In Search of Treasure

CHAPTER XVI

GUY FINISHES UP HIS BUSINESS IN LONDON

“I think I was too much for the doctor,” he said, “but the time was when he had the advantage of me. I have been flogged more than once in my schooldays; but I fancy I deserved it more than you. You don’t look to me like a very bad boy.”

“The doctor said I was, but indeed I tried to do my duty. Yet he was always flogging me.”

“Rawdon was your friend, was he not?”

“Yes; he was my only friend. He was always ready to stand up for me.”

“The doctor never flogged him?”

“No; I don’t see why, for he wasn’t a model boy, though he was a good friend to me.”

“He seemed like a trump. I’m sorry I didn’t tip him. I say, Guy, I mean to send him a couple of guineas, just to show my appreciation of his pluck and friendship for your ward.”

“No; it is I who ought to do that.”

“We’ll do it together.”

For a few days Guy kept Vivian with him at the hotel. He set himself to explore London, visiting all the noted places usually sought by strangers, and this the boy thoroughly enjoyed.

Guy determined to give him some pleasure after his long thraldom at school.

On the sixth day, in walking up the Strand, he and Vivian were surprised to meet Jim Rawdon.

Rawdon saw them first.

“Hallo, you two! I was in hopes to meet you,” he said.

“But how do you happen to be in London?” asked Guy. “You haven’t run away from school, have you?”

“Not exactly; but it amounts to the same thing, except that my father is satisfied with my leaving.”

“Tell me all about it.”

“Well, it was this way. After you took Bell away the doctor was fearfully cross. He was ashamed to think we boys had seen his downfall, and as you were not there he vented his anger on us. There were never so many boys flogged in the same length of time before.”

“Did you receive the money Mr. Locke and myself sent you?”

“Yes, and it got me into trouble. You see, the doctor heard of it, and it set him to thinking. Finally he found out, by the help of that sneaking son of his, that I had encouraged Bell to run away. He was almost beside himself with anger, and made up his mind to do what he had never done before; that is, give me a flogging.”

“I hope he didn’t do it,” said Guy, hastily.

“Listen, and I will tell you all about it. He summoned me before the whole school, and made a short speech. ‘James Rawdon,’ he said, ‘I have spared you heretofore on account of your excellent father, but I find that you aided and abetted your schoolmate Bell to run away in defiance of my rightful authority. Did you, or did you not?’

“‘I did,’ I answered. ‘The boy was so brutally treated that he had good reason to run away.’

“‘I never heard such insolence!’ roared the doctor, his eyes blazing. ‘Take off your jacket!’

“‘Thank you, sir,’ I replied, ‘I’d rather keep it on.’

“He lost all control of himself then, and sprang for me with the whip. My father had told me never to submit to a flogging, so I grabbed for the whip, and we had a struggle for it.

“I managed to break his spectacles, and convinced him that I was pretty strong for a boy. But what frightened him most was this—I pulled out a toy pistol from my pocket, and the doctor became pale as a sheet.

“‘Put that down, sir!’ he cried. ‘I will dispose of your case to-morrow!’

“That was all I wanted. That very evening I walked to the station and took the cars for London, buying my ticket with the money you sent me. When I told my father what led me to leave the school he told me I had done right, and he sent the doctor a letter which he won’t be very glad to read.”

“Dr. Musgrave seems to be a very unwise man,” said Guy.

“All the boys are getting dissatisfied,” rejoined Rawdon. “I know four who have written to their fathers to take them away. Dr. Musgrave will soon find himself deserted.”

On this point we will anticipate matters a little by saying that Rawdon’s statement proved prophetic. Dr. Musgrave’s temper was so aggravated by what had occurred that he increased his severity to such an extent as to induce a rebellion of the pupils.

The directors were finally obliged to take cognizance of the complaints made by parents, and the result was that Dr. Musgrave was removed from the post of head master. He found it impossible to get another position, and was compelled to live, or attempt to live, on the income of a small sum which he had been able to accumulate in his twenty years’ service.

His successor was a man of high scholarship and enlightened views, who had assisted Dr. Arnold at Rugby School.

Under his charge the school regained its lost popularity. For his humiliation Dr. Musgrave had only himself to thank, but it is doubtful if he fully realized it.

A problem now presented itself to Guy, in reference to his ward. What should he do with him?

As the boy’s education was incomplete, it seemed desirable that it should be continued. Moreover, in his future plans Guy felt that Vivian’s company would hamper him, besides increasing his responsibility.

Jim Rawdon came to his rescue.

One morning he called at the hotel where Guy was living, and said: “Why can’t you let Bell go to school with me?”

“Where are you going?” asked Guy.

“My father will send me to a clergyman who takes but six scholars, and who is highly recommended. He has two vacancies, so there is room for Bell and myself.”

