find and yoke the oxen.

This last proved to be a longer and more trying task than might have been expected. The pasture contained over two hundred acres, considerable of it covered with bushes, so the boys had an extended search to find the cattle. In fact, as loth as he was to do so, Nick had concluded that they could not be found, when they were gladdened by the sight of four creatures lying under the edge of a pine growth.

These proved to be nearer steers than oxen, for one pair could not have been over three, and the other of four years of age.

“They can’t be the ones Mr. Morrison sent us to get, but, as they are the only ones in the pasture, we must take them. Let’s drive them down to the yokehouse as fast as possible, as it must now be past ten o’clock.”

But the steers soon showed that they were difficult to manage, and it must have been an hour later before they had succeeded in getting home with their steer team. They had been obliged to “corner” them to put the yokes on them, and even then their troubles had but begun. Still, they did manage to hitch them to the hayrick and to drive them to the coal kilns.

Mr. Morrison had not only got there, but had loaded his cart, assisted by the others, Black Daniels being careful to keep out of sight. The latter had helped load the two one-horse carts, so the three teams were ready to start some time before Nick and his brothers arrived with the cattle.

''Jumping junipers!” exclaimed the surprised Mr. Morrison, “where did you get that steer team? Why, there isn’t but one there that ever had a yoke on him before.

They are as wild as hawks, and you can never get to »

Portsmouth with them in the world;”

“They were the only creatures in the pasture,” said Nick. “Perhaps they will tame down a little after we get a load to them.”

“Tame the hurricane! But I suppose you must try them. The rest of us will wait until you have got loaded before we start. We can get there then before you do; that is, I suppose you will drive the steers, Nick?”

“I think I shall have to, though I had intended to let Breck take the ox team.”

Many hands made light work of loading, so in less than half-an-hour they were all in readiness to start, the four teams carrying three hundred and ten bushels, all there was.

Black Daniels had decided to accompany one of the single horse loads, to he driven by Tom Blare; so it was arranged for this to start last, Mr. Morrison leading the way.

The other single team, driven by Breck Shingle, followed him, when Nick prepared to start with his steer team, he having called upon Bell and two others to assist him, at least until lie had got out to the main road.

But Nick hadn't gone three rods with his team before the leaders suddenly wheeled around on the off side, and those on the pole came to a sudden standstill. Then the one on the near side turned half way, and, throwing his head down, brought the yoke upside down and the whole lot in a hopeless tangle.

As startling as this situation was, however, Tom Blare was meeting with a worse experience, for he had not got more than fairly started before his load burst out into a flame!

CHAPTER XIII
DESPERATE ALTERNATIVES.

“It never rains but it pours/'’ runs an old adage, and it would trulv seem that such a state of affairs had overtaken the coal-drawers. A more exciting scene could not well be imagined.

Nick heard Tom's wild cry of alarm, and he saw that a fire had burst out in the coal—a danger he had feared from the first. Usually coal is allowed to remain on the bed two davs before it is loaded or housed. But, of course, under the circumstances, this had been impossible.

"There are fiftv bushels gone!” cried Nick, as he tried to quiet the team. "Whoa! Keep the leaders still, Bell, if possible. Look out there, Sam, on the off side, or we shall all be piled up in a heap."

Meanwhile the fire had burst out on the single load with such a crackling and roaring that the horse, though old and ordinarily steady, received such a fright it bounded pell-mell down the valley in spite of Tom, who was sawing upon its bit for all he was capable of doing.

"Whoa!" yelled the terrified driver. "Stop him, somebody, or I shall be killed!”

Mr. Morrison and the other single team were beyond hearing of the furious rattling and shouting, and it was better so, perhaps. It was equally fortunate that Black Daniels was with Tom, else I am sure the affair would have turned out far worse.

Finding that the animal was beyond the control of his young driver, Black Daniels caught upon the reins just as the top of the summit overlooking the descent to the pole bridge was reached. At that moment a flaw of wind whipped the flames into a sort of spiral column, which rose high into the air—a grand yet terrible spectacle to the eye-witnesses in the valley.

Feeling that they were lost, Tom Blare, with a loud scream, leaped from his seat, flying heels over head into the bushes bordering the roadway.

“Whoa!” shouted the burly driver, throwing all of his great power upon the reins, which were fortunately strong enough to withstand the big strain thus suddenly brought to bear upon them. The horse felt the strength upon its bit, and, with a snort, fell back upon its haunches.

“Easy there,” said Daniels, letting up on his hold, knowing that to stop there on the height was worse than keeping on into the valley.

At the foot of the hill, a short distance on that side of the bridge, was a well-worn path leading down to the stream where their owners had long been in the habit of leading the horses to drink, and no sooner had Black Daniels seen this than he decided upon the best course for him to pursue.

Holding a steady rein on the animal, without checking its speed, he guided the creature straight toward this narrow opening, and, upon reaching it, allowed it to dash madly ahead—down the bank into the river!

It was a desperate alternative, but his only hope. The wagon lurched so that it seemed for a time that it must tip over, but, throwing his weight upon the upper side, the rider soon felt it righting itself, and the next moment the level bottom of the stream was reached.

The water came to the body of the cart, but, heading the horse squarely down stream, Black Daniels sang out sharply:

“Whoa!”

With the water splashing about it, the animal quickly came to a standstill.

No sooner was this accomplished than Daniels leaped down from his high seat, and caught up the pail carried for the purpose of watering and feeding the horse. With this he began to dash the water upon the burning coal, and so effectually did he work that in a short time he had checked the breaking out of the flames.

Help was near at hand, Some of the inhabitants of the Birches having followed the runaway as fast as they could. These gave such assistance as they could toward extinguishing the flames, until it was thought safe to drive out of the river.

To find a place where the bank could be ascended it was necessary to follow down the stream for some distance, when the undertaking was performed successful!}'.

“By George!” exclaimed Tom Blare, who had kept close behind the cart, “if it hadn’t been for Uncle Irum (Black Daniels bore the same relationship to Tom that he did to Nick) I wouldn’t have given much for that load of coal. I was scart to death, an’ flummuxed heels over head inter the brush. Fact, but ’tain’t every one would own it. Shall we save th’ coal, Uncle Irum?”

“It’ll shrink some, I reckon, an’ it’ll hev to be overhauled. Come, pitch in, an’ we’ll make short work of it.”

While all this was taking place, in less time, perhaps, than I have been in describing it, Nick Bleak and his assistants were having an equally exciting time. The refractory steers were making them all the trouble it seemed possible.

One of the most aggravating creatures to handle is a sullen, unbroken steer, and the most provoking thing he can do is to turn his yoke, as I know from experience.

The mates to this one were doing their worst to try their would-be master, but the nigh one of the pair on the pole outdid them.

Three times when Bell and the other had succeeded in bringing the leaders into line, this obstinate brute leaped swiftly forward, threw his head under the pole, and dropped flat upon the ground, and in such a manner that the yoke was turned bottom side up.

With what patience he could command, Nick worked with the obdurate steer, until for the third time he had got him around into proper position.

No sooner had this been accomplished than the four, with loud bellows, leaped furiously down the road, and up the ascent as if the cart behind them was empty. Bell had caught upon the bow of the near forward steer, so he managed to keep alongside, while Nick had not allowed those behind to escape him.

There was no possibility of stopping them at the top of the hill, and, realizing something what this wild runaway of four untamed steers plunging down a smart descent, with a hundred bushels of coal behind them, meant, Nick Bleak fairly gasped for breath, but managed to shout to his brother:

“Hold to 'em, Bell, but look out they don't throw you."

CHAPTER XIV
TWO STARTLING DISCOVERIES.

Black Daniels, with such assistance as the others gave him, had overhauled the coal in the cart.drawn by the single horse, so Tom and he were ready to resume their journey before Nick had succeeded in getting his steer team started.

Several bushels of coal had been burned, but, on the whole, they had come out of the adventure ‘far better than could have been expected.

"Might as well be movin’ on, Tom,” declared the outlaw, who, if the truth be told, was anxious to get away from that locality as soon as possible.

Tom could see no need of their stopping longer, and so, without more delay, they drove on.

It was we eak that the road necessary for his team to follow turned off from the main highway leading through the Narrows a short distance before coming in sight of that village, so there was little danger of being discovered by any of the people living there.

Mr. Morrison and the other single team had no doubt safely passed the corner, and were well on their way by this time.

Accordingly, Tom and his companion jogged quietly along in good spirits, happily for their peace of mind ignorant of the fact that two pairs of watchful eyes were looking upon them with open-mouthed wonder. And these spies were none other than that mischievous twain whose names I need not give.

How they happened to be there can be explained in a few words. Vastly Sterns had been spending the evening with his friend, and staying until that late hour, was afraid to go home alone. He had not told his parents that he intended to stay away all night, so he dared not remain longer. In this dilemma he had persuaded Virgil to go home with him and stop until morning.

They had heard the grinding of loaded wheels, and come to a stop a short distance back from the corner.

“Who can be on the road at this time of night? Look, Virgil! it is one of the charcoal burners’ teams.”

“Yes; and that is Tom Blare driving. But who is that beside him? Why, I believe it is Black Daniels!”

“It is Black Daniels!” said his companion. “He’s running off in the night! So he is in these parts, after all.” The sight so astonished the boys that they did not move until the coal team had disappeared down the road.

“We mustn’t stand here,” said Vastly. “We must arouse the people as soon as possible. Let's-go home and tell father. You know there is a reward offered for Black Daniels, and if we are the means of his capture, we shall get it.”

Thus, instead of doing the more reasonable thing of going back and alarming the inhabitants of the village, they ran toward Blake's Hill at the top of their speed, for Fletcher Sterns lived at the top of this hill. But if this was not the wisest course for them to follow, it might prove the most effectual, for no man would do more to frustrate the escape of the outlaw and the plans of Nick Bleak than Fletcher Sterns.

With the prospect of his long journey before him, while not dreaming of the interference that was likely to take place before it was ended, Tom Blare soon began to weary of his task. His companion was continually humming a low ditty, but did not seem inclined to talk much, though he finally rallied to say:

“Well, I s’pose, Tom, I shall never look on these old hills ag’in. I don’t know as I shall miss 'em much, but I shall miss ’em more’n I shall ’em as live on ’em.”

“Are you goin’ so very far away, uncle?” asked Tom, glad to begin a conversation.

“Fur? Well, I should say so. Why, boy! I’m goin’ to cross th’ ocean. I’m goin’ to South Ameriky.”

“Is the ocean so very wide, then, uncle, and is South Ameriky so very far away?"

“Where’s yer jografy, boy? Seems to me you hain’t paid th’ ’tention to it yer oughter ter a boy o’ yer age."

This touched Tom so sharply that to change the drift of the talk he asked:

“Did you really break into that house at th’ Pond, uncle?"

“Who said I did? I’d like to git th’ feller by th’ collar that started th’ story. I was twenty miles from th’ place when it was done. But tliet don’t count. A feller with a black mark ag’in his name is no better than a dead dog. But look yonder! an’t that a boss and wagon coming, or do these old eyes of mine deceive me?"

“It is a team. Who can be out this time of night? It is a white boss, and Sheriff Trask drives a white boss part of the time!" he added, beginning to move uneasily on his seat.

‘If it is the sheriff, I hev got to look sharp. I believe it is—I am sure of it!’’

CHAPTER XV
RUNNING THE GANTLET.

Looking across the valley from the summit of the hill they had gained to a corresponding height in the distance, both Tom Blare and his Uncle Irum could distinguish quite plainly, in the starlight, the outlines of the approaching horse and wagon. Ay, as has been said, they could see that the animal was white, and that it was being urged on at a rapid pace.

“The chances are more'n even thet Sheriff Trask is holdin’ 'em reins," declared Black Daniels, “an' I an't in a mood to take enny chances just now. I wonder how I shall outwit him. Ha! I know what I'll do. Keep peggin’ ahead, for if you should stop, he'd mistrust something, but move slow, while I kiver."

While Tom did as he was directed, the outlaw began to dig a trench along the middle of the load of coal, using his hands for a shovel. A two-bushel basket to handle the coal in was on the cart, and this he half buried, bottom up, near the seat. Then he stretched his burly figure along in the hollow he had scooped out, thrusting his head into the basket.

“Kiver me up, Tom, an’ look sharp thet no part of me shows. Don't leave enny ridge or hump in the coal, either. I can breathe through the basket if I am kivered quite deep."

Hanging the reins on the corner of the seat, so the horse could keep moving ahead, Tom did as he was requested, finishing his work in good shape and returning to his seat before the owner of the white horse drove into plain sight.

It was well for the fugitive that this meeting took place in the vallley between the hills, and where it was quite dark. Tom Blare felt his heart almost stop its beating as he saw the late driver was Sheriff Trask, and that he was pulling up his horse.

“Hold on!” called out the officer, sharply; “who are you abroad at this time of night?"

Tom pulled hard on the bit, but his answer was not intelligible.

The sheriff was directly abreast of him, and as the road was narrow, he could have easily touched the shoulder of the young driver of the coal cart by reaching out his left hand.

“Some of the blamed charcoal burners, of the Narrows!" exclaimed Mr. Trask, seeing enough to satisfy himself of that fact. “How far are you drawing your coal?”

“To Portsmouth, sir,” Tom managed to mutter, and he felt a breath of relief to see the other’s horse move impatiently on.

“Whoa, Jim! Sav, youngster, have you seen anything of Black Daniels to-night? Mind you and tell the truth.” “He isn’t at the Narrows, sir,” replied Tom, truthfully. “I expect he’s a long way from there.”

“You do, do vou?” said the sheriff, allowing his horse to plunge ahead at a gait to suit itself, while Tom gladly clucked to his horse, and the rattle of the coal cart drowned the sound of carriage wheels.

He had gone nearly half a mile before the begrimed figure of Black Daniels rose from the midst of the coal.

