Sink or Swim; or, Harry Raymond's Resolve

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE DEATH OF BUSH.

“Where is the nugget? What did you do with it?” inquired Harry.

“I buried it in the spot where I found it,” said Bush. “I didn’t dare to bring it here in open day. There are worthless fellows enough hereabouts that wouldn’t hesitate to take my life, for the sake of it.”

“But you can’t help its being found out that you have it.”

“No more I can; but in an hour after it is known I start for Melbourne.”

“Will you go to-morrow?”

“Yes, my lad, we will both go to-morrow. It’s share and share alike, you know. Half the nugget is yours, and if anything happens to me the whole, and all the money I have in Melbourne.”

“Thank you, Bush; but I’d rather you’d enjoy it yourself. I’d return the compliment, but I’m afraid all the money I have wouldn’t help you much.”

“You’re young yet. There’s time enough for you to become rich, as I doubt not you will.”

About half-past nine o’clock Bush and Harry threw themselves down in the shadow of their tent, and courted sleep. They did not take the trouble to undress, but merely wrapped themselves in blankets and lay down.

“I feel more sleepy than usual,” said Bush. “Maybe it’s the excitement of finding the nugget.”

“That’s what keeps me awake,” said Harry.

As he spoke he began to listen intently.

“What’s the matter?” asked Bush.

“I thought I heard somebody just outside.”

“Somebody passing on their way to their own tent.”

“It may be so. I hope whoever it is didn’t hear what you said about the nugget.”

“They wouldn’t find it here, at any rate. Good-night, Harry.”

“Good-night.”

Bush turned over, and it was not long before his deep breathing indicated that he was fast asleep. Harry, on the contrary, was wakeful. He had a nervous, restless feeling, as if something were going to happen, though his forebodings were indefinite, and took no decided shape.

At length he fell into a light slumber. How long it lasted he could not tell. But all at once he awoke, to find a man bending over Bush with a knife in his hand. He uttered a cry of horror, and sprung to his feet, but too late! The knife descended, penetrating the breast of the ill-fated miner, who awoke with a groan.

“Give me the nugget quick, boy, or I’ll serve you the same way,” said the murderer, turning to Harry.

By the uncertain light Harry recognized Henderson.

“Wretch!” he exclaimed, in a tone of horror, “what have you done?”

“There’s no time for talking,” said Henderson, fiercely; “give me the nugget, or (here he interpolated an oath) I’ll send you after Bush.”

He raised his knife, but Harry was too quick for him. Fearing danger in some form, he had placed Bush’s revolver in his pocket when he lay down. He drew it out suddenly, and, presenting it, fired. The charge took effect in Henderson’s right shoulder. With an oath he dropped the knife, and, staggering out of the tent, fell just outside.

“Well done, my lad!” said Bush, feebly.

“Are you much hurt, Bush?” asked Harry, bending over the sufferer, and speaking anxiously.

“He’s done for me, Harry. I shan’t live till morning.”

“Don’t say that, Bush. Perhaps you’re not so much hurt as you think for.”

“There’s no hope, lad. I’m going to die. I don’t know why, but I had a presentiment that death wasn’t far off.”

By this time the occupants of two neighboring tents had come up. Seeing Henderson lying groaning just outside, they entered and asked what was the trouble.

It was soon explained.

Now Bush was popular among the miners, and Henderson the reverse, his character being thoroughly understood.

“We’ll hang him to the nearest tree,” they said.

“Wait till to-morrow,” said Harry. “Then let the whole company of miners decide what is to be done.”

To this at length they assented, but cast glances far from friendly at the prostrate wretch, with whose groans of pain were now mingled appeals for mercy.

“Comrades,” said Bush, feebly, “come here a moment, I’ve something to say.”

“Say on, Bush.”

“That wretch has killed me. To-morrow won’t find me alive. That I know full well. Now I want you to witness that this lad here is to have all I possess. There’s a matter of fourteen hundred pounds with Bird & Bolton, bankers in Melbourne, and what I have here the lad knows. He is to have all. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Bush.”

“I’ve paper and ink in my tent,” said one; “I’ll bring them, and draw up a line to that effect, which you shall sign if you can.”

“Do so, and quick,” said Bush.

In five minutes, the paper was brought, and the man who proposed this plan, after asking Harry’s name, wrote as follows:—

“I don’t know whether that’s ship-shape,” said the writer; “but if you can sign it, we will witness it, and I think it will do.”