“Please give me the clergyman’s name, and I will look the matter up.”

Rawdon did so.

Guy heard, upon inquiry, such good accounts of the teacher recommended that he decided to send Vivian to him, especially as he found that his young ward was in favor of the plan.

This relieved him, and left him ready to carry out any instructions he might receive from his employer in Bombay.

It was not long before these instructions came. Going one morning to the banking house, he found a letter from Mr. Saunders.

A part of it ran thus:

A memorandum of instructions accompanied this letter.

CHAPTER XVII

HOW THINGS WENT ON IN BAYPORT

He had not thought much of it till now, but as the day of his sailing for New York approached he began to be anxious about his father’s health. He also troubled himself lest rumors might have come to him about disaffection in the parish, and the schemes of Deacon Crane to oust him from the position he had so long and so honorably held, and to put in his place a younger man.

While Guy is on the Atlantic, speeding for home on the good steamer Etruria, we will precede him and let the reader know how matters are going on in Bayport.

Deacon Crane had gathered at his house three or four members of the church one Thursday evening, and was seeking to bring them over to his views on parish matters.

“I tell you what, Brother Ainsworth,” said he, addressing the village storekeeper, “it’s time we had a change in the minister. Mr. Fenwick is behind the times. He isn’t a hustler. Why, the parish is at a standstill. There are not more members than there were five years ago.”

“That may be, Deacon Crane, but Bayport itself has been at a standstill. I don’t believe the population has increased twenty-five in those five years.”

“Mebbe not, mebbe not; but the parson is feeding us on husks instead of rich spiritual food.”

“I think you are prejudiced, Deacon Crane,” said Jackson Butler, a farmer, and one of the parish committee. “Mr. Fenwick is an able man, and none of the ministers he exchanges with gives us a better sermon than he. One of my friends from New Bedford attended church with me last Sunday, and expressed himself as highly edified with our minister’s sermon.”

“I apprehend,” said the deacon, “that it is more important that he should please the members of his own flock than the stray sheep who attend church occasionally from other folds.”

“Still the verdict of an intelligent outsider carries weight.”

“I tell you I want a change,” said the deacon, with emphasis. “I want some bright, young man that’ll make a stir.”

“Do you think there are many that feel that way, deacon?”

“Not a doubt of it.”

“Who, for instance?”

“Well,” said the deacon, after a pause, “Mr. Bucklin, for instance.”

“Bucklin seldom goes to church, and last year he contributed but five dollars toward the minister’s salary.”

“Exactly so. Get a young man, and Bucklin would attend regularly, and pay a larger sum toward the church expenses.”

“He might double his subscription, but that would not amount to much,” said Mr. Ainsworth. “Now I pay fifty dollars, and I think I have a larger claim to consideration than Silas Bucklin.”

“To be sure, to be sure! But we want to put aside our own preferences and consult for the general good.”

“Do you do that, Deacon Crane?” asked Mr. Ainsworth, pointedly.

“Yes, sir! yes, sir!”

“You are prejudiced against the minister.”

“No, sir; I am only considering what will be for the good of the parish.”

“You object, then, to the minister’s sermons? Is that all?”

“No, Brother Ainsworth. I object to Mr. Fenwick as a family man.”

“That’s something new. What is your objection?”

“Well, you see, he’s let his son Guy go off on a wildgoose chase to the other end of the world. Instead of keeping him at home to complete his education, or go into a store, he’s let him sail to India with Captain Grover.”

“That reminds me,” said Enoch Slade, the village carpenter. “Captain Grover arrived home yesterday.”

“Then where is Guy Fenwick? Nothing has been seen of him in the village.”

“He didn’t come home with the captain.”

“Didn’t come home?” repeated Deacon Crane, in amazement. “Where is he?”

“He stayed in Bombay. I believe he got something to do there.”

“Well, that beats all I ever heard,” said the deacon, severely. “It shows just what sort of a bringing up the boy has had. The minister ought to have known better than to have let him leave home. Guy was always self-willed. My son Noah never liked him.”

This didn’t impress the deacon’s visitors as much as he anticipated, for Noah Crane was by no means an object of admiration in the village. He was generally considered sly and mean, while Guy was a universal favorite.

“I always liked Guy, myself,” said Mr. Ainsworth. “He is a good scholar and a good boy. I do hope he will come out all right.”

“It ain’t hardly to be expected, Brother Ainsworth. The boy has always had his own way. You wouldn’t catch me letting my Noah go off to the other end of the world.”

“What did Captain Grover think of Guy remaining behind?” asked Mr. Ainsworth.

“He thought it was a good plan. Guy had a position with a leading English merchant in that city.”

“You’ll see him coming home before the mast as a common sailor, mark my words,” said the deacon. “As I was saying, the minister ought to set a good example to his people in the way of family discipline; but you see what he’s done. Suppose we all followed his example?”