“Yer did thct well, Tom,” he declared, shaking as much as he could the dirt from his clothes; “but ’twere a narrer squeak. We hev got to keep our eves open.”

Leaving them to pursue their long, lonely journey, lct us return and see how it is faring with the drivers of the steer team, which we left plunging wildly down the Narrows hill beyond the control of its drivers.

The rattle and thunder of the cart drowned Nick’s appeal to his brother, but Bell did not need it to induce him to cling to his precarious position. In fact, to have done differently would have sent him headlong under the feet of the maddened steers. As I have described, the wav was exceedingly rough, and twice he stumbled over the rocks strewing* the path, to be dragged on by the runaways; but by holding fast upon the end of the bow, he succeeded in recovering his feet.

Nick's experience was similar to his, and while the creaking, groaning cart lurched to and fro, threatening to overturn at every plunge, it kept right side up and the steers in the middle of the road, until a 'morc deafening crash told that the bridge had been reached.

The most miraculous part of the adventure occurred here, for it was truly a wonder that the old structure did not break down, or that the load was not precipitated into the stream. But amid the wild confusion of sounds, the breadth of poles spanning the rockv depths was passed and the ascent of the hill beyond begun.

Here, lor the first time, the boys began to get an advantage over their unruly team. The steers were loath to give up, and, leaping and snorting, they carried their burden up the ascent, though at a decreasing speed, until at the top they were glad to come to a standstill, completely out of breath.

"Pat them, Bell, and make them think you are not going to hurt them,” said Nick. "I think we have got over the worst of it.”

"I hope so. Do you know. Nick, my feet never touched ground but twice after we left that hill until we started up this.”

“Perhaps three times, Bell, but that was an exciting time. Where is your hat?”

“It got knocked off and trampled under the steers’ feet. But I can go bareheaded.”

“I wonder how Tom has come out with his load.” Some of the others coming up then, Nick learned that the one-horse load had gone on, as far as the spectators knew, in good shape. Better encouraged, the boys started their team ahead, finding the steers more tractable now.

Fifteen minutes later the last sound of the grinding wheels had died out down on the lower road, so that the inhabitants of the Birches sought repose, and a nightly silence, more marked for the recent thrilling disturbance, settled over the Narrows.

CHAPTER XVI
LAST HOUR OF GRACE.

The real workers of the charcoal burners of the Narrows being on their way to the market for their coal, it was not strange that no sign of life was apparent, except for half-a-dozen dogs, as a party of four men entered the valley that morning in the gray light of the breaking day.

They were Sheriff Trask, Joel Carpenter, Fletcher Sterns, and another, who can be nameless.

“Look!" exclaimed Mr. Stern, “the coal is all gone. Vastly was right. You have made a pretty bungle of this, Trask.”

“None the more my fault. I have had all I could attend to for the past three days. If you had got me word sooner I would have been here in season. I am sure now it was one load of that coal I met on the road last night. If I had known then-—”

“Well, nothing is made by ifing' around here!" declared Mr. Sterns, impatiently. “You must follow them to Portsmouth, if necessary, to save that coal. Don’t you say so, Carpenter? Of course it is nothing to me.”

“Yes, foller them, Jont. You must get your work in before they get paid for the coal. I'll make it right with you. I calculate there will be enough coming to make a good night's work for us. Let's see, the coal goes to the navy yard. Where could they have got the teams to draw it all?"

“Frank Morrison went for one, and I believe he helped them to an ox team. You ought to be able to overtake that easily."

"I want to know if Frank Morrison has mixed himself up with the Bleaks and Blares. Well, don’t lose any more time, Trask, but hustle for Portsmouth. You can catch up with that ox team before it gets to Newmarket. You will go with him, Carpenter?”

“Yes, I think I had better.”

“Better take your horse, too."

“You must think a man is made of iron to go through what I have for the past three days. Sterns," growled the officer.

“Oh, well, a man in your position expects to meet with some hard knocks. You get paid for it. You have been mighty anxious to get your hands on Black Daniels, and now that I have put you on track of him, you show plaguey little interest. Is it so, Trask?”

“I’lI see what can be done. Come, Joel, let's be on our way.”

At that very moment, so rapidly had he pushed on his course, Frank Morrison was driving over long bridge just out of Portsmouth, while the single teams were less than a mile behind him. As surprising as it seemed, the steers having walked like horses, scarcely two miles farther in the rear, followed Nick and Bell, their team docile enough, now.

Most assuredly Jonathan Trask would have to ride far and fast to carry out the scheme of those who were the enemies of the young charcoal burner of the Xarrows.

It was an anxious day to those who remained at home, and toward the middle of the afternoon the children and Mrs. Bleak began to listen for the sound of wagon wheels which should proclaim the return of the absent ones.

The sun’s last rays were “making money” of the sparkling surface of Silver Bond, as their long vigilance was rewarded by the rumbling of an approaching wagon. Running out to meet the expected comer, they were somewhat disappointed to find it was only Mr. Morrison. But he soon enlivened their hopes by saying:

“Nick has come—he rode with me, leaving Bell to get the steers along, as he said he had got to pay Sterns tonight, and he was in fear it would be too late if he came with the others. Your horses are about tired out, so you needn’t look for the boys till toward morning. Oh, yes; we got there in fine shape, and Nick and I, the money safe in his pocket, met Mr. Trask at Newmarket. There, thought I would drive in and tell you that much, but I must get home and put up my horses. I tell you it is a long, hard drive to Portsmouth. Nick will be along in the course of an hour.”

Nick had never felt in better spirits than he did when he approached the home of Mr. Sterns with the money in his pocket to pay up the taxes on his father's property, and thus be able to feel that he had fairly recovered it.

Everything about the farmhouse seemed unusually quiet, and when he rapped at the door it gave back that hollow, peculiar sound which comes from an empty building.

“They have gone away!” he thought. “I wonder what that means. The barn is locked, and everything looks as if they had gone to stay some time.”

Hoping that the farmer would soon return, Nick seated himself on the chopping block in the yard, to impatiently await his coming. From this elevated position he could look over a large circuit of country. Silver Pond shone with uncommon brilliancy in the dazzling rays of the setting sun, while farther away its twin mate rivaled its glory. The Narrows' village was in plain sight, and above the other buildings the steeple of the little church pointed to the sky. It seemed strange to him for the first time in his life that he had never been inside the house of worship. Moving eastward, his eye soon rested on what looked like a dark patch on the landscape. It was the growth of pines, forming almost the sole worth of the fifty-odd acres of the estate of his father.

“Mr. Morrison is right,” he mused; “it is that timber Mr. Sterns wants to keep in his hands. I believe he is staying on purpose so as not to see me, for this is my last day of grace.”

He grew nervous, and began to walk back and forth in the yard, as he saw the silvery crescent formed by the birches growing on the hillside above the pines take on a hue of the evergreens under the shades of night, which swiftly succeeded the short autumn twilight.

CHAPTER XVII
A RICHMAN’’S SWORD.

[t must have been nine o’clock in the evening, and Nicky no longer able to maintain his lonely vigil, was about to start for home, when the sound of carriage wheels arrested his attention.

‘It’s Mr. Sterns’ wagon!" he exclaimed, joyously. “I know the cluck of that axle too well to be mistaken."

If he needed further proof it was soon forthcoming by the entrance of the vehicle into the yard, and the stopping of the black horse in front of the piazza door.

Mr. Sterns then alighted, and when he had assisted his wife from the carriage, Nick stepped forward, saying:

“Good-evening, Mr. Sterns. I have come with the money to take up that collector’s deed."

The farmer appeared too surprised to speak at first, but finally he managed to exclaim:

'“You here, Nick Bleak! What are such as you hanging around my buildings for at this time of night? Looking to see what you could find to steal, I suppose!"

“I have come with that moncv, sir. I—”

“Money! You don’t owe me any money, I am thankful to say. So get off my premises."

A less determined boy than Nick must have given up his object, but, beginning to realize what was portending, he boldly repeated:

“I have come with the money to take up that deed. f have been—”

“Pretty time to come fooling round about that. Your time was up this morning.”

“To-day, sir. I have been here since before sunset. I have got the fifty dollars, the sum you demanded——”

“You owe that to Joel Carpenter, and he is after it. If he’d been smart, he’d got his fist onto it before this time. So you have got the money for your coal, or did you steal-”

‘‘Sir, you’re using me mean. I have kept my word, and now I want you—”

“Out of my yard, you miserable dog! If you came here to insult me with any such language, the quicker you get off my premises the better for you.”

Nick Bleak, used as he was to all sorts of treatment, was dumfounded at this. He could not believe his own senses at first. He had always known that Fletcher Sterns was a man of little compassion for those who had not succeeded as well in life as he, but he had alwavs been called honest, though close in his dealings. Finally he managed to say:

“Mr. Sterns, is this the way you keep your promise? You said if I—”

“You have heard what I have said to-night. That is sufficient, or would be if you had the brains of a cat. You have not kept your agreement with me in the least particular, so any promise I may have made to you is crossed out. I hold a good title to the few worthless acres in your father’s name. Go home, and know it is the last night you will ever occupy it. To-morrow I shall take possession.”

There was nothing more for the outcast to say. He knew that for him to save his poor home meant to fight the rich man in a lawsuit. It would be far better to be turned out of home at once than to resort to that measure. With a heavy heart he went to the humble abode that held all he knew dear of life.

His mother met him at the door with a glad welcome, but, without replying, he flung himself upon a rude couch in the corner of the room and burst into tears.

“Why, Nick,” cried his alarmed mother, who seldom showed much emotion. “What’s the matter? Frank said the coal went all right, so whut air you in sich a tiff for?”

“It’s all for nothing!” he exclaimed, springing up. “What’s the use for me to work and slave myself, when everything is against me? Let me do ever so well, and lt’s flung in my face that I’m only the son of Old Nick. Let a rich man like Fletch Sterns lie, and it’s all right. He has lied to me, and I can prove it.”

When he had become somewhat calmer, she learned the whole truth, to become then the one to yield to her passion.

“So he won’t let yer hev yer own, will he? An’ after you hev slaved in th’ way you hev. Let me hev th’ money an’ I’ll burn it, an’ then I’ll burn the house down, an’ I’ll set fire to th’ timber if thet is whut he’s a-wantin’. He shan’t hev a thing thet was an’ is Nick Bleak’s or Levi Blare’s. I’ll do—”

The unreasonable anger of Nick’s mother was, perhaps, the best part that could have been acted then, for it quickly showed him his own weakness better than anything else could have done. He had been used to these outbursts all his life. He immediately began to pacify her.

“We mustn’t do anything so foolish as that, mother. Mr. Sterns has showed himself in his true lighit, and he has got the best of us, as it looks. But we have been to blame. Folks thet are too shiftless to keep their taxes paid up ought to lose their property, I s’pose. I know I an’t worked as I ought to, but I have done better than the rest, and if father hadn’t—”

He stopped suddenly, and his lip quivered as he asked:

"Mother, did father steal them things at Grandmother Locke's?’’

"I don’t know an’ I don’t care. Nobody ever give us a fair show, ennyway.”

"There you are again, mother. But I do care. I do not believe father was guilty, and I’m going to clear his name. Yes; I’ll do it, and then it won’t be such a terrible thing to be called the son of Old Nick. There, cheer up, mother, I feel better already. We’ll come out better than it looks now. Mr. Alden Yeasey heard Fletcher Sterns’ promise to give me until to-day to pay them taxes. In the morning I will ask him to go with me to see Mr. Sterns. I wish Bell and the others would come.”

CHAPTER XVIII
NICK ACCUSED OF THEFT.

Tom Blake got home about ten o'clock with the two single teams, one horse following the other. But he had not seen anything of the steer team under charge of Breck Shingle and Bell Bleak since starting out from Portsmouth.

Tom declared that he had never done such a day's work before, and he crept off to bed. leaving Nick to care for the horses, which were pretty well used up.

It was an hour and a half later when Bell and Breck arrived with the steers, which had stood their journey better than the horses, though they laid down without offering to eat the pile of hay Nick put before them.

“I won’t think of taking them back to pasture before morning,” said Nick.

“Well. I guess if you were as tired as Breck and I you wouldn’t do it. I tell you we're two poor fellers. If we hadn't taken turns in riding, we should have worn our legs off’n us.”

Breck was apparently too tired to even mention the fact, for he quickly disappeared, and was not seen again until noon the next day.

Nick, who had quite forgotten his exhausted condition, did not feel much like sleeping, and he tossed on his poor couch in a state of feverish excitement the balance of the night. As near as he could reckon it, he should have fifty dollars left from the proceeds of the coal, after paying Mr. Morrison for drawing one hundred bushels. Then there would be so much to pay for the steers, though he could not tell how much this bill would be. He was more troubled on this score for the reason that he had found that the steers did not belong to Mr. Drew, the man Frank Morrison had said owed him some money. In fact, the steers did not belong in the pasture where he had found them, but were the property of an unknown person.

Still, this was a trifling matter, compared to the other affairs that were worrying him.

“I s’pose we shall have to give up our place and Uncle Levi’s,” he finally concluded, mentally, “if Fletch Sterns sticks to what he says. But I’ll make a fight before I give up, because it isn’t honest for him to take it in that way, now that I’ve got the money to pay the taxes. I must hold onto that like grim death.”

If I haven’t already said so, I would improve this opportunity to state that the place of his uncle’s he was trying to save belonged to him who had been convicted and sent to prison at the same time his father had met that fate.

“Is it possible father really stole those things?” he asked himself, his thoughts turning into another channel. “He had never been in prison before. I ought to have questioned Uncle Irum more about it, but I didn’t dare to, it made him so uppish. He has been in prison two or three times. I s'pose I did wrong in helping him off, but what could I do? He’s a bold, bad man, and it’ll be better for us if he never came back.”

Nick was astir before sunrise, but he concluded to call on Mr. Veasey before taking the steers back to the pasture, as he was anxious to see him before Mr. Sterns came, as he expected he would.