The pen was placed in Bush’s fingers, and he succeeded with some difficulty in affixing his signature, after which he sank back exhausted. The three men who had come up put down their names as witnesses, or rather two of them did, and the third, who was unable to write, made his mark.

“I’m glad that’s done,” said Bush, a smile of satisfaction crossing his face. “I can die more content. Give the paper to the lad.”

The paper was handed to Harry, who received it with much emotion.

“Thank you, Bush,” he said; “but I’d ten times rather you’d live to enjoy this money yourself.”

“I don’t doubt it, lad; but it wasn’t to be. I hope the money’ll give you pleasure. Then I can think that I have done some good.”

The three men who had witnessed the paper next turned their attention to Henderson.

“What are you going to do with me?” he asked, nervously.

“You’ll see in the morning,” said one, grimly.

He was securely bound, and carried to one of the tents, where he was kept under secure guard. Meanwhile Harry watched beside the suffering man.

“I wish there was a doctor near by,” he said.

“No doctor could do me any good now,” said Bush. “I’ve got my death-wound.”

Indeed it seemed so. The knife had done its work so surely that not all the doctors in the world could have saved the miner from death. About four o’clock in the morning he died. Then Harry, exhausted with watching, fell asleep beside his dead comrade, and slept heavily till he was aroused by a rough shake.

He looked up, and recognized one of the three men who had come to their tent the night before.

“Are you coming to see Henderson swing?” he asked.

“What?”

“We’ve tried him, and he’s to be hung as soon as they can get a rope.”

Justice is swift in mining communities. It was not yet seven o’clock in the morning, but the guilty man had already been tried, and punishment was to be inflicted.

Harry shuddered.

“No,” he said; “I don’t want to see it.”

“He killed your friend.”

“I know he did; but I pity the poor wretch. I suppose he ought to be punished; but I don’t want to see it.”

“You’re too soft-hearted; but just as you like.”

An impromptu gallows had been erected, and a rope was soon forthcoming. Henderson was dragged to it, pale and trembling, imploring mercy at every step. But there was no mercy in the hearts of the rough men who had him in charge. He had foully murdered one of their number, and they were determined that he should pay the penalty. Among the hundreds who participated in the scene, there were others perhaps as reckless and criminal as he, who, exposed to the same temptation, would have acted in the same manner. But they, too, heaped execrations upon the guilty man, as he cowered under the gaze of the vindictive mob, and were apparently as anxious as any that justice should be done. It might have been from policy, but, at all events, Henderson, as he glanced despairingly from one face to another, did not encounter one kindly or pitying look. The only one who pitied him was the boy whose friend had been stricken down at his side, and he was not present.

I shall not linger on the details of the execution. No one of my readers, I am sure, can take pleasure in such a scene.

Half an hour after, as Harry still lay in his tent, a miner came to him.

“Is it all over?” asked Harry, sick at heart.

“Yes, it’s all over. Henderson won’t prowl round any more.”

During the day Bush was buried. The funeral ceremonies were slight. A grave was dug on the hill-side, and the body was lowered down, and hastily covered over. Harry procured a piece of board, which he set up for a gravestone, cutting on its surface, as well as he could, his friend’s name in rude capitals,—JOHN BUSH.

He took into his confidence the three miners who have been already spoken of, and told them about the nugget, feeling that it might prove a source of danger to himself as well as Bush, unless he availed himself of the assistance of others. He offered to divide a thousand dollars between them, if they would help him to get it safe to Melbourne. He had another reason also for desiring their company. They were witnesses to the paper which Bush had signed, and Harry thought it probable that their presence and testimony might be needed to satisfy Bird & Bolton, first of the death of Bush, and next of his rightful claim to the money belonging to the deceased, which the firm had on deposit.

The three miners were quite willing to accompany Harry. The sum which he offered them would probably far exceed their earnings during the time occupied, even after deducting all necessary expenses. A day later, therefore, Harry, escorted by his three mining acquaintances, with the costly nugget in charge, started on his return to Melbourne.

CHAPTER XXXII.
HARRY DECIDES TO LEAVE AUSTRALIA.

“I wish Harry were here,” said Maud Lindsay, discontentedly. “It’s so lonesome since he went away.”

“Upon my word, that is complimentary,” said her father. “You don’t appear to value my company.”

“Of course I do, papa; but then you know you are away a good deal of the time. Besides, you are older than I am.”

“That is unfortunately true. I believe most fathers are older than their daughters.”

“Have you heard from Harry yet?”

“Not since the letter of last week. He reported then that he had not found much gold.”