“I think Guy will come out all right,” observed Enoch Slade.

“I don’t.”

“What would you have done with him?”

“I’d have put him into a store, or had him learn a trade; that’s what I would have done.”

“Mr. Fenwick was anxious to have him go to college,” suggested Enoch Slade.

“What was the objection?”

“He couldn’t afford it. You know Mr. Fenwick’s salary is only a thousand dollars a year, and he has an aged aunt whom he helps. So it was quite impossible for him to afford the expense.”

“All the more reason for keeping Guy at home and setting him to work. Now if I chose to send Noah to college, I could afford it,” added the deacon, proudly.

“Why don’t you do it, then?” asked Mr. Ainsworth.

“Noah doesn’t care to go. He wants to be a business man.”

“I wouldn’t give him a place in my store,” thought Ainsworth, “if he would work for nothing.”

Of course he didn’t say this.

On the whole, Deacon Crane didn’t find as much sympathy as he expected in his opposition to the minister, but he succeeded in converting half a dozen heads of families to his views. They were not persons of much importance, but, instigated by the deacon, they talked a good deal, and managed to convey the impression that there was really considerable dissatisfaction with Mr. Fenwick.

Finally, Deacon Crane thought the time had come to call upon the minister, and let him know how matters stood, or rather how he wished matters to stand.

So one evening he took his cane, and made his way to the parsonage.

Mr. Fenwick was at work upon his sermon for the coming Sunday, but he laid down his pen and greeted the deacon cordially.

“I hear that your son hasn’t come home on the Osprey, Brother Fenwick,” the deacon began.

“No. It’s a disappointment to me. I have missed him sadly.”

“It seems to me it was a very risky thing to let him go off so far.”

“He was very anxious to go, and I thought it might be an education to him. I would like, myself, to see more of the great world.”

“Of course that’s one way to look at it, but there ain’t many boys that can be trusted so far away. I was amazed at his not coming home. What does the captain say?”

“He says that Guy made a good friend, and he is earning enough to pay his expenses.”

“Then you approve of his staying?”

“I hardly know what to think. Guy is a good boy, and I think he can be trusted.”

Deacon Crane coughed.

A cough is very significant sometimes. The deacon’s cough indicated incredulity of a very decided character.

“Mebbe, mebbe,” he said; “but that isn’t the way I would have managed with my boy.”

“What would have been your course?” asked Mr. Fenwick, mildly.

“I would have set Guy to work. He is old enough to be a help to you.”

“He is earning his living.”

“True, if he keeps his place. Suppose he gets discharged?”

“The captain says that is not likely.”

“Mebbe, mebbe; but I didn’t come here to discuss your son, parson. I have a weightier matter to speak of.”

“Go on, Brother Crane, I am ready to listen to you.”

CHAPTER XVIII

WILY DEACON CRANE

“I am very sorry if this is the case. I had not noticed it. The congregations keep up very well, and the people are attentive to the services.”

“Mebbe, mebbe; they’d appear to be so out of respect for you, parson; but as I move about the village, of course I hear what’s said.”

“Admitting that things are as you say, what remedy do you suggest?”

“That’s the p’int! That’s the p’int I was comin’ at; but I don’t hardly like to answer that question.”

“Why not?” asked the minister, innocently.

“Because it might hurt your feelin’s, parson.”

“I will not allow my feelings to stand in the way, so be kind enough to answer the question frankly and candidly.”

“Then, if I must say it,” replied the deacon, watching under his shaggy eyebrows to see what effect his words would have upon Mr. Fenwick, “if I must say it, some of the people are sayin’ it might be well for the parish to have a younger minister!”

Mr. Fenwick started as if he had been struck. He was utterly unprepared for this communication. He had lived among his people for twenty years, and no thought of separation had come to him.

He turned pale, and endeavored to stifle his emotion.

“I—I was not prepared for this, Deacon Crane,” he said. “Are the people really getting tired of me?” he added, with a tremor in his voice.

“Of course there are some of us that stand by you, parson; for instance, myself and Mrs. Crane. But I regret to say that some of the younger people are gettin’ uneasy, and think that a change might be for the benefit of the parish.”

“Will you name to me some of the disaffected ones, Brother Crane?”

“No, I’d rather not. You see, they all respect you. You see, you’re gettin’ into years, parson.”

“I am fifty-one.”

“True, that isn’t very old. I’m a year or two older myself.” (The deacon was fifty-nine.) “But then I am not a preacher. People don’t seem to consider age an objection in a deacon. If they did, I hope I should be willin’ to sacrifice myself on the altar of dooty.”

Mr. Fenwick rose from his chair and began to pace up and down the study. He was very much agitated, and heart-sore at the thought that the people who were so near to him should wish him to go.

“How long have you seen signs of disaffection, Deacon Crane?” he asked, pausing in his walk.