It was a clear September morning, and Nick, under the invigorating influences of the crisp air, felt in better spirits before he had reached the home of Mr. Veasey, whom he found at work in the yard sorting a pile of apples.

“Good-morning, Nick,” greeted the farmer. “I hope you have come to help me to-day. I have more work to do than a dozen men could run around.”

“Perhaps I can help you after I have attended to a little matter that is troubling me. I came over to see if you remembered what Mr. Sterns said about giving me the privilege of paying up them taxes.”

“Certainly. I remember it well. Why shouldn't I, as I was intending to bid them off, but he wanted me to give way to him. I did so upon condition that you should have time to redeem them in. I didn't want to see you crowded. Are you ready to settle now? I hear you have got your coal off."

“Yes, sir, but Mr. Sterns refuses to take the money. I offered it to him last evening.”

“You don't say. What objection does he raise?"

“Says I didn’t get round as soon as the time was up. Says it was up yesterday morning. I understood it yesterday—any time—and I went as soon as I got home, and when I offered him the money-—fifty dollars—he ordered me out of his yard."

“I shouldn't have thought Fletcher would have done that. And he was going to make you pay fifty dollars? Well, if he refuses to take it, I don't see how you can help it. Of course you might hold your place by a lawsuit, but you can't fight that. I wish now I had insisted on taking it.”

Nick was at a loss what to say, and while he hesitated, he was surprised by the appearance of his brother ‘‘Bub,’who came running up to him, completely out of breath.

‘‘Mother wants you to come home just as quick as you can. Three or four strange men are there, and they are talking awful ag’in you."

Unable to learn anything satisfactory from his frightened brother, Nick started home at once, to find, upon reaching the place, that, as Bub had said, three men unknown to him, were awaiting his coining.

'‘This, I suppose, is the young scoundrel.” said the foremost, advancing to Nick's side. “What do you mean by stealing a man’s cattle and driving them off?”

“I didn't know that I had, sir. I—”

“No need to have any words about it. It amounts to the same as stealing. You took them out of my pasture without my knowledge, and now I am going to have satisfaction, if there is any virtue in law.”

The man was very much excited and deadly in earnest.

CHAPTER XIX
STERNS SERVES NOTICE.

Nick Bleak was speechless for a time at this bitter charge. Nearly all of his friends had gathered about the place, so they were witnesses to his trying situation.

“I don’t know you personally,” the stranger continued, “but I understand you belong to a pretty poor breed of cattle. It may be that I cannot get any money out of the transaction, but I can have the satisfaction of putting you where you won't be able to steal another man’s cattle. You understand this, sir?”

“Mister,” replied Nick, recovering his presence of mind, speaking with an unflinching front, “I don’t know who you are, and you may have heard I b’long to a poor breed of cattle, but I wanter tell you you can’t find a man as can say I ever stole in my life. I try to be honest, sir, and I will, if folks will let me. You may send me to State prison if you can, but it won’t make right wrong nor wrong right.”

Nick spoke sharper than he realized, but his bold words brought a smile to the lips of the men with him who claimed the steers.

“Jove, Bannigan!” exclaimed one of them, “you’ve got a brick to handle in him. I like the style of his grit.” Mr. Bannigan showed that Nick’s words had had an effect upon his actions.

“Where are the steers?” he asked.

“Down in the holler there. I was going to take them back to the pasture as soon as I could get ’round to it. I will now, if you say so.”

“You’re mighty cool about a matter that can send you where you'll have a place to hang your hat for a good long time, or I’m no judge of law.”

“Do you know Mr. Frank Morrison?”

“I ought to, seeing as he is my brother-in-law.”

“Well, I want you to go to his place with me. He’ll explain it all to you. And it may be well enough to take, the steers along with us, as it will save one trip.”

Mr. Bannigan showed his surprise by remaining silent. Somehow this audacious boy was meeting him pretty squarely for a thief.

“Bell,” said Nick, “I wish you would come out and help me yoke ’em steers. I’ve got to take ’em back to pasture.”

Bell was promptly on hand, and while the men looked on with amazement, the boys yoked both pairs of steers and then drove them down to where the coal wagon stood.

“Hold on, youngsters!” called out Mr. Bannigan; “what have you been doing to them steers? You don’t think you are going to put them on them draves?”

“The steers have been used well, Mr. Bannigan, and though they were a little fractious at first, they are working in tiptop.”

Mr. Bannigan said no more until the boys had got the team hitched up and Nick declared that he was ready to start for Mr. Morrison’s.

At this juncture, Fletcher Sterns appeared upon the scene.

Nodding to Bannigan, whom he seemed to know, he said to Nick:

“I want to be square with you, so I thought I would give you proper notice to get out of my house. I’ll give you thirty days to move in. I have notified the selectmen to make the taxes out to me for last year and this, so you need not have to think anything about paying them. What I have said to you applies to Levi Blare's place. This is a fine morning, Bannigan. How do you like living up this way?”

“Haven't been here long enough to get acquainted yet. Don't want to buy a pair of them steers, do you?”

“Don't know as I do.”

His feelings too much wrought up for him to reply to Mr. Sterns, or even to speak to any of his friends, Nick started the team toward the road, leaving the others to follow him at their leisure.

As Mr. Bannigan and his companions had come with a horse and wagon, they overtook the young charcoal burner soon after he had reached the main road.

Nick could see that the owner of the steers was well pleased with the way they marched along, for their trip to Portsmouth had completely broken them into the yoke.

Frank Morrison had seen them coming some time before they had got to his house, so he was out in the yard waiting for them to come up.

At sight of Mr. Bannigan, he looked very much surprised.

“Hullo, John! How is it you’re out so early in the morning?” Then, as if struck with a new idea, he asked: ‘‘Are them steers yours, John?”

“I have supposed they were ever since they were calves, but I was beginning to think I was mistaken, when I find other folks taking them out of my pasture and using them as if they owned them. I gave this youngster fits till I see him yoke them wild devils up like they were his lifelong friends, and then I shut my mouth. There is some monkeying about this, anyway, and he has taken me to you to explain.”

Mr. Morrison began to laugh heartily.

“It's all right, John, and I don't want you to blame the boy. You see, it stands like this: He wanted a team to go to Porstmouth with a load of coal night before last, and I sent him to Osgood’s pasture to get some cattle, but he could find only these four steers. Thinking I must have meant them, he yoked them and brought them home. I saw his mistake, but it was too late to think of trying to change them, and as he thought he could handle them, I told him to go ahead. If I had dreamed they were yours, I would have made him put on a bigger load. There, what are you going to do about it?”

“I have missed them out of my pasture for a day or two, and while Osgood’s cattle have been in mine, I did not think my cattle were in his pasture. Mighty funny.” “But you ain’t answered my question. How are you and I going to settle? If you make your bill too big, I shall tack enough on the boy’s bill for breaking your wildcats for you to offset.”

CHAPTER XX
AN ARTIST IN DISGRACE.

“Ha! ha!” laughed Mr. Bannigan, showing by his manner that the anger he had felt at first had given way to good humor, “between you both, I stand a poor show. But I’m willing to call it even, and if the boy has another load to pull off, I want him to take them again. I never saw wild steers handled like that before. I suppose you will help me get them back to pasture, Mr. Bleak?”

Of course, Nick was only too glad to do this, and he felt highly pleased over the result of the affair which had looked so threatening at the outset.

As he was anxious to get back to help Mr. Veasey, he at once headed the steers for the pasture, and an hour later he had reached the farmer’s.

During the noon hour Miss Spencer again urged Nick to come to school.

“I know I ought to,” he replied, “but I don’t see how I can. You see, winter is soon coming on, and I must get ready for it. I must burn three more kilns before snow falls, for, you see, I’m bound to have more to live on than we had last year.”

'‘Mercy me!” with the money you have got you will be quite rich.”

‘‘Well, I’m fixed kinder cur’us. Something tells me to hold on to the money I’ve got so as to be ready to get back the old place, if a chance should come up. Of course you know Mr. Sterns has served a notice for us to move out inside of a month, and I s’pose we shall have to, though it comes hard.”

Miss Spencer had heard of it, and she offered her sympathy and the hope that Mr. Sterns would relent.

“I shall talk with him myself about it, for I think it is too bad. But if you can't come to school, perhaps you can spare Bell to do so. Then I have a plan for you. If you will take up one or two studies as you can, I will hear you recite your lessons evenings.”

This was an offer Nick was only too glad to accept, and taking home the books the school teacher loaned him, that evening, by his candle, he learned his first lesson.

Bell began to attend school the following Monday.

The same day the boy charcoal burner began to chop the wood for another kiln. After that he was resolved not to attempt but one kiln at a time.

His success and continued efforts were not without their effect on others at the Birches, so during the week not less than four kilns besides his were started.

Busy days followed. Such activity among the char coal burners had not been seen for a long time. But no one knew better than Nick that the unusual industry would quickly spend itself.

Bell’s reception at school was more cordial, or rather less opposed, than might have been expected. This was due, no doubt, to the fact that it was generally known that he came at the request of the teacher. But if no open hostility was offered, certain ones of the pupils lost no opportunity to make his experience as unpleasant as possible.

Bell, as may be readily understood, was really a most inoffensive boy, having none of the pugnacious determination that belonged to his older brother. Given a pencil and a scrap of brown paper, he cared little of what was going on around him.

This gift of drawing off-hand was soon discovered by Miss Spencer, who realized that, with the opportunity of developing his talent, he might become an artist of no little repute. She, therefore, encouraged him in every way possible.

But Bell’s cunning with his pencil got him into a serious difficulty before he had been in school three days.

Half-a-dozen of the older boys, among whom, as might be expected, were Vastly Sterns and Virgil Bennett, persuaded Bell to make a caricature of an old woman who had been seen at the Narrows with a band of gypsies.

The young artist, without dreaming of the purpose his rather questionable picture was to be put, acceded to their wishes, and in an ecstasy of delight they praised him beyond reason.

Intending to destroy his work as soon as it had gained its purpose, he could not find it when he came to look for it. Still paying but little attention to this, he did not think of it again, until the following session of school, he was amazed to find it pinned to the blackboard and labeled:

“Our Schoolmarm,” while in the right-hand corner was written in a scrawling manner, “B. B.”

The scholars were nearly all in the schoolroom, and Miss Spencer had entered just ahead of him, so he had got to his seat before he had discovered the placard.

The teacher had seen it, beyond doubt, though she made no reference to it until the preliminary exercises had been finished, when she walked to the board and, pointing her finger toward the insulting image, demanded:

“To whom am I indebted for that work of art?”

In a moment a hushed silence fell on the scene, every eye being turned upon the questioner, who, it could be seen, was smarting severely under the insult.

“Who drew that picture?” she asked. “Such a flagrant act cannot go unpunished.”

“I guess you will find the name of the artist in one corner,’ said one of the largest boys.

“B. B.,” read Miss Spencer, the color beginning to die out of her cheeks, as she anticipated their meaning.

“Yes, ma'am; Bell Bleak."

CHAPTER XXI
DARING TOO MUCH.

Not a sound was heard in any part of the house, as the speaker finished his telltale words.

Miss Spencer looked uncommonly pale, and the hand that still pointed at the caricature of herself trembled, as she asked, in a low tone:

“Bell Bleak, did you draw that?”

“Yes, mum.”

“You will stop after school, when I will settle with you for it. If I find the offense repeated, I shall resort to harsher measures.”

She did not think it policy to dwell upon the matter before the school, believing at the outset there were others in some way connected with it. Perhaps no punishment she could have given Bell Bleak would have been more dreaded by him, and that afternoon, though he was uncommonly studious, he failed in all of his lessons. Without thinking what the result might be, he remained in at recess, a fact that gave the other boys considerable concern.

“He means to blow on us,” said Vastly Sterns, “and he daresn’t show himself among us. Let’s call him out.”

This not being deemed advisable, it was finally decided to wait until the close of the school, and put themselves in Bell’s way on his return home.

“I know of a cute place down by the Narrows—where that big clump of willows grows close to the road,” declared young Sterns.

Unconscious of this plot against him, Bell finally saw the rest of the scholars filing out of the house, while he was obliged to remain in his seat. Miss Spencer had never looked so stern to him before.

But the chastisement he received was not as severe as he had expected. In fact, his teacher spoke quite kindly to him, as she asked him his motive in drawing the caricature of her.

“If you please, mum, I didn't draw it for you at all. I did it to please the boys, who wanted a picture of Gypsy Meg. I don't know who put it on the blackboard, for it was done before I come into the house. I didn't put the lettering under it, either.”

Miss Spencer began to feel that she was getting at the truth of the matter, and carefully took down the names of the boys who had requested him to draw a sketch of Gypsy Meg.

“I wouldn't do anything of that kind again, Bell, for it is not right to make sport of any one, no matter how poor they are. I didn’t think you meant any harm to me, though I did feel hurt to know that any of my scholars should resort to such work. There, you may go home now,”

Gladly Bell started to leave the house, but he paused at the door, and after a moment's hesitation, he ran back to where Miss Spencer was getting her books ready to start home, when he exclaimed, impetuously:

"I am sorry, teacher, that happened, and that I had anything to do with it.”’

Then, as if startled at what he had done, he turned and fled from the building.

Bell Bleak was pursuing his homeward course at a smart walk, when he was suddenly confronted by the party under the lead of Vastly Sterns and Virgil Bennett.

“Stop, you little tattlebox!” cried the first, catching the terrified boy by the shoulder. “What did you want to tell the teacher that we had anything to do about that picture for?’

"Let me go!’’ implored Bell. "I ain’t hurt any of you."

“What did you tell Miss Spencer? Own up to your lies, or we’ll hang you to one of these willows.”

“I ain’t told anything but the truth. Oh, you’re pinching my arm hard. Let go.”

“Not till you own up. Make a circle round him, boys, so if he gets away from me he can’t escape. Now, Bell Bleak, we are going ta make it warm for you if you don’t tell us every word you told the teacher, and all she said to you. Mind you, every word both ways.”