“I wish he would make his fortune quick, so that he could come back.”

“I begin to think you’re in love with Harry, Maud.”

“I begin to think so too, papa. Would you object to him for a son-in-law?”

“Just at present I might. I don’t think you are old enough to be married.”

“Don’t be foolish, papa. Of course I don’t want to be married till I am old enough.”

“I can’t promise so long beforehand. Besides, it is just possible that Harry may have somebody else.”

“I hope he won’t,” said Maud. “We just suit each other.”

“You speak confidently, Maud. Perhaps you may change your mind.”

“No, I shan’t,” said Maud, positively. “If I don’t marry Harry Raymond, I’ll be an old maid.”

This conversation took place on the morning of Harry’s return to Melbourne. Indeed, Maud had hardly ceased speaking when a knock was heard at the door. Maud rose to open it. She was overwhelmed with delight when, in the visitor, in spite of his rough garb, she recognized our hero, the loss of whose company she had been deploring.

“O Harry, how glad I am to see you!” she exclaimed, actually hugging Harry in her delight.

Harry was rather embarrassed at the unexpected warmth of his reception, but felt that it would be impolite not to kiss Maud in return, and accordingly did so.

“I am glad to see you, Harry,” said Mr. Lindsay, advancing to meet him. “Have you just arrived from the mines?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I hope no ill luck has hurried you back.”

“Partly ill luck, and partly good luck. Bush found a nugget of gold worth at least five thousand dollars.”

“Then you had nothing to do with finding it?”

“We were partners, and he insisted that half of it belonged to me.”

“That was generous. So you have come back to dispose of it. Is Bush with you?”

“No,” said Harry, soberly. “He is dead.”

“Dead! Why, that is sudden.”

“I will tell you about it.”

“Sit right down here, and tell me.”

Harry seated himself, and gave a brief account of the murderous attack upon Bush, and his death, mentioning in the conclusion that he was the heir of the miner’s property.

“Let me see the paper,” said Mr. Lindsay.

Harry exhibited the paper signed by Bush just before he died.

“Who are the witnesses whose names are written here?”

“The three men who came up at the time of the murder.”

“You will have to send for them to prove the validity of this document, and satisfy the bankers that you are the Harry Raymond to whom the money is bequeathed.”

“They are here in Melbourne. I brought them with me.”

“You are sharper than I thought. What made you think of this?”

“I thought their testimony might be needed. Besides, I was liable to be attacked, and perhaps murdered on the way, if it were discovered that I had the nugget; so I offered them a thousand dollars between them, if they would come up with me.”

“It is a considerable sum, but I think you were wise to pay it. I know these bankers with whom your friend’s money is deposited. If you desire it, I will take the matter in hand, and present your claim at once.”

“That is what I wanted to ask, Mr. Lindsay. If you will be so kind, I shall be very much obliged to you.”

“Then we had better lose no time. I have an hour to spare. Suppose you come with me now.”

“But,” said Maud, “I want Harry to stay with me.

“Business first, pleasure afterwards, Maud,” said her father; “and this business of Harry’s is of much importance.”

“Well, Harry, come back as soon as you can,” said Maud.

To this Harry readily agreed, and went out with Mr. Lindsay.

Messrs. Bird & Bolton were in their banking-office.

“Good-morning, Mr. Lindsay,” said Mr. Bird, as that gentleman entered. “Is there anything I can do for you this morning?”

“Not for me, but for this young man,” said Mr. Lindsay, presenting Harry.

Mr. Bird looked at Harry in some surprise, for he was still clad in his rough miner’s costume.

“You have fourteen hundred pounds left on deposit by John Bush, a miner, if I am rightly informed.”

“Your information is correct, Mr. Lindsay.”

“John Bush is dead. This young man, whom I previously knew, was his partner, and to him Bush bequeathed all of which he died possessed.”

“I suppose your young friend has proof to substantiate his claim,” said Mr. Bird, cautiously.

“He has.”

Here Mr. Lindsay produced the paper already referred to.

“This seems correct, but the witnesses ought to be produced. They might be men of straw, you know.”

“Of course. In such a matter, you are right to be cautious. The witnesses are all in Melbourne, and shall be produced,” said Mr. Lindsay.

“I have no doubt all will be satisfactory; but of course, as a man of business, Mr. Lindsay, you will not be surprised that we require absolute proof.”

“You are perfectly right in doing so. I should do the same in your place. We propose to bring the witnesses here, that you may satisfy yourself that all is genuine, and as it should be. If you will appoint an hour that will suit your convenience they shall be on hand.”