“Well, for about two years, I reckon, Mr. Fenwick.”

“And yet the people seem to come to church in as large numbers as usual.”

“It is their sense of dooty, parson. They feel that they ought to come.”

“That may be. It is certainly very commendable. I only mention it to let you understand why I have not noticed this feeling.”

“Of course, I needn’t say, parson, that I am very sorry to be the one chosen to tell you how matters stand. You see, there was a meetin’ of a few of your parishioners at my house last night, and we talked the matter over, and it was thought best that I should give you a hint.”

“May I ask who were at your house, Deacon Crane?”

“Well, I don’t think I ought to tell. Some of them might be unwilling.”

“I don’t see why.”

“They might think you would be offended.”

“I should have no right to be offended. I might feel grieved. Indeed I do. But, of course, my first thought must be of the parish, and what is good for it.”

“I knew you would feel that way, Brother Fenwick. We all know what a conscientious man you are.”

“I hope so,” faltered the minister. “You think that I ought to send in my resignation?”

“Of course, parson, you will be able to preach to good acceptance in some other parish. All people don’t have the same taste.”

“It would be hard for me to settle down among strangers.”

“Just at first it would; but after a while it would put new life into you. We all of us need a change, ministers as well as other people.”

“I will think over what you say, Deacon Crane. It has come as a surprise to me.”

“To be sure, to be sure! There is only one thing now I want to say,” and the deacon cleared his throat with portentous significance.

“And what is that other thing you have to say, deacon?” asked Mr. Fenwick.

“You know I hold a mortgage of five hundred dollars on your house?”

“Yes.”

“I was thinkin’ of callin’ it in; but if you should be goin’ to another place, I wouldn’t mind buyin’ it if we could agree upon terms.”

“I don’t feel like discussing that question now, deacon.”

“All right. There’s plenty of time.”

Deacon Crane rose to go. As he left the house a complacent smile overspread his face. He felt that he had broached the subject successfully, and deceived the minister as to the extent of the opposition to him.

Besides, and this was no unimportant consideration, he saw that there would be a chance, in all probability, of buying the minister’s modest house at a bargain, and so making a tidy little profit for himself.

Half an hour later, Mr. Ainsworth entered the presence of the minister. He had seen Deacon Crane leaving the parsonage, and guessed his object in calling.

Lest the deacon should have misrepresented matters, he wished to have a little conference with Mr. Fenwick himself.

“Mr. Fenwick,” he said, as he entered the study, “you look sober.”

“Yes, Brother Ainsworth, my heart is heavy.”

“Deacon Crane has called upon you?”

“Yes. He grieved me very much by telling me that the people wanted a change.”

“Which means that he wants a change.”

“He assured me that he and Mrs. Crane stood by me. He said it was the younger people who were getting uneasy.”

“Mr. Fenwick, Deacon Crane has for months been trying to get up an opposition to you.”

“Can this be so?”

“Yes. He has not met with very good success. I don’t think there are more than half a dozen persons besides himself that want a change, and those are members by no means prominent.”

“But why should he be so desirous of having me leave?”

“Because there is a cousin of his wife, now out of a charge, whom he hopes to get here in your place. That is the true explanation. He has deceived you as to the state of feeling in the parish.”

“Brother Ainsworth, you have relieved my mind and lifted from it a heavy burden. The deacon gave me to understand the feeling was general.”

“Moreover,” continued Mr. Ainsworth, “he wants to get hold of your house and let it to his cousin, if he can manage to get him installed as your successor.”

“Then you don’t think I ought to resign?”

“Certainly not. We don’t propose to have the deacon run the parish.”

Two days afterward Deacon Crane called again.

“Well, Brother Fenwick,” he said, “have you decided to resign?”

“No, Deacon Crane, not yet. Brother Ainsworth tells me that the great majority of the people favor my remaining.”

“He is in error,” said the deacon, tartly. “You are making a great mistake. And I want to say that I shall have to foreclose that mortgage. I want the money this day week.”

“I doubt if I can obtain it so soon,” said the minister, troubled.

“Then I will buy the place.”

“I prefer not to sell. I will try to secure the money.”

Mr. Fenwick went about among those of his friends who he thought might be able to accommodate him with a loan, but there was a stringency in the money market, and no one seemed able to oblige him.

He returned, despondent, from his search, when, as he entered the house, he found a letter awaiting him.

It ran thus:

CHAPTER XIX

PREPARING TO RECEIVE GUY

“Well, parson,” began the deacon, abruptly, “I hope you haven’t forgotten that the mortgage falls due day after to-morrow. Have you secured the money to pay it?”

“No, Deacon Crane. Money seems very hard to borrow just now.”

“I am aware of that. You will find it best to sell to me.”

“What do you offer?”

“A thousand dollars over and above the face of the mortgage.”