Bell's reply was a renewal of his struggles to break away, and so furiously did he contend with Vastly that he succeeded in wresting himself clear from his hold. Dropping then upon the ground, he plunged headlong between the legs of Virgil Bennett, and into the midst of the clump of willows by the wayside.

“Head him off!” cried Vastly. “Don't let the little black-faced imp get away.”

So quickly did the others spring to his assistance, Bell's escape was cut off, and he again found himself surrounded in the middle of the road.

“You can't get away!” exclaimed the chief of his tormenters. “Now tell us all, before we half kill you.”

It would be hard to tell how this would have ended had not a newcomer appeared in sight at that moment. Bell was the first to see him, when he cried:

“Oh, Nick! help! help!”

Vastly Sterns and his companions turned to see the young charcoal-burner coming swiftly toward them. His hands were grimed with dirt from his recent work, and a black smudge nearly crossed his face. But the belligerent boys did not notice this as much as they did the expression on his disfigured countenance.

‘"What are you doing here?” he demanded, reaching the place at a few furious strides.

Feeling safe with so many to stand behind him, Vastly Sterns replied:

“None of your business, Son of Old Nick. And if you don't want to get a dose of the same medicine as that sneaking brother of yours, you had better keep proper distance.”

“Be careful how you sass me,” retorted the trembling Nick. “I ain’t feeling like taking any of your stuff.”

“Lay a hand on us if you dare, Son of Old Nick.”

“Lay a hand on my brother, and I’ll——”

Vastly had seized a willow branch lying at his feet, and before the other could finish his sentence, dealt Bell a stinging blow over the head.

CHAPTER XXII
NICK’S SAD DISCOVERY.

Vastly Sterns and his companions to this day have no clear idea of just what followed. The first suddenly felt a vise-like grip upon two places of his person, and he was hurled bodily into the thicket by the roadside. Virgil Bennett was flung on top of him the next instant, while one after another of the rest followed in various shapes. Some were hedged in among the willows, while a few went a little farther to fall upon the clear grass ground beyond.

When the road had been cleared, and it was done in the twinkling of an eye, Nick Bleak stood defiantly at bay.

Two or three of the boys were quickly on their feet, but they offered no resistance, while their companions crawled out from their positions, Vastly Sterns being the last to recover his equilibrium.

His face had been quite severely scratched, while his clothes showed several rents. Virgil Bennett had received several minor injuries, though all the rest had escaped unhurt.

“Pitch into him, boys!” cried young Sterns. “We hadn’t laid a hand on him,”

“Better let him alone,” said another, turning about and leaving the place, to be followed by all except Vastly, Virgil and one other.

Deserted thus unexpectedly, the bully looked frightened, and began to retreat.

“I shall enter a complaint against you,”' he exclaimed. “Come, Virgil, we don't want to dirty our hands with the miserable coal-burner.”

A minute later Bell and Nick were left alone.

“It was a lucky thing for me that you come erlong just as you did,” declared the former.

“Tell me all about it, Bell.”

When his brother had given a full account of what had taken place, Nick looked serious, saying:

“Well, I don't think they’ll dare to touch you again. I am sure they won't me.”

“I'm afraid of 'em, Nick, honest I am. That Vast Sterns picks on me every chance he gets.”

“Learn to stand up for your rights, Bell. He’s a coward, and you could make him run if you’d bristle up to him.”

“But I can't bristle when I'm scart, Nick. Then, you see, he alwus manages to have a lot with him.”

“I don't know as I can do anything more for you this time. But if I am handy, they can count on a good thrashing every time. Mebbe I handled 'em a little rough just now, but I sort of forgit in times like ’em. But this won’t do for me. I had started for the village, but this has so upset me that I’ll go back home. You can do the errant for me to-morrow.”

As it still lacked nearly an hour of being dark, and he was anxious to get to his work as fast as possible, Nick went back to his task of “setting up” the kiln, he having finished chopping wood enough to make, as he believed, two hundred bushels of coal. He kept busily at work until night had begun to settle down upon hill and valley.

“I can finish it easily to-morrow forenoon,” he thought, “and then I will begin to sod and dust. Hilloa! who’s that in the bushes?”

This last question, which had sprung so suddenly to his lips, had been called forth by the unexpected appearance of a skulking figure in the thick undergrowth a short distance below where he was working.

But he had scarcely asked himself the impromptu question before he had made another discovery more startling to him. In beginning upon his work, he had removed his vest, hanging it upon a small hazel. He saw that it had fallen to the ground, and the pocket containing his wallet turned wrong side out!

That pocket had contained all of the money he had received for his coal, as knowing the nature of the men around him, he had not dared to do other than to carry it with him.

In a moment he realized that the person stealing away under cover of the growth had just robbed him.

The next instant Nick was bounding swiftly down the valley in pursuit of the thief, who, upon hearing his pursuer, started away at the top of his speed, making little or no attempt to cover his retreat.

Nick was a fleet runner, and he expected he would soon be able to overtake the other, but he found that he had met his match.

It was too dark in the woods for him to recognize the robber, even if it were any one he knew, but finally, as the fugitive came out upon the clearing at the summit of Narrows hill in plain sight, Nick uttered a low cry of amazement.

It was Vastly Sterns!

The discovery for a moment unsettled Nick in his pursuit. He had found the son of the farmer capable of all sorts of mean tricks, but he had never dreamed that he was evil-minded enough to steal.

In a moment the fugitive disappeared on the opposite descent, and it looked as if he would escape.

Quickly arousing himself to a sense of his loss and the necessity of more earnest action on his part, Nick Bleak bounded forward with redoubled efforts. He had given no outcry from the first, and now his lips were closely compressed, as he sped on in the sternest chase he had ever known.

The fugitive must have realized how much he had at stake, for he put forth every atom of strength he possessed to out-distance his furious pursuer.

On through the growth, at times out of sight of each other, in the deepening shades of the approaching night, both straining every nerve to win, sped the fugitive and his pursuer.

The highway running from the Narrows to Blake’s Hill was reached, when Nick expected his victim would follow either up or down the highway. But, to his joy, the other dashed across the way and into the tangled woods on the opposite side.

The ground was so low in this vicinity that it was often overflowed by water from Sunny Pond. It was extremely difficult to escape these sloughs in the semi-darkness, and twice Vastly found himself floundering to his waist in the stagnant pools. Still, each time he managed to extricate himself and resume his desperate flight before Nick could reach him.

Once the coal burner plunged headlong into three or four feet of water, and found the edges surrounded by such a dense fringe of water-bushes that for a moment he despaired of getting out. When next he came in sight of his victim the broad sheet of Sunny Pond was to be seen a short distance ahead.

For the first time Nick realized Vastly Sterns’ object in pursuing this course. A solitary boat pulled up on the wide, sandy beach was now his objective point. By that boat he hoped to effectually baffle his pursuer.

Nick felt that if he allowed the other to gain the boat his hope of capturing him was gone. The next moment he found himself so hopelessly entangled in a grapevine that before he was able to extricate himself Vastly Sterns had pushed the boat down to the water’s edge, and, seizing the oars, rowed away for dear life.

CHAPTER XXIII
HIS OWN FAULT.

'‘Stop, Vast Sterns!” shouted Nick, as soon as he could scramble to his feet, speaking to the other for the first time since the exciting race had begun.

A taunting laugh was borne over the water, with the clearness of sound falling on the evening air, while the fugitive continued to ply the oars with all the vigor he possessed.

Nick Bleak uttered a groan as he realized his helplessness. He knew that for him to abandon the chase and thus allow the thief to get away meant the permanent loss of his money, for it would be useless for him to make any complaint against the other. No one would accept his word against the son of the wealthy farmer, whose name and word were above reproach.

While these thoughts were flashing through his mind, Nick cleared himself from the entangling vine, and dashed down to the water’s edge as the fugitive’s form was beginning to die out in the dull gray gloom that overhung the pond.

“I’il have him if I have to swim the pond!” exclaimed Nick, beginning to cast off his outer clothes. So swiftly did he work that in a moment he stood free of his garments, and the next instant he was swimming furiously in the wake of the fugitive, who, looking back a little later, and failing to catch sight of the swimmer, naturally concluded he had given up the chase and returned home, or else was lying low in the bushes near the shore, hoping to waylay him should he dare to venture on the land.

“Oh, I’m too sharp to be caught in any such trap as that!” said Vastly, with a low laugh. “No coal burner gets the best of me in that simple way. I don’t think I’ll land this side of Crookneck Cove. My gracious! that was the closest race I was ever in, and if I’d had much further to run I’d have been a goner.”

In fancied safety, he rowed leisurely ahead until he had reached nearly the middle of the pond, and he was beginning to shape his course more to the left, when he thought he heard a splash of water a short distance behind him.

“It can’t be the fool has followed me so far!” he exclaimed.

Vastly Sterns had barely given expression to this thought before he had made another startling discovery.

The boat was leaking so fast that the water reached far up the sides. He had known that it was coming in from the first, but had not deemed it of sufficient importance to give it any notice. But the water was rising so rapidly now that he began to tremble with fear.

“Nothing to bail out with \” he exclaimed, dropping the oars and trying to scoop the water out with his hands.

But this was slow work. In fact, the water was coming in so fast now that he realized the boat must sink in a moment.

Vastly Sterns worked with frantic energy to get the water out of the boat, but the faster he worked the faster it seemed to come in. His excited movements caused the frail craft to lurch frightfully, until he cried out in his desperation:

“I am lost! I shall be drowned!”

The shore loomed up only a sort of black haze in the far distance. He was but a poor swimmer, and, thoroughly scared as he was, he quickly lost his presence of mind.

“Help!” he cried, at the top of his lungs, as he felt the boat sinking faster and faster. “I shall be drowned! The boat is linking! Save—”

He finished the sentence with an inarticulate cry, as he was suddenly precipitated headlong into the water, the boat going down with a plunge.

A good swimmer might not have been to blame for feeling alarm at being thus suddenly thrown upon his own resources, while Vastly’s terror was unbounded, and he must have gone to the bottom in a few minutes had not strong arms been near to save him.

Nick Bleak had undertaken too desperate an attempt to falter once he had entered the water, and, with that stern determination so natural to him, he had continued to pursue his enemy, gradually gaining upon him as the latter grew more lax in his rowing. Thus the young charcoal burner was only a few yards away as the terrified youth’s first cry rang out far and wide on the still expanse of water.

I think I am attributing only human qualities to him when I say that Nick’s first feeling was of triumph. His foe had run into a trap of his own setting, and let him pay the awful consequence! But his second thought showed him something of his error. If the other was in real danger, was it not his duty to save him if possible?

He was still undecided what to do when Vastly’s last despairing appeal rang over the water, and Nick realized that he was in actual peril.

Then, with the generous impulse of his whole-hearted nature, he swam down to the place where Vastly’s white face had for a moment been seen.

‘Til help you!” he cried, as he darted forward. “Keep cool!”

Struggling furiously, Vastly came to the surface at nearly the spot where Nick had calculated he would rise, and was thus on hand to receive him.

“Don’t strike so,” warned the rescuer. “Put your hands on my shoulder, and I’ll take you ashore.”

Fortunately, Vastly’s presence of mind returned somewhat upon finding he had a friend to help him, and he did as he was told.

A less courageous youth than Nick Bleak must have felt the hopelessness of his attempt to save the other. It would have been no little feat for him to have reached the shore alone, to say nothing of being handicapped with the burden of another, who rested a dead weight upon him.

Not a word was spoken as he swam on and on, retracing the course he had followed in coming out.

CHAPTER XXIV
HEROISM AND DESPAIR.

Even muscles of iron tire, as has been conclusively shown by scientists, and soon Nick Bleak felt his arm weakening. So slowly had he seemed to approach the shore that it looked dimmer in the shades of night than it had at the outset!

“Shift yourself a little more on my right shoulder,”’ he said, in a low tone.

"You mean to throw me off!” exclaimed the suspicious Vastly. “I daren’t move,” at the same time winding his arms more closely about the swimmer.

“Don’t,” panted Nick. “I mean to save you if I can, but I must have more play of my arms. Loosen your hold.”

Vastly Sterns slightly relaxed his grip for a time, but he soon began to clasp closer and closer on his would-be rescuer.

Nick fairly gasped for breath. He looked over the watery expanse toward the shore with a despairing gaze.

"Ease up,” he besought. "You must if you wouldn’t drown us both!”

Again the other obeyed somewhat, but more and more he was possessed of the idea that his unselfish rescuer meant to play foul with him.

It was a trying situation for Nick, who did not like to break the other’s hold unless actually compelled to do so, while he knew, in case he was driven to that emergency, the chances were that both would be drowned.

Thus again and again he begged of Vastly to give him more movement of his arms, and each time the other would loosen his hold for a moment, to renew his clutch closer than ever.

Finally Nick began to doubt his ability to reach the land, and he felt like giving up. Despised and oppressed as he was on all hands, why should he fight such a hopeless battle longer? Then a nobler impulse entered his mind, and, giving greater force to his arms, he swam on faster than before.

He saw with glad heart the forest fringing the shore beginning to assume shape, and then the white belt of sand lying between that and the water shone plainly in the night.

Another spurt and he felt his feet touch the bottom, and then he staggered upon the beach, to fall with his feet still in the tide. Vastly Sterns seemed nearly as overcome as he, but the other was the first to think of leaving the place.

“Hold on! Stop!” cried Nick, starting half-way to his feet. “Give me back my money. I have saved your life, now give me back my own.”

Vastly Sterns' natural arrogance returned at the supplication, and he stopped to say:

“Yes; you did me a good turn; I’ll give you credit for that. I will tell father, and he shall pay you for it. I suppose five dollars—”

“It’s my own money I want! You took it from my vest pocket—”

“Insolent dog!” interrupted the other, “do you dare to accuse me of stealing your money?”