“To-morrow at eleven, then.”

“Very well.”

After a little more conversation Mr. Lindsay and Harry withdrew.

“There is one thing more that I would like your advice about,” said Harry.

“What is that? Of course you shall have it.”

“I want to sell my nugget at the best advantage.”

“Where is it?”

“I will bring it to the hotel at any time. It is in charge of the three miners.”

“You are rather careless to trust them.”

“I don’t know but I am,” said Harry; “but I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I will go around with you to the place where they are stopping, and then will call with you upon a man who deals in gold. The matter may as well be settled at once.”

The three miners had put up at an inferior inn in a narrow street running out of the principal avenue in Melbourne. Luckily they were at home when Harry called with Mr. Lindsay.

The latter found a certain reluctance on their part to give up the nugget.

“You see,” said one, “this young chap has promised us two hundred pounds between us. Maybe he will forget all about that, and leave us to shift for ourselves.”

“Do you think I would be so mean?” exclaimed Harry.

“The man is right,” said Mr. Lindsay. “He wants to have everything made sure.”

“But I can’t pay them till the gold is sold.”

“That’s true; nor would it be advisable, for you want their testimony before the bankers. But I think I see a way to arrange matters.”

“How is that?” asked Harry.

“I will advance one half the sum you promised at once, and guarantee the payment of the balance to-morrow afternoon, after they have rendered in their testimony at the banking-house.”

This suggestion was accepted by all parties as the best practical solution of the difficulty arising from the conflicting interests of the two parties, namely, the three miners on the one hand, and Harry on the other. It must not be supposed that they had seen anything in him to inspire distrust; but it is a good rule to keep friendship and business apart, and appearances are sometimes deceptive.

It will not be necessary to follow out the business in all its details. There were some unexpected delays; but at the end of a fortnight the whole matter was settled, and Harry found himself, not indeed rich, but richer than he ever anticipated.

The gold nugget was found to be worth five thousand four hundred and fifty dollars. The money in the banker’s hands, with accruing interest, amounted to seven thousand and seventy-five. The account was rendered in English currency, but for convenience’ sake I have reduced it to Federal money. This, then, was the final statement of Harry’s inheritance:—

From this amount must be deducted the thousand dollars which Harry agreed to pay to the three miners. When this was done, he was left with eleven thousand five hundred and twenty-five dollars, which, for a boy of his age, was certainly a very comfortable capital.

When this matter was settled, Harry began to bethink himself of home, and told Mr. Lindsay that he felt it his duty to go back to America as soon as possible, and gladden his mother’s heart with the news of his good fortune.

“You are right, Harry,” said Mr. Lindsay, promptly. “Your first duty is to your mother. I will not say a word to dissuade you from it.”

But if Mr. Lindsay forbore to dissuade Harry, Maud was not so forbearing. She was exceedingly dissatisfied at the idea of losing the society of our hero.

“Why can’t we all sail in the same steamer, papa?” she said.

“Because, Maud, I am not ready to go back yet. My business is not finished.”

“Then I shall never see Harry again.”

“I think you will. I have invited Harry to visit us in England next summer, and I think he will accept the invitation.”

“Will you, Harry?” asked Maud, eagerly.

“I will if I can, Maud,” said Harry; “and I think I can.”

“I am afraid you will forget me, Harry.”

“I certainly shall not, Maud. You have been too kind for that. As soon as I get back to America I shall write to you, and let you know how I arrived.”

Maud was forced to be satisfied with this promise. Harry made all needed preparations for his return, and a week from the time when his affairs were settled, he took cabin passage on a steamer bound from Melbourne to New York. We must precede him, and inquire how matters have been going on in Vernon during his absence.

CHAPTER XXXIII.
SQUIRE TURNER SPINS HIS WEB.

Harry’s disappearance inflicted a blow upon Mrs. Raymond from which she did not easily recover. Coming so soon after her husband’s sudden death, she felt that her life had indeed become desolate, and but that she knew her life was necessary to little Katy, she would not have cared to live. But for Katy’s sake she tried to bear up as well as she could against her double loss.

Besides, so far as Harry was concerned, she was not without hope that he might some day return. He might be dead; but of this there was no proof. Mrs. Raymond clung to the hope that, whatever might be the cause of his absence, it was not occasioned by death. But, in spite of this hope, it was hard to have day after day pass without any intelligence. The home seemed very lonely and sad now. Even little Katy, naturally a lively child, was subdued and more sober than she used to be.