“But,” said the minister, dismayed, “that would make the place worth only fifteen hundred dollars!”

“Fifteen hundred dollars is a great deal of money.”

“Why, I paid two thousand!”

“Mebbe, mebbe; but property depreciates in the course of years.”

“Certainly the land has not depreciated, and the house is in good repair.”

“Well, money is tight. You know that yourself, for you have found it hard to borrow.”

“Can’t you let matters run on for a year longer? By that time I may be able to realize a large sum for the property.”

Deacon Crane’s thin lips tightened, and his eyes looked crafty and forbidding.

“What you ask is unreasonable, Brother Fenwick,” he said.

The minister looked despondent.

“If I sell the house,” he said, “I don’t know where I can find another.”

“You can board,” suggested the deacon.

“I should not like it. I have been accustomed to have a home of my own. Besides—I didn’t think to tell you—I am expecting Guy home.”

Deacon Crane opened his eyes wide.

“Why, I thought he was in Bombay, earning his living. Why did he leave there?”

“I don’t know. I got a letter this morning, saying that he had reached New York on the steamer Etruria.”

Deacon Crane’s puckered and wrinkled face looked jubilant. It might have been thought that he was pleased at the prospect of seeing Guy back; but this would have been a mistake.

“I am not surprised,” he said, dryly.

“I am. I did not dream of such a thing.”

“Of course, it’s plain enough. Guy didn’t suit his employer, and he has been discharged.”

“I hope it isn’t that. But even that is better than his being sick.”

“I told you, parson, that it was very unwise to let so young a boy go off to the other end of the world. I know it wasn’t your fault, his staying behind in Bombay, but I should think a sensible man like Captain Grover would have advised against it.”

“I shall soon know what brings Guy back. I only mentioned it to explain that I should need a home for him as well as myself. It makes me all the more anxious to keep the house.”

“I am sure I have no objection if you can pay off the mortgage.”

“You couldn’t extend it for another year?”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Then perhaps you will take me as your tenant?”

“I don’t think I could do that, either. I have other views.”

“I’ve got some news for you, Noah,” said Deacon Crane, when he entered his own house.

“What is it, father?”

“Guy Fenwick is coming back.”

“When?” asked Noah, eagerly.

“His father’s had a letter from New York, sayin’ that he’s just arrived by the Etruria.”

“Why, the Etruria comes from Liverpool, not from Bombay!”

“I know that. He must have come by way of England.”

“Ho! ho! Why, I thought he’d got a place in Bombay?”

“He’s probably been discharged and sent home.”

“I’m glad of it!”

“I suppose you’ll be glad to have his company again?” said the deacon, slyly, for he knew just how his son felt toward Guy.

“No, it isn’t that; but I’m glad he’s come home in disgrace. That boy was always puttin’ on airs, though his father was only a poor minister, and hadn’t half as much money as you.”

“No; nor one-fifth,” said the deacon, complacently. “I’ll tell you a secret, Noah. I’ve got a mortgage on the minister’s house.”

“I know that already.”

“But you didn’t know that I should probably have to foreclose the mortgage, and take the place. Of course, I shall get it cheap.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Perhaps I shall keep it till you are married, Noah, and give it to you to live in,” said his father, playfully.

“Then Guy won’t have any home to go to?”

“That’s about it.”

“I wouldn’t be in his shoes. He’s lost his place, and now he will lose his home, too.”

“We mustn’t rejoice over his misfortune,” said the deacon, with the air of a Pecksniff. “We should always feel sorry for the bad luck of our fellow men.”

“If you are, father, why do you foreclose the mortgage?”

“That’s business, Noah. We sometimes have to do in the way of business what we do not like to do. By the way, don’t mention to anyone what I intend to do.”

“No, I won’t. But why doesn’t the minister pay off the mortgage?”

“For the very good reason that he cannot borrow the money.”

“I thought perhaps Mr. Ainsworth would lend him. He seems to be a great friend of the minister.”

“It’s all Ainsworth can do to get the money to pay his own bills. The only man in the village that’s got any spare cash is——”

“Well, who?”

“Deacon Crane,” answered Noah’s father, with a wintry smile; “and he isn’t lendin’.”

“Ho! ho!” laughed Noah. “When is Guy Fenwick expected back?”

“I shouldn’t wonder if he’d be here this afternoon, though the minister didn’t say. I don’t suppose there’s anything to keep him in New York.”

“That is, if he’s got money enough to get home. It would be a joke if he had to walk.”

“I guess he’ll have money enough to get home, but I reckon it’ll be a good while before he gets a chance to go away again.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for him,” said Noah. “I want to see how he looks, and what he’ll say when he finds his father is going to lose the house.”

Mr. Fenwick had occasion to visit the village store during the day. Sometimes he went there without any errand, for he was always cordially received by Mr. Ainsworth.