“You took it,” persisted Nick, who had gained his feet. “I had it in my vest, that I had left hanging on the hazel scrub. I might have let you drown, but I didn’t; now have pity enough on me to give me back my—”

Vastly Sterns waved his hand impatiently, and then dropped it into his pocket, as he cried, hotly:

“Fool! I have money of my own—” He stopped suddenly in the midst of his speech, and his hand went deeper into his pocket. “It isn’t there! I haven’t got it!” he exclaimed. “If you hadn’t just given me a good pull, I’d lick you for calling me a thief. Stand back! Lay a hand on me if you dare!”

Nick had sprung forward to his side, and one hand was laid heavily on Vastly’s shoulder.

The latter would have fled if he had thought he could have done it successfully.

“What were you running for if you hadn't stolen my money?” demanded Nick, hoarsely.

“Because I was afraid you would try to hammer me, and I don't want to be all the time mixed up in fights with such fellows as you. Let go my shoulders. I shall tell my father of this.”

“My money! give me back my money!” hissed Nick between his clinched teeth.

“So you won’t believe me,” said the other, who was beginning to show fright. “Put your hands in my pockets if you want to. It ain't there.”

Nick needed no second bidding to search his victim, and he quickly began to look through his pockets. But in none of them did he find any trace of his missing money.

“Are you satisfied now?” asked Vastly, showing more independence. “I have not got your money—have not had it. Can I go now?”

“Yes, go,” replied Nick, hopelessly.

CHAPTER XXV
ANOTHER NOTICE.

Nick did not stir from his tracks until Vastly Sterns had disappeared in the darkness of the woods, and the sound of his footsteps had died away in the distance.

“I’m sure he took it,” said the disappointed boy, “and he must have dropped it somewhere in the woods. I shall never see it again. If I should say that he took it they would only laugh at me.”

Then, quickly putting on his garments, he started homeward, meeting with no further adventure that night. He did not tell his mother of his loss, not thinking it best.

In the morning he examined closely everything about the place where he had left his vest, until he was satisfied some one had crept through the bushes to the spot. In fact, he found two or three imprints of feet quite plainly defined.

“I’ts gone!” he said, as he went back to his work of sodding the kiln. “My hard work was for nothing.”

If Nick had kept a secret from his mother, she had done the same to him. During the night a cousin by the name of Joe Blare appeared at their home, asking shelter, which she readily granted, though she knew she was jeopardizing the safety of all by so doing, for this newcomer was a fugitive from justice. In fact, he had the reputation of being one of the worst of the entire members of the evil families.

Nick had his misapprehensions as soon as he found that Joe Blare was among them. Though he had seen the other but a few times, he had heard so much of him and his evil work that he felt his presence was a curse to any community.

“His coming means us no good, mother,” he said. “He has some miserable work on hand, or he would not be here. As if it was not enough to have Black Daniels among us, and now that he is only gone Slippery Joe must needs come.”

Mrs. Bleak made no reply to this. If the truth were told, she, too, felt that his appearance boded them no good.

Immediately it was known that Slippery Joe was at the Narrows, the male members of the little hamlet of charcoal burners began to gather about him, though almost to a man they feared this bold outlaw.

Nick went to his work of finishing his kiln as soon as he had eaten his breakfast, though he noticed that none of the others went near their kilns. In fact, work had been stopped entirely the day before on two of them, and it was doubtful if the others would be touched for days, if at all.

“I don't wonder we are looked down upon," soliloquized Nick. “I wonder if it's possible for any one to be anybody and live here?"

He was working diligently at his task of digging up small squares of sod to be placed turf-side down on the sides of the kiln, and keeping his mind as busy as his hands with thoughts far from pleasant, when he was surprised to see a couple of men coming up the valley toward him.

“They are Fletch Sterns and Gilbert Davidson. I wonder what they can want?"

Feeling that new trouble was in store for him, Nick kept steadily at work with his shovel without looking up, until Mr. Sterns said, in his sharp, rasping tone:

“What do you think you are doing here, young man?"

“You must know enough about coal burning, sir, to see that I am sodding a kiln."

“None of your impudence, you young scamp. Did you have as good a realization of honesty as you have of lying and stealing, you would know that is not what I meant."

“If it is not, Mr. Sterns, I wish you would make your meaning plain enough for me to understand. I do not now, sir."

“Bah! can you answer a plain question? Whose wood is that you have put into that kiln?”

“My own—”

Those two words Nick uttered, and then he stopped spellbound. Until that moment he had not realized what had come into his mind like a flash.

“Where did you cut it?”

“I cut a load of it on Mr. Thrasher’s.”

“And the rest? Tell the truth once in your life.”

“I cut it just off here to the right.”

“Which means that you cut it on my land,” declared Sterns, with a sinister smile on his lips. “I call upon you, Mr. Davidson, to witness to the young rascal’s confession. He owns he cut it on my land.”

“I did not think—I mean, I did not stop to consider that if you owned the place the birches were yours.”

“I must say your intellect is about on a par with your morals. Now that you have stopped to think, what are you going to do?”

“I will pay you for your part the same as I do to Mr. Thrasher.”

“You will do nothing of the kind, you young reprobate. The case is not the same where you cut it without the consent of the owner as it is where you do. I could make you smart for what you have done.”

As Nick made no reply to this, the other soon resumed:

“In the presence of Mr. Davidson, I forbid you doing any more. I do not wish my woodland ruined for a few bushels of coal, and if you cut another tree I shall try the law on you. As to the wood you have slaughtered, I will send down teams this afternoon to draw it home for firewood. It will come in quite handy the early part of the winter.”

Having delivered this speech, Mr. Fletcher Sterns turned upon his heel, and, followed by his companion, marched deliberately down the valley.

Nick threw his ax over his shoulder, and, with his shovel in his hand, walked dejectedly in the direction of his home, feeling that it mattered little whether he tried to do anything or not.

CHAPTER XXVI
jOE BLARE’S SENSATION.

Nick found dinner awaiting him when he got to his house, and while he ate the meal he told what Mr. Sterns had done, the announcement bringing bitter speeches from his mother.

“It’s a long road that has no turn!” she exclaimed. “We’ll get even with Fletch Sterns yet, mark my words.”

“Let it be by fair means, mother. Do you know I have come to the conclusion that we’d better leave the Narrows. It—”

“Leave the Narrers? Never, so long as I can keep a foot above ground, and when I die I want my bones to rest here.”

Nick knew better than to attempt to argue the matter, though he had been pondering it in his mind for several days.

“It’s the best thing I can do,” he kept repeating to himself. “I can never be anybody here. Everything is against me.”

After dinner he started to visit Mr. Alden Veasey, determined to tell him of the latest action of his enemy, as he considered Fletcher Sterns.

Mr. Veasey was at the village store, and thither he reluctantly made his way, to find a dozen or more of the villagers collected at the place. The first words that fell upon his ears gave him the rather startling information that he was the theme of the conversation.

“The son of Old Nick isn’t going to make much out of another coal kiln if Fletch Sterns can help it,” some one in the background was saying. "The boy has got another kiln almost sodded, but Sterns is going to pull the wood home for his own use. I see his team going after a load as I come along.”

"Well, Fletch is a harker, that’s all I have to say. What’s the claim he’s got on the wood anyway?”

"Owns it, don’t you see? The place is his on the tax deed.”

"Sho! I had forgotten that. Well, I’ll tell you I don’t think much of such doings. I hear he wouldn’t let the boy pay up after he’d got the money.”

"That’s so; weren’t obleeged to, you know. Fletch ain’t a feller to let such a chance slip. And now lie’s gobbled the wood.”

"Well, that don’t mean it is right if he does do it. Understand, I am not saying a word in defence of those worthless Bleaks and Blares. The world would be better off without such cattle, but there is a difference between right and wrong, even in dealing with them. I believe that young Nick was trying to do better than the others.”

“Big lot of room for him to do so. But I have noticed a skunk cabbage always has that infernal smell, no matter where it grows. A Bleak, be he young Nick or old Nick, has about the same make-up. I can’t see as this mixture of Blare helps the blood any.”

“No matter about the Bleaks and Blares,” spoke up another. “I agree with Hilton that Sterns is doing a contemptible thing in grinding young Nick down so. The boy’s chance is bad enough at its best, and old man Sterns has got acres enough without stealing the few from the charcoal burners.”

Nick was pleased to know that the speaker was one of the leading citizens in the town. But the other had barely finished speaking before he heard the sound of steps in the grainroom opening from the main store, and, turning in that direction, he was surprised to see Fletcher Sterns retreating from the place. Evidently he had started to enter from that direction into the store, and had stopped on the threshold to hear what had been said. Then, lacking the courage to come in, he had beat a hasty retreat. Apparently no one had noticed him, and the conversation was continued in very much the same strain, Nick’s heart beating fast and loud as he listened, wishing he was well out of it.

He was destined to be given a chance of escape in a most unexpected way.

In the midst of the village gossip, which was becoming animated in its tone, the door was flung open, and a man bolted into the store, as if his errand was of national, rather than local, importance, crying:

“Trask has got him! Sheriff Trask has captured Joe Blare. Found him at the Narrers.”

In an instant every person was on his feet, and an excited tableau followed, during which Nick stole away, unmindful of the errand which had called him to the place.

Hastening to his home, he found that Joe Blare had been tracked to their abode, and found there by the sheriff. Still, as no one else had been troubled, little if any regret was felt by the coal burners over the fate of him whom they feared much but liked very little.

“Reckon Joe'll have a peg to hang his hat on for a good long while, an' while it hangs there he won’t be bangin’ round here.”

But they had yet to learn the full measure of the other’s evil cunning, for no sooner was he in the strong grasp of the law, with no reasonable promise of escape, than he surprised all by declaring that he was ready to turn State's evidence against his companions in crime, upon the usual condition that he should be allowed to go free.

“Give me a chance to talk," he said, “and I’ll turn the Narrers inside out. Oh, I know what I’m saying an’ I can give ye th’ full history o’ the Locke robbery, even to where the jewels air now. An’ I can put you on th’ right track o’ ’em as did th’ robbery at the Pond, an’ a pile o’ devilishness you don’t dream on. I reckon the Narrers won’t have a greased spot left when I get through.”

Anxious to get at the bottom of the whole affair, the officials gladly promised him clemency if he should make a full confession of all.

That the desperate wretch might tell some unwelcome truths no better evidence was needed than the scared looks and hasty preparations for flight to be seen by those who were in the secret at the little hamlet of coal burners.

Nick watched and waited with anxious forebodings that he could not put from his mind. Somehow he felt that the great crisis of his life was at hand.

CHAPTER XXVII
NICK’S RESOLVE.

Joe Blare’s confession, while, like a September thunder shower, it threatened more than it fulfilled, afforded a startling revelation, and set the tongues of the law-abiding citizens wagging at a furious rate.

In his written statement, which was duly witnessed and signed in the presence of Justice Coe, he gave what he claimed was a full account of the Locke robbery, though he threw little if any light on the situation. Nick Bleak had been at the head of the affair, assisted by Levi Blare, Black Daniels, and himself. The stolen property had been concealed in a cave in the west side of Blake’s Hill, a spot described so accurately as to be easily recognized as that discovered by Vastly Sterns and Virgil Bennett on the day of the picnic. What afterward became of the booty he did not know, as neither he nor Daniels had received any part of it.

So far it was pretty evident the prisoner was firing near the mark, judging by such developments as had taken place, but, as both Bleak and Blare were paying the penalty of their misdeeds, and Black Daniels had sue ceeded in eluding justice, little was to be gained by this portion of his confession. But the more startling revelation was coming.

He went on to say that there had been and was still an organized band of housebreakers at the Narrows. Nick Bleak had been its leader until circumstances had made it imposssible for him to serve in that nefarious capacity, when Black Daniels had become his natural successor. As that worthy was not able to look after his followers as closely as it was necessary, the son of Old Nick had stepped into his father’s shoes!

With unshrinking impudence, the wretch went on to give the names of those at the Narrows who were pledged by an ironclad oath to keep up the league. The robbery at the Pond, he claimed, had been done by Black Daniels and two others, whose names he unhesitatingly mentioned.

There must have been some truth in Joe Blare’s statements, for he had barely given them utterance before three of those he mentioned disappeared from the Narrows.

It was little wonder the startling announcements became the all-absorbing talk of that vicinity, many being outspoken in their belief that it was best to arrest every man, woman, and child at the settlement of charcoal burners.

Others, more conservative, were inclined to accept the so-called confession with considerable allowance relative to its truthfulness, and so two days slipped away without anything being done.

To no one did the “confession” carry greater concern than it did to young Nick Bleak. He believed none of it.

“It is all a lie on the part of that sneaking Joe Blare to save his neck from the halter. You know it, mother! Why don't you say so?”

“Some of th’ boys’ll make Joe suffer for his words,” was her reply, supplemented with language that I would not care to repeat here.

‘I’il get at the truth of this,” cried Nick. “I'll clear father’s name, and then we can lift our heads with other folks.”

“Better look after yer coal burnin’. By the way, I should like to know how ’tis Fletch Sterns draws off yer wood without a word to any one. He’s got every stick. An’ you a lettin’ him.”

“He claims it with the place, mother. You don’t realize we have got to move from here soon.”

“Move! never, while th’ ol’ gun holds a shot. Yes, I mean it. Let Fletch Sterns come to take possession if he dares. I want some money, Nick. A dollar’ll do.”

“To-morrow, mother; give me time to think,” and Nick left the room.

It had long been a custom with Nick to seek the solitude of the woods, where he could be alone with his thoughts, on those occasions when, as he not inaptly expressed it, “everything was against him.” Now he wandered away from the house, keeping on into the deeper forest, until he found himself in the heart of the pine region so coveted by the unscrupulous Fletcher Sterns. At the foot of a giant tree he stopped, giving expression to a volcano of feeling that must find vent in some manner.