But Mrs. Raymond had another cause for anxiety, and that a serious one. During her husband’s life she had always lived in comfort, and never felt any anxiety about the future. But now whatever money was to be earned for the support of the little household must be earned by herself, for of course Katy was too young to earn anything, and must for some years be kept at school. How to earn money enough to meet their expenses was a difficult problem. She could think of no other way except sewing, and that, even under the best circumstances, as my readers very well know, is very poorly paid.

Squire Turner occasionally called on Mrs. Raymond, feeling that it was for his interest to assume the role of a disinterested friend. One evening, about six weeks after Harry’s disappearance, he took his cane and walked over to the little cottage. The widow had come to look forward with interest to his visits, feeling in her position the need of a friend. She welcomed him, accordingly, with an evident pleasure, which he did not fail to notice.

“I hope you are well, Mrs. Raymond,” he said, removing his hat, and taking the chair which the widow brought forward.

“I am well in health, Squire Turner,” was the reply, “but, I am very unhappy. I sometimes feel as if my sorrows are greater than I can bear.”

“You have Katy left.”

“Yes, Katy is a dear little girl. But for her I should not care to live. But for her and the hope that Harry may come back some time—”

“While there is life there is hope,” said the squire. “I mean while we are not certain of death, there is ground for hope.”

“Don’t you really think he will come back some time, Squire Turner?”

“Certainly, there is a chance of it,” said the squire, cautiously; “but it is not well to be too sanguine, for you know we cannot be sure of anything.”

“If there was anything I could do,” replied the widow; “but I can only wait, and the suspense is very wearing.”

“Of course, I quite feel for you. Depend upon it, I shall do what I can to relieve your anxiety whenever I see clearly what to do. You give me credit for that?”

“Yes, Squire Turner, I know you are a true friend. The time was when I did you injustice; but I see more clearly now.”

If Squire Turner had had any sense of shame he would have blushed at this testimony from the woman whom he had done so much to injure; but his feelings were not very keen, and he only listened with complacency, perceiving that he had made good progress in securing the widow’s confidence. All his plans seemed to be working well thus far. He was now ready to take the next step, and this was to get Mrs. Raymond into his power by placing her under pecuniary obligations.

“I hope you will excuse me one question which I am about to ask,” he said, “and believe that it is dictated, not by idle curiosity, but my interest in your welfare. Do you not feel considerable difficulty in earning enough money to defray your expenses?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Raymond, “that is one of my troubles. Katy and I have few wants; but I find it costs a good deal for food, and fuel, and clothes.”

“Of course.”

“Especially as I have no way of earning except by the needle. Sewing is very poorly paid.”

“That is quite true. By the way, Mrs. Raymond, I shall be glad to give you all the work I have in that line, and to pay you a fair price for doing it.”

“Thank you, Squire Turner. It will be a favor to me.”

“And if you find you can’t meet your expenses, don’t hesitate at any time to apply to me for a loan.”

“You are very kind, Squire Turner, but I don’t like to borrow money.”

“I can understand your feelings about it; but you need not feel any delicacy.”

“I am afraid I should never be able to repay the money.”

“As to that, I can show you a way that will relieve your feeling.”

“What’s that?”

“You are aware that this house belongs to you, with the exception of a mortgage of four hundred dollars, which I hold. Now it is probably worth over a thousand dollars,” he answered, courteously.

“Mr. Raymond considered it worth, with the land, twelve hundred dollars.”

“Ahem!” said the squire, who had his reasons for underrating the property; “it was probably worth that to him, but I don’t think it would fetch much over a thousand, if it were brought to a sale. However, that is not to the purpose. I only mentioned it to suggest that the property might serve as ample security for any sum you might wish to borrow, so that you need not feel delicate about any loans you might be forced to ask.”

“That is true,” said Mrs. Raymond. “I did not think of that.”

“Have you a supply of money on hand at present?” asked the squire.

Mrs. Raymond was forced to acknowledge that she had less than a dollar in the house.

“I thought it might be so,” he said, “and therefore I came provided. You had better let me lend you fifty dollars.”

After some hesitation Mrs. Raymond consented to take the money.

“If you will let me have a sheet of paper I will draw up a note, which you can sign,” said the squire, smoothly. “I know that it will be more agreeable to your feelings to regard the loan as a business transaction rather than as a favor.”