As he entered, the storekeeper looked up.

“What is this I hear about Guy returning, Mr. Fenwick?” he asked.

“I received a letter this morning stating that he had just reached New York by the steamer Etruria.”

“You didn’t expect him, did you?”

“No. I supposed that he was still at Bombay.”

“Your special friend, Deacon Crane, seems to be pleased to think he is coming back.”

“He thinks Guy has been discharged by the merchant who employed him.”

“Of course, it is possible that he did not give satisfaction.”

“I don’t know how that may be, but I shall be glad to have my boy at home again.”

“Have you formed any views for him?”

“I suppose it will be well to let him go into some store or counting-room. He doesn’t seem to care to go to college.”

“If you see fit to let him enter my store, Mr. Fenwick, I shall be glad to receive him. I always liked Guy, and I consider him a smart boy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ainsworth. You are always kind to me and mine. I can’t decide till I have seen Guy, but I think it quite possible that we shall accept your offer.”

This was not the only opening for Guy.

Deacon Crane offered to give him work on his farm.

“I feel for your disappointment about the boy, parson,” he said, “and I think I can set him to work on my place. Of course, I can’t pay him much.”

“Thank you, Deacon Crane. I will see what Guy thinks about your offer.”

Mr. Fenwick knew, though he did not say so, that nothing would induce Guy to enter the deacon’s service.

CHAPTER XX

GUY REACHES BAYPORT

“Surely. When will you call again? I shall need to have some further words with you.”

“I wish to visit my father, whom I have not seen for six months or more, but I will return to the city in four days.”

“Where does your father live?”

“In Bayport, Massachusetts.”

“Very good. I will expect you in four days. There will be no harm in waiting that length of time.”

“Now,” said Guy to himself, joyfully, “I shall soon be at home.”

He engaged passage by the steamer Pilgrim of the Fall River Line, and started that night.

He found himself the next morning in New Bedford. Here he took a stage for Bayport.

His heart beat with excitement when he reached the borders of his native village. He realized the charms of home.

He had traveled many thousand miles by land and sea, he had seen London and Bombay, but neither of these cities seemed so attractive to him as the obscure town on the Massachusetts coast where he had passed his boyhood days.

The first person whom he saw when he descended from the stage was Noah Crane.

In fact, Noah had managed to be around when the stage arrived, in the hope of meeting Guy.

Guy was so pleased to see a familiar face that he forgot the old animosity between himself and the deacon’s son, and exclaimed, gladly: “How are you, Noah? It seems good to see an old friend!”

“So you’ve got back?” said Noah, coolly.

“Yes, I’ve got back.”

“I thought you’d be back before long.”

Then it dawned upon Guy that Noah looked upon him as a failure, and it amused him.

“Of course I would come back, since my father lives here. Is he well?”

“Oh, yes, he’s well—in health.”

“Isn’t he well in other respects?”

“Well, you see, some of the people want a younger minister. I don’t know how it will turn out.”

“I suppose your father is one who favors a change?”

“Well, he seems to think it might be better for the parish.”

Guy smiled. The suggestion did not trouble him as it might have done six months before.

“Besides,” continued Noah, “he may lose his house.”

This was certainly news.

“I don’t understand you,” said Guy. “The house belongs to him.”

“Yes, but there’s a mortgage on it.”

“Well?”

“Father holds the mortgage, and as your father can’t pay it, of course he’ll have to give it up.”

“Do you remember how large the mortgage is, Noah?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

“That isn’t much. He ought to be able to borrow that small sum.”

“Seems to me you have pretty large ideas. It’ll be a long time before you’ll be able to earn five hundred dollars.”

“Well, perhaps so,” said Guy, smiling.

“Now you’ve come back to live on your father, it’ll be harder still for him.”

“Perhaps I shall get work,” answered Guy, smiling again.

“Yes; you’ll have to earn something. My father says he will hire you to work on our farm.”

“That’s very kind of him.”

“He does it on account of your father. He feels for him, considering he has been so much disappointed in you.”

“I didn’t expect so much kindness from the deacon and you. I’ll think over this offer, if he decides to make it. But I can’t stop talking here any longer. I know father will be anxious to see me.”

“Guy is a queer boy,” thought Noah. “When I told him about his father’s troubles he only smiled as if he didn’t care. I’d like to take as long a journey as he has, but I shouldn’t like to return home a pauper.”

“Noah is as kind and amiable as ever,” thought Guy. “Evidently he thinks I am a bad failure. I wonder how he will feel when he learns how fortunate I have been.”

In a few minutes he found himself entering the yard of the parsonage.

Guy was touched by his father’s evident delight. He began to understand how near he was to his heart.

“Welcome home, Guy!” he said. “I have had my cares and anxieties, but this pays me for all!”

“Thank you, father. It seems good to be at home again.”