“If I only knew the truth!” lie exclaimed. “But mother does—will not tell. Does that mean that father is guilty, or doesn’t she know? If all they say is true, why was I placed here? And Bell, too? He, like me, tries to be what they call honest. If it wasn’t for leaving mother and Bub, I’d run away, and Bell should go with me! But I can’t do that. I wish I could see and talk with father.”

Relapsing into silence for a few moments, he suddenly started up, exclaiming:

“Why haven’t I thought of that before? I’ll do it—tomorrow!”

Nick’s intentions were to visit his father in prison, and learn from his own lips the truth of the whole situation, in his boyish enthusiasm never dreaming of the real obstacle lying in his path to hinder him from gaining his purpose,

Without any money now, his only way to reach the State capital was to go on foot, and, as the distance was over twenty miles, this undertaking must have discouraged a less determined boy. But he did not give a second thought to the hardship of the long tramp before him.

He was astir in the morning before any of the rest, except Bell, to whom he had confided his secret, and, eating such a lunch as he could find in the scanty larder, he set forth on his journey without telling his mother that he was going away. As it was nothing unusual for him to be away from home days at a time, he knew she would not be surprised at his absence.

If the miles seemed long to him before he reached his destination, his heart was buoyed up by the thought that he would soon see his father. Thus he trudged wearily over the hills and through the valleys, until, about noon, he came in sight of the church spires of the capital city. Stopping for a moment by the wayside to brush somewhat the dust from his threadbare clothes, he plodded ahead down the main street, where everything looked strange and exciting to him.

CHAPTER XXVIII
THE TERRIBLE TRUTH.

The ragged, dust-brown country boy, staring right and left with wide-opened eyes, caught the attention of the passersby, many of whom turned to look after him, or direct some ill-meaning question to him.

Unheeding these, Nick kept on his way, until at last he paused in dire confusion. At a loss to know which way to go, he finally plucked up the courage to inquire of a benevolent-looking gentleman, who kindly gave him the necessary information.

Thus he eventually found himself in sight of the gray, gloomy-looking structure that sent a thrill through his frame at the first look.

“Can it be father has fifteen years to spend there?” he asked of himself, involuntarily.

Then, seeing one whom he judged to be an official, he stated his errand, to be met with the blunt reply:

“No admittance to strangers.”

“But I have a father there whom I must see.”

“We know nothing of that. Let us see what you have to show who you are.”

Alas! the son of Old Nick had nothing but his ill-omened name, and, with a sinking heart, he was finally obliged to turn away. In his bitter disappointment he knew not which way to turn or what to do. Was it for this he had walked so far and with such hopes?

At this moment Nick was treated to a sight that instantly raised his spirits. He had not gone far before he saw Mr. Alden Veasey on the street. He had never been so glad to see any one in his life.

“Hi! Nick!” called out the latter, who had already seen him. “How in the world came you up here?”

“I came up to see father,” he replied, truthfully. “But they won't let me in.”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are not recognized by them, I suppose. Well, I think I can make it all right for you, and if you wish to go in I will go back with you. But it is doubtful if they will let you speak to him, if that is what you wanted.”

Through the kind influence of Mr. Veasey, Nick saw his father, but it was a most unsatisfactory meeting, if it could be called such. He found prison discipline so rigid that he could only gaze at him, while his father was obliged to keep at his work without looking up, and, of course, not knowing who was near by. His parent had changed considerably, and was looking much older.

Nick did not seem to breathe until he was outside of the somber building, when he said:

“It is dreadful to be there. I thank you very much lor your kindness. I must be on my way home, if I hope to get there to-night.”

“If you are on foot and alone, you can ride with me as well as not. No thanks. You might have come up with me if I had known you were coming."

Nick did ride home with Mr. Veasey, and, on the way, he frankly told the farmer what his hopes had been in going to see his father, finishing with the declaration:

“I believe father is innocent. I know he has been shiftless in working, and has done many things he ought not, but I cannot think he stole Grandmother Locke’s silverware and jewels. I mean to prove him innocent, and then my way will be easier."

Mr. Veasey, who had listened kindly, even anxiously, to all he had said, replied:

“Nick, I believe your intentions are good, and I am always ready to lend a helping hand to the deserving. I was the best friend your father had, but he deliberately turned his back upon me. However, I am not going to censure him; only I will say to you, build upon a foundation of your own. I suppose it is natural for you to think him innocent, but I have no doubt of his guilt. I say this with the deepest regret. Let his fate be a warning to you. You are young, and it is not too late for you to become a respected person.”

“Can I?” asked Nick, anxiously. “Will they let me?”

“Let you? The first thing you want to do is to get the idea out of your mind that everybody is against you. I know it is human nature to step on a man who is down, but the ambitious boy will not lie still for anybody to step on him a second time. Keep your honest intentions alive and at work, and I’I warrant you’ll come on top of the heap at last.”

Nick was likely to remember that conversation for many a day, and that evening, at his home, he was still pondering it over, when his mother unexpectedly asked him where he had been during the day.

Then, to his surprise, when he candidly acknowledged the truth, she manifested great interest in the matter, questioning closely as to all he had seen and heard.

“I never realized what it was to go to State prison, mother, until to-day. I pity father. And now I want you to tell me the whole truth about him. He did not steal, did he? He must be innocent of that!”

A sort of vindictive expression stole over her hardened features, as she asked:

“So you want to know the truth, do you?”

“Yes, mother; Bell and I do.”

“Lots of satisfaction it mus’ be to yer. But I'll stop all this question'. If you mus’ know, yer father was a common thief, born an’ bred in the bone, I s’pose.”

CHAPTER XXIX
THE SECRET OF THE CAVE.

Mrs. Bleak’s tone, as much as her words, carried grief to the hearts of Nick and Bell, whose eyes glistened with tears at the unfeeling statement of the bitter truth. She did not fail to notice this, and the closely-drawn lines about her mouth quickly relaxed, while she said:

“I don’t see any use to sniffle over it. What is to be is, I s’pose. Nobody ever reaches out a helping hand to us, and we pay ’em for it in our own way. See how Fletch Sterns serves you, and none of us ever wronged him.” “He isn’t a fair sample to judge by, mother, any more than we are,” Nick added, with a quivering lip. “If father did help steal ’em things, he oughter suffer. It must be he does,” he could not help saying.

“Oh, well, he’ll get out afore many years.”

“What become of the things they took at Grandmother Locke’s? I don’t find that they have done anybody any good.”

“I should jess like to know what become of ’em myself. I an’t seen any good of ’em. Yer father had th’ handlin’ of ’em, an’ he said he’d hid ’em in Blake’s Hill Cave; but nobody has ever found hide nor hair of ’em.”

“Where was the cave you looked for, mother?’'

“Over by flattop rock, of course. There an’t but one cave on Blake’s Hill. He said he’d put spoons, a bracelet, some rings, and beads, and a lot of silver money in a pocket in the rock. The pocket, he said, was stopped with another piece of rock. But nobody an’t found th’ pocket, to say nothing of the treasures. All I ever see was the bits you brung here an’ wouldn’t let me tech. Come mighty near getting yer inter trouble, too.”

Though he questioned his mother considerably more in regard to the matter, Nick learned nothing of importance. But that did not discourage him, for he believed he had learned the truth already, or at least that he had found the key to the mystery.

He said nothing of his convictions until the following morning, when he called Bell aside.

“I want you to come with me before you go to school, but don’t say a word to anybody.”

Bell noticed that Nick had taken a long rope, and he followed him with looks of wonder, saying, when they had left the valley and were climbing the hill:

“Are you going to look for the treasure, Nick?”

“Yes; and I think we will find it.”

The boys passed the picnic grounds on their way, Nick recalling plainly to mind all that had happened on that eventful day.

A few minutes later he and Bell stood on the brink of the cliff overhanging the singularly-located cave.

Quickly making fast one end of the rope to a clump of birches at the top, Nick prepared to descend the line, intending Bell to stand on the watch while he explored the cavern.

This precaution was more aptly taken than Nick realized, for unknown to him and his brother, at the moment they had crossed the Blake Hill’s road, Virgil Bennett was coming down the hill on his way to school. At sight of the twain, one of whom was carrying the rope, he almost instantly divined as he imagined their errand, and he drew back into the cover of a clump of birches until they should pass.

“They are going to the cave,” he thought, “and that means business. My! I must hunt up Vast and some of the other boys, and we must follow them.”

Unconscious of this threatened pursuit, however, as we have seen, Nick descended the rope hand under hand, until he stood on the shelf leading to the opening in the ledge.

“A pocket in the side of the rock,” he said to himself, as he began to examine closely the surface of the rugged rock forming the cavern’s sides. Occasionally, long, irregular rents marked the surface, and deep fissures were to be seen; but nowhere could Nick find any trace of the looked-for “pocket.” Picking up a loose stone, he began to pound upon the rocky wall, hoping to discover a difference in the sound. He had touched, it seemed, nearly every part of the surface from floor to ceiling, when at last a peculiar, hollow noise followed the sharp rap he dealt upon the ledge in one corner, where it looked as solid as anywhere.

“It's it!" he cried, joyously, repeating his thumping as far each way as the hollow echo could be heard. Even then it was only after a careful search that he discovered the joints around the square of stone that fitted into the solid rock.

Elated over his discovery, Nick tried to remove the piece from its niche, finding himself baffled for what seemed a long time.

Bell grew impatient, and called down to him.

“I have found it!" he cried, exultantly. “Come down here as quick as you can, Bell, and bring a stout stick with you."

Finding one more readily than might have been expected, Bell descended to the shelf just as Nick had succeeded in loosening the rock cover.

The next moment a small opening in the rocky wall was disclosed, and lying in the dark depths was seen a shining heap of jewels and silverware.

“It’s the Granny Locke treasures!” exclaimed Nick.

“See! here are spoons, rings, a bracelet, and money! It’s all here.”

“What a find!” said Bell. “What are you going to do with it?”

Nick was too busy to reply, and at that moment a rattling sound behind him arrested the attention of Bell.

Darting back to the shelf of rock at the entrance, he saw the ropes they had used to descend with coiled up at his feet, while the sounds of persons moving about overhead caught his attention. Looking up he was startled to find half-a-dozen pairs of eyes staring down upon him.

“We are lost, Nick!” he cried, in a shrill whisper. “The rope has been cut, and a lot of fellers are watch ing us from the cliff!”

CHAPTER XXX
A GREAT MISTAKE.

Nick quickly gathered up the treasures, and, thrusting them back into the “pocket,” asked:

“Who are they, Bell?”

“I can only see their heads. But Vastly Sterns is there, and Sam Brackett. I thought I saw Virgil Bennett, too.”

“And they have cut the rope?”

“Yes, and dropped it on the shelf. Oh, Nick! what are we going to do?”

“I wonder what they are prowling around here now, of all times? I must get these things out of sight,” refitting the stone in its place as he spoke.

When this had been done, he took a hurried survey of their situation.

“I am glad they dropped the rope,” he said. “Perhaps they do not know we are here.”

“They do! Hear 'em shouting.”

“Hilloa!” called out some one from above them. “Show your heads if you know when you are well off.”

“Keep still,” whispered Bell, “and perhaps they will go away.”

“If they know we are here they won’t be likely to do that before they have done something to drive us out. I think I had better speak to them.”

As the sharp “hilloa” from the brink of the cliff rang out again, Nick stepped out upon the narrow shelf of rock, and asked what was wanted.

“What are you doing there?” demanded young Sterns.

“Come and see if you want to know,” replied the boy charcoal burner. “What did you want to cut our rope for?”

“So you could not get away while we watched you.”

Nick made no reply to this, but taking up one end of the rope, began to knot it.

“What shall we do?” asked Bell, anxiously.

“Let ourselves down to the ground below,” replied Nick, looking about for some place to fasten the rope, and soon finding a point of rock that he felt certain would hold the line so it would not slip off. While he was doing this, the watchers above looked on with wonder, until they divined his purpose.

“Here! don’t you do that!” cried Vastly Sterns. “We will throw a big rock down upon you if you do.”

But Nick did not believe they would dare to do that, and as soon as he had made the rope fast, he told Bell to descend its length and drop the balance of the distance to the earth. As this was not over ten feet, he anticipated no harm.

Bell lost no time in nimbly making the descent, reaching the foot of the bluff in safety. Nick followed before those overhead had recovered from their first surprise.

“We’ll leave the rope for you,” called back Nick, as he and Bell darted away into the depths of the forest.

“Plague take the coalers!” exclaimed Vastly, in disgust. “Who would have thought they would have got off in that way? Now we are dished. But I tell you one of us ought to stay here on watch all day. That Nick Bleak weren’t down there for nothing.”

It was finally decided that Virgil Bennett should remain at the place, while the rest returned to the village with an account of what they had witnessed. But their story excited no interest, and the others had not been there ten minutes before young Bennett appeared on the scene. He declared he had heard the charcoal burners coming, and so had left as quickly as possible. No doubt the last part of his statement was true.

Meanwhile Nick had returned to the Birches, having charged Bell to say nothing of their discovery in the cave.

“What are you going to do with the treasure?”

“I am going to carry it back to Granny Locke this evening—everything. That’ll partly undo the wrong.”

“Dare you, Nick?”

“Wait and see.”

Nick’s mind was firmly made up in that respect, and a little after sunset he and Bell reached the cliff with a new rope and a sack in which to put the articles.

Satisfying themselves that no one was in the vicinity, Nick rapidly arranged the line, and descended again to the cave. Finding the treasure undisturbed, in less than five minutes he had rejoined his brother with it all safe and snug in the sack.

In order to reach the home of Mr. Locke, it was necessary for them to pass through the village at the Narrows, a course that even Nick hesitated from following. But it would be past dark before they could get there, and blaming himself for fearing any danger, he led the way toward the road.

To Nick’s regret, he found that a large crowd of boys were collected in the single street, while half-a-dozen men were gathered about the entrance to the store. But putting on a bold front, they kept on their way, looking neither to the right nor left.