How could Mrs. Raymond feel otherwise than grateful to the man who entered so delicately into her feelings? She unhesitatingly acquiesced in what he proposed, and brought forward writing materials, with which Squire Turner drew up a note of hand, which Mrs. Raymond signed. He then drew from his pocket-book ten five-dollar bills, which he handed to the widow, depositing the note in his wallet.

“There,” said he, pleasantly, “our business is at an end, and now we can talk as friends. I believe James is wanting some shirts. Shall you have leisure to make them?”

“I shall be very glad to do so.”

“Then may I trouble you to buy the necessary materials?—you will be a better judge than I on that point. He will bring over one of his shirts as a pattern, and you may make them up at your leisure, and send in a bill for work and materials together.”

Of course Mrs. Raymond was only too glad to accept this commission, and readily agreed to do as requested.

Squire Turner continued, as he had begun, to act as a sympathizing friend of Mrs. Raymond. From time to time he supplied her with money as she required it, in each case, however, taking her note for the amount, and, when the sum was sufficient to warrant it, securing it by an additional mortgage upon the property. When he proposed this, it was ostensibly to spare the feelings of the widow, and prevent her from feeling any delicacy or sense of pecuniary obligations.

“You see, Mrs. Raymond,” he said, smoothly, “you have no cause to feel grateful to me. Every pecuniary transaction between us is upon a strict business basis. I know you would prefer that it should be so.”

“I know that you are very kind, Squire Turner, and I can’t help feeling grateful, though you tell me there is no occasion for my being so.”

This is what Mrs. Raymond said, and she felt that Squire Turner was indeed a very disinterested friend, though it would be hard to show in what respect he had been so.

Meanwhile, Squire Turner had kept in constant correspondence with Mr. Robinson, the Milwaukie lawyer, touching the land grant already referred to, and it became necessary for him to obtain Mrs. Raymond’s authority to act for her in the matter. It was important for him to do this, without leading her to suspect that it was a matter of much moment. One evening he introduced the subject as if casually:—

“By the way, Mrs. Raymond, your son Harry placed in my hands some time since a land warrant belonging to your late father, with the request that I would ascertain whether it was worth anything.”

“I remember it now that you mention it, Squire Turner,” said the widow. “I suppose it is worthless.”

“No,” said the squire, candidly. “I think you may get a little something for it. I suppose fifty or a hundred dollars would be acceptable.”

“It would be more than I ever expected to realize from it. Do you really think it is likely to amount to as much as that?”

“I really do,—that is, I hope so. If you are content to give me authority to act for you, I will do the best I can, and, of course, I shall charge you nothing for my services.”

“How kind you are, Squire Turner! I will sign anything you think best.”

“I have brought a paper properly drawn up, empowering me to act for you,” said the squire. “I will see that you have no trouble in the matter.”

Here he produced the paper, and Mrs. Raymond unhesitatingly affixed her signature.

“I am sure,” she said, “I never expected, after so many years, that the warrant would ever amount to anything.”

“It may not, but I think it will. I will do my best for you. In fact, I shall be obliged to go West next week on some other business, and will take Milwaukie on my way. I never was there, and, apart from your business, I shall enjoy seeing the city.”

Was it surprising that Mrs. Raymond considered Squire Turner a very disinterested friend? She felt sure that he was putting himself to considerable trouble and some expense to promote her interests. As to that, it was certainly true that Squire Turner’s sole motive, in making the western journey on which he had determined, was connected with Mrs. Raymond’s land warrant.

What success he met with will be told in the following chapter.

CHAPTER XXXIV.
AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL.

The next week Squire Turner started for Milwaukie. He did not mention this as his destination in the village, but stated that he had business in Chicago and beyond, not caring to excite any suspicions in Vernon, which was just large enough for everybody to feel interested in everybody else’s affairs. But in reality he stopped in Chicago only long enough to take dinner, and then hurried on to Milwaukie, where he proceeded at once to the office of Mr. Robinson.

“I am glad to see you, Squire Turner,” said the lawyer, rising from the table at which he was seated; “the fact is, I was just thinking over your business.”

“Well, what is the prospect?” asked Squire Turner.

“Excellent. The parties at first were disposed to bluff me off, and pooh-pooh our claims; but they have probably taken legal advice, and have changed their tune in consequence.”

“Do they propose anything?”

“Yes; they offer five thousand dollars for the surrender of the land warrant, which will insure them a perfect title.”

“Five thousand dollars!” repeated Squire Turner, slowly. “Of course, that is a good sum compared with the original value of the warrant; but—”

“Small when the present value of the land is considered. Precisely so.”