“And you have been in good health all the time, Guy?”

“Never better, father.”

“You must be hungry, my son. Come in, and you shall try some of Rachel’s home cooking.”

“Indeed, father, I can do it justice. Were you surprised to receive my letter?”

“Yes, Guy. I thought you were thousands of miles away. How did you like your employer, Mr. Saunders?”

The father asked this doubtfully, not knowing on what terms his son had left the merchant.

“He is an excellent man, and a good friend, father.”

“Then how did it happen that he discharged you, Guy?” asked the minister.

“Who told you he discharged me?”

“I judged so on account of your return home.”

“I am still in his employ, father. I went to England first, and have now come to America as his agent, and on his business. And you actually thought I was discharged?”

“Yes, Guy; and Deacon Crane is of the same opinion.”

“I know that,” said Guy, with a laugh. “I met Noah on getting off the stage. I really believe he went to meet me.”

“I did not know you were friends.”

“We are not. He wanted to triumph over me on account of my supposed discharge. He offered me a place on his father’s farm.”

“And Mr. Ainsworth is ready to give you a position in his store.”

“Mr. Ainsworth is a friend. I would not mind working for him if there was any need of it; but nothing would induce me to work for the deacon.”

“But how can you be in the employ of Mr. Saunders while you are here?”

“I am under pay all the time, father. I cannot be with you long. I must be in New York in four days, to attend to some business there, and soon after shall be obliged to start again on a long journey.”

“It seems strange, Guy, to think of you as in the employ of a man thousands of miles away. Are your prospects good?”

“Excellent, father. And now tell me about yourself. Has Deacon Crane been making trouble for you in the parish?”

“Yes, Guy. He tried to stir up opposition to me in favor of a younger man, but he found very few to join him. My good parishioners stood by me.

“Good for them! As for the deacon, he is a mean, malicious, double-faced man!”

“We must not speak ill of others, Guy.”

“He deserves it, if anyone does! But you spoke of anxieties. To what do you refer?”

“To a very great one, Guy. You did not perhaps know that this house was mortgaged?”

“Yes; Noah kindly informed me of it when we met this morning.”

“It is his father, Deacon Crane, who holds the mortgage.”

“What is the sum?”

“Five hundred dollars.”

“That is not a large sum.”

“No; but the deacon wants it. He will not consent to extend it.”

“Can you borrow it in the village?”

“No, Guy. Times are hard. No one has any extra money. My good friend Ainsworth would lend it to me if he had it, but at present he can’t raise it.”

“Then what will follow?”

“The place will be sold to satisfy the claim. Deacon Crane has offered a thousand dollars over and above the mortgage.”

“Why, that is robbery!” said Guy, indignantly.

“True, Guy, but it can’t be helped. The deacon will secure the house, and I shall be turned out!”

“No, you won’t, father!”

“What do you mean, Guy?”

“When does the mortgage fall due?”

“To-morrow.”

“Very well; don’t borrow any trouble, father. It shall be paid.”

“But how? I don’t understand.”

“I have more than enough money to meet it.”

“But, Guy, it would not be right to use your employer’s money!”

“There is no need of that. I have more than enough money of my own.”

CHAPTER XXI

DEACON CRANE IS PERPLEXED

“Disappointed to see Guy? Oh, no! no!”

“You know what I mean,” returned the deacon, with some asperity.

“I don’t think I do.”

“I mean, of course, that it can’t be pleasant to have your son thrown on your hands when you thought he was earnin’ his livin’.”

“I think I must ask you to explain yourself.”

“If you wasn’t a minister, I might say that you seem a little dense,” said the deacon, impatiently. “However, I feel for you. You can’t afford to have a big boy eatin’ you out of house and home. I can find work for him on my farm, though, of course, I shouldn’t feel justified in payin’ much.”

“You are considerate, deacon,” said Mr. Fenwick, with a slight smile, “and perhaps I have misled you. Guy is not out of employment.”

“No?” said the deacon, opening his eyes in surprise. “Do you mean to say that he has a position?”

“He is in the employ of Mr. Saunders of Bombay.”

“How can that be?”

“He was sent to New York on business by his employer, and took the opportunity of visiting me.”

“This don’t seem a very likely story,” said the deacon, in a tone of disappointment. “Are you sure he isn’t deceivin’ you?”

“I am quite sure,” answered Mr. Fenwick, with dignity. “Does your son ever deceive you?”

“That isn’t neither here nor there. If he told me such a story as Guy has told you I would punish him.”

“Guy doesn’t deceive me,” said the minister, quietly.

He was annoyed with the deacon for his incredulity, but he understood Mr. Crane’s suspicious nature, also his dislike for Guy, and he was not surprised.

“However,” continued the deacon, “that isn’t what I came over for. I hope you’ve considered the matter, and are resigned to my foreclosin’ the mortgage.”