“There goes the Son of Old Nick!” some one called out, when several boys rushed forward, the foremost crying, as lie caught sight of the sack in Nick’s arms:

“Hilloa! what are you carrying off there?”

Without replying, the twain kept on, though the others still approached, and they could see that the knot of men at the store had begun to watch them with curious interest.

‘‘Run!” whispered Bell. “They mean to tackle us!”

And, regardless of Nick’s warning, the frightened boy broke into a run, though he stopped after going a short distance. Of course, to run was the worst course to be followed, and it excited the crowd to more earnest pursuit.

Finding they were going to be assailed, Nick dropped the sack and, catching up a rock from the ground, turned defiantly at bay.

“Let us alone!” he cried. “We ain't touching anybody.”

Unfortunately for them, a sharp jingling sound came from the silverware as Nick let fall the sack, and the telltale noise reached the ears of the foremost of the would-be assailants.

“He’s been stealing something now. Don’t let him get away.”

Nick saw the men coming swiftly toward him, and, in a fit of desperation, he hurled the stone into the air, and catching up the sack, started to flee.

A piercing cry rang on the air the next moment, followed by the startling exclamation:

“He’s killed Captain Coe!”

CHAPTER XXXI
CONDEMNED.

Great excitement instantly reigned, and Nick, finding that he was going to be surrounded, for the second time turned at bay.

“Hands off!” he cried, but no one heeding his words, he quickly found himself dragged to the ground and overpowered.

Somehow Bell, in the wild struggle, slipped away, and was not captured.

Nick felt the sack torn from his hold, and then he was borne in headlong haste toward the store, where he was tied hands and feet.

“It’s lucky we got him so easy,” remarked one of the leading spirits. “What has he got in the sack?”

“Why, as true as I live. I believe it is Grandmother Locke's jewels stole so long ago.”

The hurried investigation that followed showed the correctness of the statement, when the excitement was greatly intensified.

There was another cause for the wild and exaggerated talk that succeeded. It was thought that Captain Coe had received fatal injuries from the stone thrown by Nick.

“The Son of Old Nick will have to hang for this night’s work!” was heard on every side.

The poor prisoner was dumb. He understood the peril of his situation, and speechless, he suffered himself to be borne away to the place where he was to be kept under strong guard until another day.

The assault upon Captain Coe, the finding of the Locke jewels in the possession of Nick Bleak, and his speedy arrest, were news that spread like wildfire. It was not half an hour before everybody in that vicinity had learned the full particulars and were discussing the matter pro and con.

As bad as the majority had already considered the Son of Old Nick, few, if any, had supposed him capable of this conduct.

Bell ran every step to his home with the startling news to those at the Birches, when as great excitement reigned there as at the Narrows, and many bitter speeches were made.

If there was none other outside his companions who heard of his arrest with deep regret, Miss Spencer felt the blow keenly.

"It is all some fearful mistake,” she said to Mr. Vea-sey, as he described the scene to which he had been an eye witness. "Nick Bleak is neither bad enough to be doing anything he ought not to with that stolen property, or to willfully kill any man.”

“I am confident he did it only under the excitement of the moment—of course I mean the throwing of the stone,” said Mr. Veasey. “But, nevertheless, it is going hard with the boy. If the captain dies, I am not sure but they will hang him. If he lives, it means years behind the prison bars.”

“And a life wrecked that might have been saved with kindly treatment.”

Nick passed a sleepless night, and the following forenoon he was taken from his solitary confinement for a hearing before Justice Durgin. The charge against him was rather indefinite, owing to the uncertainty hanging over the condition of Captain Coe. The stone had struck him on the side of the head just below the temple, cutting an ugly gash about two inches long, besides having rendered him unconscious for an hour or more. The doctor had sewed up the wound, but he shook his head when asked as to the probabilities of recovery of his patient. The captain was a man past seventy, which made his chances more doubtful than they would have been had he been a younger person. He was not able to sit up at this time.

If Captain Coe died, the prisoner was sure to be tried for murder in the first degree, but should he recover, it might go easier with the culprit.

The room in which the court was held was crowded with spectators, while double the number inside were congregated around the building, every window being filled with anxious faces.

Nick appeared calmer than might have been expected. Once he beheld the gaze of Miss Spencer, who was among those in the house, fixed upon him, and he imagined she, at least, had not forsaken him. None other was present that he cared to think had a friendly thought for him. Of his friends and companions at the Birches, no one had the courage to run the risk of being there.

With no one to counsel him, Nick told his story in a plain, straightforward way. He had succeeded in finding the previous day the stolen property at the cave, and, wishing to make amends as far as lay in his power for the wrongs done in the past by those near and dear to him, he had resolved to take everything he had found back to the owner, without saying a word to his friends. He was on that mission when he had been assailed by the thoughtless boys of the village, and in a fit of desperation, he had caught up the stone. But no sooner had he done it than he realized his mistake, and he cast the missile from him with no intention of hitting any one.

“Do you mean to say,” demanded the stern judge,

“that in your anger you did not throw the rock at the group of men in front of the store ?”

“I did not, sir. I throwed it in nearly an opposite direction.”

Though hitherto his story had been listened to with a respectful silence, a murmur of indignation and loud hisses rang through the room.

“Order!” called out the judge. “Remember, prisoner at the bar, that you are under oath. With a full realization of that solemn fact, you may wish to qualify your statement,”

“I am sure I did not throw the stone in the direction of the store,” said Nick, stoutly.

It could be plainly seen that this part of his story was received with anything but satisfaction. In fact the audience was there to condemn him according to its own prejudice, and not to grant him any concessions.

CHAPTER XXXII
NICK A PRISONER.

The silence which followed Nick’s reiteration of his statement was broken by Mr. Alden Veasey, who was occupying a seat near the prisoner, while Frank Morrison sat just behind him.

“Your honor,” said Mr. Veasey, rising from his seat, “as the boy has no counsel, I ask the privilege to fill that position.”

Looks of amazement and jeers, low and loud, rang around the courtroom at this unexpected announcement.

“The court sees no objection to your taking that doubtful stand, Mr. Veasey,” replied the judge.

“I thank you, judge, and I ask the privilege of introducing a witness for the defense. He is the brother of the prisoner, who, it will be remembered, was with the one before the bar at the time of the unfortunate affair. To show you that we mean to be fair and above board, I ask that this brother be examined alone and without knowing what the prisoner has told. He is in ignorance of it so far.”

Nothing could seem fairer and the privilege was at once granted that Bell Bleak should be found and made to pave his version of the case.

Bell was found at his home, and his fears knew no bounds until he was assured that no harm was intended him. Then, under the kindly questioning of Mr. Veasey, he told a story that exactly agreed with what Nick had testified.

“Very well as far as it goes,” said the judge, “and he will prove a good witness at the higher court, but his testimony does not throw any light on the most important part of the charge, that relative to the assault on Captain Coe.”

The result was inevitable. Nick was indicted and put under heavy bond to appear at higher court for trial in December. In default of bail he was taken to jail.

It was not a surprise that no one felt like standing bail for the boy charcoal burner, for to have done so would have required more moral courage than the good citizens of the Narrows laid any claim to. It is true Frank Morrison suggested that it ought to be done, but even Mr. Veasey, who was the fairest-minded of any one, did not think it a prudent thing to do.

“We must wait and see how the captain comes on.

If he dies this is too serious a matter to act upon hastily.”

While he believed that Nick had thrown the stone under the excitement of the moment without any clear idea as to the result, he held that the prisoner was morally responsible for the effect.

Fortunately Captain Coe soon recovered entirely from his wound, but even then Nick remained in jail ignorant of this favorable turn of affairs.

Meanwhile, life at the Birches moved on with a quiet it had never known. Outside of his home Nick was missed more than any one else would have been.

Bell, who left the school at once, spent his time wandering about the woods in an aimless manner. And it was while he was spending his time in this listless way that he accidentally made a discovery that sent a thrill of hope through his heart. It is often the case that the most important revelations are made in some simple manner. Bell’s happened in this way:

Crossing the Blake's Hill road one afternoon he saw a chipmunk flitting innocently about among the boughs of an oak, when he caught up a stone and flung it at the squirrel. The rock missed the object of his aim, and, striking the body of the tree, shied off in an opposite direction from that he had intended it to go.

Bell noticed it, and in a moment he thought of Nick and his unfortunate throw.

‘‘That shows just how he hit Captain Coe!” he cried, beginning to dance for joy. “He said he thought he hit one of the elms on the common, and he did, and the rock slewed and hit the captain. I wonder if I can do that again?”

Bell tried, not once, but a hundred times. In fact he did nothing else for the rest of the day, and several times he succeeded in his purpose. In fact, as practice makes perfect, he soon got so he could perform the feat about every third trial.

Able to think of nothing else, he was resolved to see Mr. Veasey, and tell him of his discovery. Accordingly, the next morning, he started for the village.

One thing happened in his favor at the outset, and that was the meeting of Frank Morrison on his way to the Narrows. Remembering his friendship for Nick, Bell quickly told him what he could do.

“Zounds! if you can do that, Bell, it will be a good thing in your brother’s favor. I will go right back to the village with you. Jump in; it is as cheap to ride as it is to walk.”

Bell had not been to the village since the morning of Nick’s trial, so he felt a little nervous, but the thought of what he could do nerved him to put on a bold front.

Mr. Veasey was at home, and he listened to what his callers had to say with great interest.

“It may be possible,” he admitted, “but it looks to me exceedingly doubtful. Still, you say you can do it, Bell?"

“I have done it, sir. And if I can do it, won't that show that Nick might have done it that evening?"

“I suppose it would. Say, Frank, I tell you what we might do. Let the boy try it before a few of us for witnesses. If he succeeds, it will give the lawyers something to work on any way. What do you say?"

“That’s just what I came back for. Better get John Hill and Sam Perry to witness it, hadn't we? They are good citizens."

“Yes; and say, I am going to ask the captain to see it. Shall he try it up here in the street?"

“I should say so; let him throw at the elm he thinks his brother hit. Hilloa! here comes Sterns and Swayne. They will be witnesses."

Bell saw Fletcher Sterns coming with considerable trepidation, suddenly losing confidence in his ability to do what he had claimed, at the sight of him he knew was the enemy of every one at the Birches.

“What’s going on?" asked Sterns, anticipating that something of uncommon interest was about to take place.

“Keep your eyes open, Sterns, and you will soon see,” replied Mr. Morrison, starting to invite some of the witnesses to be on hand.

While this was being done, Bell found a dozen stones of the right size for his purpose, and stationed himself in the road as near to the spot where Nick had stood as he could tell.

By the time the invited men were on hand, half-a-dozen others were drawn to the place, with a prospect of many others soon appearing.

“What boy’s play is going on, any way?" Fletcher Sterns asked of several, one after the other, until finally Mr. Veasey, with a few remarks, made known the purpose in view.

“Now, if the boy can do what he claims, it will be pretty good evidence that Nick Bleak's shot was an accident. Ready, Bell, show us what you can do."

“I don’t see what so many want to get 'round for!” said Bell, under his breath. “They make me nervous and I know I shall fail!”

A faint heart never yet won a battle.

CHAPTER XXXIII
HOW BELL KEPT HIS WORD.

“Bah!” exclaimed Fletcher Sterns, with a contemptuous toss of his head, “this is the biggest child’s play I ever see.”

These words reached Bell Bleak, as he raised his arm for the first throw. He lacked the strong nerve and determined nature of his brother, and he hesitated before undertaking the hazardous task he had imposed upon himself.

“If I should fail,” he thought, “they’ hoot me out of town, and it would be worse for Xick than ever.”

Three times he brought back his arm to hurl the stone at the tree, and let it fall by his side. Frank Morrison save his nervousness, and hastened to sav:

“Be firm, Bell. Remember Nick’s life depends on how you throw that stone. But take your time.”

For the fourth time Bell raised his arm and then he sent the missile flying through the air. It struck the elm squarely and dropped to the ground at its foot.

“Hit the mark the first time,” said Sterns, in a sneering way.

Chagrined over his first failure, Bell made his second attempt, and again the stone fell to the earth with a dull sound.

Still he was determined to persevere, and he made his third trial to meet with the same result as before.

“That's all fol-derol!” exclaimed one of the spectators, turning away in disgust.

The fourth attempt brought a shout of encouragement for Bell. He succeeded in making the stone shy off to the right, though not in a satisfactory manner by any means.

Following this he made six failures, and trembling in every limb, the perspiration stood out in great drops on his face.

“I did it yesterday one time out of three,” he said, speaking so the rest could hear for the first time.

“Wants to show us how he can shy a stone so it will fall where you stood, does he, captain?” asked Sterns, seeming to gloat over the boy's failure. “The safest place a feller could stand would be there, descending from the store steps as he spoke, and taking a position within a foot of where the trader had been standing at the fateful moment.

“He is too nervous to do anything well,” declared Captain Coe. “It doubtless makes him fidgety to have so many around, Don't mind us, Bell, if you can do what you are trying to no one will be more pleased than Id'

Encouraged by this Bell, threw the remaining rocks in his hands, the last failing to even hit the tree, whereupon a loud shout went up from the onlookers.

This angry, taunting cry did more to arouse Bell Bleak than anything that had been said or done—this with the thought that he had made a miserable failure. Nick must die and all on account of him!

In his excitement and vexation he caught up a stone lying at his feet and flung it with all the power he could bring into his arm at the inoffensive elm. The missile struck on the side of the tree with a dull thud, and glancing, went hurtling through the air at almost a right angle. The sharp whirring of its passage through the air was swiftly followed by a cry of pain, when Fletcher Sterns was seen to throw up his arms and stagger backward, a stream of blood instantly beginning to run down his cheek.

Those who were nearest to him sprang forward to catch him, while the other spectators made a dash for the spot.

Mr. Veasey and Frank Morrison quickly ordered the crowd back, and finding that the victim was insensible, the village doctor was sent for at once.