“What, then, would you advise?”

“I would advise you to hold off for more. You are not in a hurry, I suppose?”

“Not if you think it will pay to wait.”

“I do think so. If you are firm, it will argue a consciousness of strength, which will produce an impression on their minds.”

“How much do you think I ought to get?”

“Not less than ten thousand dollars.”

“Is there a chance of their coming up to that figure?”

“Yes.”

“I should prefer friendly compromise to initiating legal proceedings, even if I get less.”

Squire Turner had two reasons for this preference. First, he knew well enough the delays of the law, and that years might pass before the matter could be settled, if once the law should be appealed to. But, more than this, such a course would produce more or less publicity, and Mrs. Raymond might hear of it, which was very far from his wishes. But a compromise could be effected without any public mention of the affair, and this would be safer and more speedy.

“By the way, Turner, are you personally interested in this matter?” asked the lawyer.

“Yes,” said the squire. “The claimant is a friend of mine, and I have advanced money on it, considering it a fair security. If she loses, I also become a loser.”

This was not true, except indirectly, for, as the reader knows, Squire Turner could only lose by being obliged to forego his purpose of marriage.

“You have—excuse my inquiring—authority to act in the matter?”

“Yes; I will exhibit it.”

The squire drew out the document to which he had obtained Mrs. Raymond’s signature, as described in the preceding chapter. Mr. Robinson glanced at it.

“Quite correct,” he said. “Well, then, what shall we decide?”

“Stand out for ten thousand dollars,” said the squire. “I don’t mind a few months’ delay. In fact, for some reasons, the delay will be satisfactory to me.”

“If such are your views, we shall probably gain our point,” said Mr. Robinson. “It will take some time to bring up the parties to the point, but in six months I think it can be effected, if we stand firm. Will six months be too long?”

“Not at all. We will stand firm.”

The conversation now touched upon matters of detail, on which we need not enter. It is enough to say that Mr. Robinson and his client agreed upon the policy advisable to be pursued, and the former agreed to keep the latter constantly apprised of the progress of the negotiation.

I must stop here to explain why it was that Squire Turner was in no hurry to bring the matter to a conclusion. Nine months only had passed since Mr. Raymond’s death, and an offer of marriage on his part to Mrs. Raymond would, he felt, be considered premature, and be very probably declined. Now, if the matter were settled at once in favor of Mrs. Raymond, she was liable at any time to be made aware of it in some unforeseen way, and, if thus made pecuniarily independent, the squire felt that she would prefer not to contract a second marriage. He counted upon obtaining her consent for the sake of her child, whom he could support in comfort and afford more advantages, which otherwise the mother would be quite unable to provide. It therefore suited his purposes better that the matter should be protracted for, say six months, when a sufficient time would have elapsed, since Mr. Raymond’s death, to make his proposal proper.

Squire Turner returned from his western trip, and, of course, took an early opportunity to call on Mrs. Raymond.

“Did you have a pleasant journey?” asked the widow.

“Very. By the way, I stopped at Milwaukie on my return.”

“Did you hear anything of the warrant?”

“Yes; I find there is a chance of realizing seventy-five or a hundred dollars from it. It is not much, to be sure—”

“It will be a good deal to me. You are certainly very kind, Squire Turner. You must deduct any expenses which you have incurred about it.”

“I couldn’t think of it, Mrs. Raymond,” said the squire, in a cordial manner. “It is a pleasure to me to serve my friends.”

“How much I have misjudged Squire Turner in times past!” thought Mrs. Raymond, and she thanked him again.

Two months later Squire Turner received a letter from the Milwaukie lawyer, in which he stated that the parties had increased their offer to seven thousand dollars.

“Shall I accept it for you?” he asked.

Squire Turner replied that the offer was not satisfactory, and that the negotiation must proceed. He was in no particular hurry, he said.

A month later the offer was increased to eight thousand dollars.

“Tell them,” he wrote, “that we will take a month to consider their offer. I am not in haste, as I before wrote, and am resolved not to accept any sum short of ten thousand dollars. Still it won’t do any harm to appear to consider their offer.”

So negotiations continued until the six months had nearly passed. It seemed pretty clear now that Squire Turner’s ultimatum would shortly be accepted, nine thousand dollars having been already offered. Mr. Robinson advised his client to come out to Milwaukie, feeling confident that, if he were personally present, the matter could be satisfactorily arranged on his own terms. To this the squire was not averse; but first he wished to see what were his chances of success with the widow.