“I do not propose to allow the mortgage to be foreclosed.”

The deacon was surprised and angry. He felt that Mr. Fenwick was trifling with him.

“I apprehend,” he said, “that it isn’t what you allow, Mr. Minister, but what I choose to do.”

“You are mistaken, Deacon Crane.”

“How are you goin’ to stop me foreclosin'?”

“By paying the mortgage.”

“Have you got the money?” asked the deacon, his jaw dropping.

“Yes.”

“Who lent it to you? Was it Mr. Ainsworth?”

“I don’t think, Deacon Crane, that that is a question which you have any right to ask.”

“Oh, well, if you don’t want to tell,” said the deacon, in a tone of disappointment.

“I don’t know that I have any objection to tell you, though, as I said, it is not a question which you have a right to ask. Guy lent it to me.”

“Guy lent it to you?” repeated the deacon, in an amazement which was almost ludicrous.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Fenwick,” said the deacon, severely, “I thought you’d be above takin’ from Guy his employer’s money.”

“I think, Deacon Crane, that you are guilty of great impertinence in hinting such a thing!”

“This to me?” ejaculated the deacon, wrathfully.

“Yes, sir. You are speaking in a way I shall not permit. We will, if you please, proceed at once to business.”

Mr. Fenwick displayed such unusual spirit that Deacon Crane was electrified.

“The minister’s gettin’ on his high horse,” he said to himself. “It’s a mystery to me where Guy got so much money. I won’t rest till I find out.”

The money was paid, and Mr. Fenwick breathed a sigh of relief when he realized that his little property was at last free from incumbrance.

Deacon Crane left the house in a state of bewilderment even exceeding his disappointment. How on earth Guy could have come to his father’s assistance he could not understand.

He determined to question the minister’s son at the first opportunity.

He had not long to wait.

He had walked but two hundred yards when he met Guy sauntering along with a pleasant smile on his face.

“Here, you, Guy!” he called out, unceremoniously. “Your father tells me you have lent him five hundred dollars.”

“I hope you don’t doubt my father’s word,” said Guy, amused by the deacon’s evident perplexity.

“I don’t doubt it, for I’ve got the money in my wallet. The question is, where did you get it?”

“Yes, that is the question.”

“What have you got to say for yourself?” demanded the deacon, sharply.

“Only that I was very glad to oblige my dear father.”

“I don’t mean that. Where did you get the money?”

“From my employer.”

“Aha! That’s what I thought. Don’t you know you’re likely to be arrested for makin’ such poor use of your employer’s money?”

“But you’re mistaken, Deacon Crane. It was not my employer’s money.”

“Just now you said it was.”

“No, I didn’t. I said I got it from my employer. The money was mine.”

“Do you mean to say he gave it to you?”

“Yes, but not as a gift. I was and am still in his employ.”

“And I s’pose he gives you five or six dollars a week. You can’t save any five hundred dollars out of that.”

“That’s true, Deacon Crane. You are a good mathematician. He pays me very handsomely.”

“How old be you?”

“Seventeen.”

“All that I can say is that he must be a fool to pay a big salary to a boy like you, and you are very foolish to give up all the money you have to your father.”

“I have a little money left,” said Guy, smiling. “If, now, you were in a tight place, I might be able to lend you a hundred dollars.”

“I am never in a tight place,” returned the deacon, proudly, “but I think it would be wise and prudent for you to put the money in my hands for safe keeping. I’ll be willin’ to pay you three per cent.”

“Thank you, Deacon Crane, but I can do better than that.”

“You seem to be a very reckless boy, Guy Fenwick. You don’t seem to have no judgment. You won’t keep that money long.”

“I am afraid, Deacon Crane, you haven’t much confidence in me.”

“No, I haven’t. Your father ain’t practical, and you take after him.”

Guy smiled and passed on.

During the afternoon he fell in with Noah Crane, who had heard from his father the astonishing news about Guy’s prosperity. It influenced that young man to seek an intimacy with his fortunate schoolfellow.

“I say, Guy,” he began, “is it true that you’ve got a lot of money? Pop tells me you’ve been lending your father five hundred dollars.”

“That is true.”

“And you offered to lend pop one hundred dollars.”

“But he declined.”

“It’ll be all the same if you lend it to me,” said Noah, eagerly.

“What do you want to do with it?”

“I want to buy a bicycle. I can get a safety, second-hand, for seventy-five dollars.”

“How could you pay me back?”

“I guess I can get the money out of father next year. Do now, that’s a good fellow.”

“If you can get for me your father’s note of hand for the money and interest, say on a year’s time, I might consent to do it.”

“But he won’t give it to me.”

“Then I can’t lend you the money.”

Noah pleaded, but in vain.

Five minutes later Guy had a pleasant surprise. Coming up the road from the station he met Captain Grover of the Osprey.