Bell stood as if transfixed, thinking that he had killed Mr. Sterns and that he would have to go to prison.

“Is—is he dead?" he found courage to ask at last.

“If he is it has served him right!” replied a bystander.

‘'Have no fear, Bell Bleak,” said Captain Coe. “Even if you have killed him, you are not to blame. I can see now that Nick may have been blameless in hitting me.

When the excitement had subsided and the situation was more clearly understood, it was found that Mr. Sterns had not received so serious a wound as Captain Coe had on the previous occasion.

“Just enough to do him good,” said Frank Morrison. “No business to have stood there. Well, Bell, you have made good vour word, and if there ain't them at the Narrows as will go bonds for Nick until his trial, I should like to know the reason why.”

Public opinion is always fickle. She ignores to-day the sentiments she expressed yesterday, and laughs at the judgment she may fling in your face to-morrow.

Bell Bleak suddenly found that he was not entirely friendless. Mr. Sterns had never been popular with his townsmen, and that he should have been the victim of the boy’s singular shot after what he had said seemed a sort of retributive justice. Then if Bell had made such a throw as that, and every one present was ready to swear to that fact, why not Nick Bleak have done the same thing?

Alden Veasey, Frank Morrison, and Captain Coe were stoutly of this opinion anyway, and the three agreed then and there to sign the prisoner’s bond as soon as convenient.

Bell went home a happy boy.

CHAPTER XXXIV
A KNAVE OR A FOOL?

Having seen that the papers were properly executed, Mr. Veasey and Mr. Morrison started the following morning for Exeter to bring Nick home.

It was the greatest surprise of Nick Bleak’s life when his bondsmen were ushered into his presence and he was told that he was at liberty to go home.

“Surprising developments have taken place since you went away, Nick,” said Mr. Veasey, “which have sort of opened our eyes. We are going to give you a fair chance to clear yourself if you are innocent. If you are guilty you can afford to do the square thing by us as we do by you. We will tell you all about it as we go home, but it is due to Bell.”

“Bell is honest, Mr. Veasey. He would never steal or lie, if he is a Bleak. And I told the truth about that night. As I have been here thinking it over, I am sure I threw that stone toward that old elm on the common. I heard it strike, though I couldn’t quite make it appear so then, I was so excited.”

“While the horse is eating his dinner and you are looking over the town,” said Mr. Morrison, “I have a little business I want to attend to."

He did not tell his companions that his business would call him to the office of the Registrar of Deeds on Main street, but thither he made his way, and when he came out half-an-hour after, a board smile was on his florid features.

“I am glad of it!” he kept saving over to himself. “I was hoping there was some flaw. It wasn’t justice. Won't you be a surprised man, Fletcher?”

“What makes you so smiling, Frank?” asked Mr. Veasey, as they were on their way home. “I believe to my soul you feel better than Nick. You have got a broader grin on, anvwav."

“By jove, Alden! it’s too good for me to keep, and I'm going to spit it out now. Fletch Sterns' collector’s deed isn't worth the paper it is written on. I want yon to drive round that way and look at it. It hasn’t got any witnesses!"

There was no disputing the fact, and it would have been difficult to have told which was the most pleased of the three.

“Now when you get home I want you to go to Mr. Sterns and offer him the amount of the taxes and costs. The whole won't be over twenty dollars."

‘‘But f have lost my money now," replied Nick, as his thrilling adventure with Vastly Sterns came into his mind. “I couldn’t pay it if it wasn’t more’n twenty cents.”

“Lost your money!” exclaimed his companions. “‘You had nearly fifty dollars.”

”lt was stolen,” replied Nick, and then in explanation he told of his experience with Vastly Sterns, while his companions listened with wonder.

”I didn't dare to tell this before,” declared Nick, as he finished. “I knew everybody would refuse to believe it, and that I should make it all the worse for me.”

”I always knew that young Sterns was capable of almost anything, and I am not surprised at this,” said Mr. Morrison, frankly.

“I can't realize that he would steal,” said Mr. Veasev. “I think you must be in some way mistaken, Nick. Hadn’t the money dropped out of your pocket?”

“I am sure it was in the pocket when I hung the vest on the hazel, and I see Vastly Sterns stealing away from the place. I did not think he would steal.”

“Hold on!” exclaimed Mr. Morrison, “and see what you think of my plan. Let’s all go up to Sterns’ this very evening, and see what he and his boy will say when confronted by this accusation. We can fix up the tax business at the same time.”

“Dare vou say to Vastly Sterns before his father what you have told us?” asked Mr. Veasey of Nick.

‘‘Yes, sir; and I don’t believe that Vastly will deny I swam half across Sunny Pond with him.”

“Very well; I am willing to see this matter through. It will be a good idea, too, to ask Captain Coe to go along with us.”

It was thus settled that the visit should be made as early in the evening as possible.

Nick’s return was anxiously looked for by his friends and relatives at the Birches, and Bell, the happiest one of them all, was at the forks of the road to meet him. Mrs. Bleak showed more than common demonstration, while those outside his humble home were loud in their congratulations.

But he could not stop long with them, as he had promised to be promptly on hand to go with the others to pay that visit to Fletcher Sterns, which all must have foreseen was to be fraught with momentous results. Just how great Nick Bleak did not realize, or he might have dreaded the ordeal.

He was to meet his friends and champions at the juncture of the bush road with that running to Blake’s Hill, and he was barely at the designated point before Mr. Veasey and Captain Coe, riding in the same carriage, reached the spot.

“Well, you are on hand,” greeted the captain. “I always like to see folks punctual. How do you feel about facing Mr. Sterns with your bold accusations? Before we go any further, I want to know if you realize the full significance of what you say? Remember, this is no boy's play, and if we find that you have deceived us, and we are sure to do it if you have, you shall go back to jail to-morrow morning. I have come with Mr. Veasey only on that condition." have told only the truth, sir."

“And you are not afraid to face this man with what you have said?"

“No, sir."

“Drive on, Mr. Veasey. We will know who is the knave or the fool before we get through."

CHAPTER XXXV
OLD LIIFE AND N EW.

Nick’s companions relapsed into silence as they rode on, and he felt a strange fear tugging at his heart. He was not afraid to meet his enemy face to face, but he could not help feeling that to do it would be of no avail. How would Fletcher Sterns and his son treat his storv? Of course, he would boldly attempt to beat him down. Fie missed his fearless, impetuous friend, Frank Morrison, though he did not think it best to ask for him.

The silence, however, was broken as they came to the foot of the hill leading to the Sterns farmhouse, when Captain Coe said:

“Now let us decide upon our course of action. Frank has had ample time to get the old man away from the house, so the way must be clear for the boys to have their meeting. Let the two squarely face each other in our presence, and I will tell inside of three minutes whether young Sterns is a knave, or Nick Bleak is a knave and a fool to boot.”

“Do you understand your part, young man?” turning to the young charcoal burner. “You are to accuse Vastly Sterns of stealing your money, and we will stand behind you until we are satisfied of his innocence or guilt. Remember, if he comes out of this trial to our satisfaction the alternative that awaits you. You are between two fires.”

This speech was not intended to reassure Nick, and his affirmative was not overstrong in tone. It was decided that Nick should rap at the door and request to see Vastly. What he was to say was left wholly to him.

Though it was nine o’clock by this time, a light was burning in the sitting-room, and soon after Nick had made his summons, this was seen to move in the direction of the door.

A moment later Mrs. Sterns appeared in answer to the knock.

“Good-evening, mum,” doffing his cap, respectfully; “if you please, I want to see Vastly a minute.”

“Who are you? Why, Nick Bleak! What do you want of mv boy? He is readv to go to bed. He cannot see you at this late hour,” and she was about to close the door, when Captain Coe interposed.

At sight of him, she turned pale, gasping:

“Oh, Captain Coe! is it about that money? He found——”

“Shut the door, mother!” exclaimed Vastly himself, ap pearing on the scene. “We don't want anything to do with that hoodlum. Father—”

He was in the act of closing the door, but Nick sprang forward, and holding it back, cried:

“Stop. Vastly Sterns! I want my money. Give that back to me and you shan't be hurt. You got it out of my vest pocket the—”

“It ain't so!" cried the excited youth. “I know nothing of your money. Captain Coe, I call upon you to save me from that young hoodlum.”

Vastly had relinquished his hold on the door and retreated into the room, followed by our hero and his companions, the latter carrying terror to the hearts of mother and son.

“Where is your father, Vastly? This is outrageous. Help!”

“Be calm, Mrs. Sterns,” said Mr. Veasey. “We do not mean to harm any one. Only to speak about the money you referred to.”

“You don't blame my boy for finding it? I saw it on his table, and he told me that he had found it.”

“I did find it, mother,” interrupted Vastly. “Don't you believe a word that coal burner tells you. He lies every time he opens his mouth.”

Nick quivered from head to feet, but he managed to say, with considerable calmness:

“Do I lie, Vastly, when I say I chased you from the Narrows to the shore of Sunny Pond?'”

“No; I never run so in my life.”

'And you took to the boat then?”

“I had to to save my life.”

“And when half-way across the pond your boat sank, leaving you in the water?”

“Yes.”

“And I swam ashore with you?”

“I suppose you did. But what has all this got to do with money—your money?”

“What do you suppose I was chasing you all that way for?

“To hammer me. You have always tried to get your hands on me whenever you could.”

“What were you in the valley for—clear up to where I was working?”

“What if I was? It was none of your business.”

“It was my business, for you took my money, wallet and all, from my vest pocket.”

Nick was perfectly calm now, while Vastly was trembling from head to feet, and great beads of perspiration stood out on his face. The presence of Captain Coe and Mr. Veasey did more to unnerve him than anything else. He knew their coming meant more than he dared to contemplate. He was in a tight place.

“See!” exclaimed Mrs. Sterns, who had hastened to the chamber during the foregoing conversation and obtained the pocketbook she had spoken of. “Is this it? There is money in it. Vastly said he found it.”

“It is my wallet,” said Nick, recognizing the pocket- book the moment she held it up. “I had fifty dollars in it.

“It's a lie—a scheme to ruin me!” cried Vastly, seizing the object and throwing it into the fireplace.

“What does all this rumpus mean?” demanded Mr. Sterns, appearing on the scene at this minute, accompanied by Frank Morrison.

“It means that the wronged shall be set right,” replied Captain Coe, impressively. “Mr. Veasey, get that pocket-book and see how much money there is in it.”

“Why don't you answer my question, Captain Coe?” repeated the excited and amazed farmer. “What are you doing here in my house with that jailbird of a Bleak?”

“Easy, Mr. Sterns: the easier the better for you. Your boy has been caught in an awkward situation, and if you want to favor him, I advise you to be careful what you say.

A half-hour’s excited argument followed, and then Vastly Sterns confessed to his guilt, to the surprise of his father and the grief of his mother.

“Oh. Captain Coe, what is going to be the end of this?

Mv boya thief! I—oh—“

“Do not give away to your feelings so, Mrs. Sterns, for you have our sympathy. I believe you are an honest woman, and this is not the result of your teaching.”

“I have always told him to be honest. Captain Coe, and I never dreamed I had a boy—”

“Hush, Emily!” broke in her husband. “I see nothing so terrible about this. I can settle with the captain. After that we shall see that this Son of Old Nick is given—”

“Hold!” commanded the ex-soldier, the fire of his younger years returning to his eyes. “This can be settled here, for the sake of the mother, who has my pity. But there are certain conditions that have got to be lived up to besides proper remuneration.”

“Name them,” said the trembling man.

“Pay back the boy his money first of all. Then accept the just amount due on those taxes, and pay him for the wood you took from him. And from this hour treat him as an equal. Remember, that if ever he is ill-treated by any of you, the warrant shall be served on Vastly here for stealing. Otherwise, he shall not be touched. More than that, Mrs. Sterns, for your sake, I promise that none of us here shall ever speak of the matter; so it shall not be generally known. You promise that, Alden, Frank, Nicholas?”

"We do.”

“But I have a deed—”

“Not worth the paper it is written on. You have my only terms, and just five minutes to decide in.”

Several years have passed since that eventful evening, and as far as I know, no one has ever regretted the out-come of its startling surprise, not even kind-hearted Mrs. Sterns, for Vastly learned a lesson that has been of unbounded value to him.

Nick Bleak went to his home a happy boy, and the sunshine he carried with him shone for many a day.

“The old place is ours, mother, Mr. Sterns having kindly consented to let me pay up. To-morrow I shall pay the taxes for this year. I have no more to fear on that score. Then, I am sure to be released from all charges of the court, so I am really free. Captain Coe, to show the folks that I’m worth being trusted, is going to let me come in his store, while I shall have plenty of time to study and go to Miss Spencer's school. Bell will have nothing to do but to attend school. Mr. Veasev has offered us his small house to live in, if we want to move from the Narrows. It will be handier for us children to go to school. So you can see we can be somebody after all, if we will. Of course, if I don’t do right, I shall lose my place. But I mean to keep it.

“What do you say, mother, is it the Narrow's or the Birches? The old life or a new one?"

“If you have such friends as them, Nick, we’ll try the new a while!”

I am glad to say that through Nick’s and Bell’s example, none of them ever went back to the old.

Both boys are honored men now, one an artist fast gaining a reputation that is national, the other a statesman risen to high positions and accumulated honors, who remembers the dark days when he was the Son of Old Nick with smiles and tears—-smiles for the steadfast purpose that was a part of his nature—tears for the hardships that environed him.

One happy incident came into his family three years after his first victory, in the pardoning of his father in answer to a long petition for his release. I am glad to say he, too, kept the faith by turning over a new leaf.

Black Daniels has never been seen since that night by those who knew him then. Joe Blare is now behind the bars. Of the rest, some have imitated the example of our hero and improved their ways; others, I am sorry to say, follow in the old footsteps, though there are only a few ruined dwellings and the coal beds left of what was once the homes of the charcoal burners of the Narrows. As for Nick, he will never forget the days when he was fighting for home and honor.