Accordingly, he dressed himself with more than usual care, one evening, and walked round to the house of Mrs. Raymond. He had become such a frequent visitor there, of late, that his visits never excited surprise.

He was received with the usual welcome. Mrs. Raymond ushered him into the sitting-room, where she had been sitting with little Katy. Katy was reading a book which she had taken from the Sunday school library. Squire Turner looked at her and hesitated, for he did not care to have the little girl present when he made his proposal.

“Have you heard anything from Milwaukie, Squire Turner?” asked the widow.

“Not very recently. I don’t doubt, however, that matters will turn out favorably. In fact, I am so confident, that I am quite willing to advance you fifty dollars on the warrant.”

“Thank you, Squire Turner; but just at present I have a little money on hand. I am glad you think I shall get it.”

“I feel sure of it.”

There was a moment’s pause, and then he proceeded: “There is a matter about which I would like to speak to you alone, Mrs. Raymond, if you would be willing to send Katy out of the room for a few minutes.”

“Certainly. Katy, you may go upstairs for a little while.”

Katy left the room, and Squire Turner found himself alone with the widow. He drew his chair a little nearer and commenced:—

“I am about to make you a proposal, Mrs. Raymond, which I think will be mutually advantageous, and I hope you will regard it in that light. I have had it in view for some time, but felt delicate about introducing the subject before. I hope you regard me as a friend.”

“Indeed, you have been a true friend to me, Squire Turner.”

“I have tried to be,” said the squire, modestly. “But I will not waste time, but at once make my proposal. You have lost your husband, I my wife. I need some one to superintend my house, and look after my son, while you need a protector who is able to give you a good home. Will you be my wife?”

“Indeed, Squire Turner,” said Mrs. Raymond, startled, “I never anticipated that your proposal would be of such a character.”

“And yet, why should you be surprised? Need I recall that time, years since, when we were both younger, and I made the same offer? You see my attachment is no new thing. You preferred another, but he has been taken from you.”

“I thank you very much for your kind offer,” said Mrs. Raymond, “but I have never thought of marrying again since husband’s death. I do not think it would be right.”

“Such marriages take place continually.”

“I know they do; but all do not feel as I do.”

“I think your late husband would favor it. Think of your dependent condition. You have hard work to earn a poor living, and when the four hundred dollars which remain to you are gone, you will indeed be in a different position.”

“That is true.”

“Consider, on the other hand, that I could give you a good home at once, and relieve you from all pecuniary anxiety. Your little Katy needs better advantages than you can give her. She seems to have a taste for music. I should have her at once commence lessons on the piano, and would take care that she should receive as good an education as money could procure. For her sake, Mrs. Raymond, I hope you will reconsider your decision.”

Mrs. Raymond had often lamented her inability to have Katy properly educated, and the squire could have used no argument more potent.

“If I thought it would be right,” said the widow, hesitatingly.

“Think what a difference it will make in Katy half a dozen years hence. Of course, if I am personally disagreeable to you—”

“No, no, my kind friend; do not think that,” said Mrs. Raymond, hastily. “But I do not know what to say. The proposal is so new and unexpected that I cannot make up my mind at once what it is right for me to do.”

“I will not ask you to decide at once. Take three days for it, and if you have any friend whom you trust, ask that friend’s advice. Will you do so?”

“Yes,” said the widow, “I will do as you advise. I will think over your proposal, and I will try to decide in three days’ time.”

“Then I will call on Tuesday to receive your decision. Let me hope it will be favorable.”

Squire Turner left the cottage in a satisfied frame of mind. He felt sure that for Katy’s sake Mrs. Raymond would accept him.

CHAPTER XXXV.
IN WHICH TWO STRANGERS PUT IN AN APPEARANCE.

Mrs. Raymond consulted with a friend, according to Squire Turner’s suggestion, and was advised by all means to accept.

“It will be such an advantage for Katy, you know,” her friend said.

“But I don’t feel as if it would be quite right. I don’t love Squire Turner.”

“You don’t need to. People don’t often marry a second time for love. That will do very well for a young girl; but there are other things to be thought of now.”

“Then you advise me to marry again?”

“I do, most certainly.”

“If Harry were at home I would not do it,” said the widow. “I don’t think he would like it. As it is, it is only for Katy’s sake that I give my consent.”

So when Squire Turner called for his answer he found it to be favorable. He urged immediate marriage. For this he had his reasons, as he desired to be in a situation to complete his western negotiation.

“There is no use in delaying,” he said. “The sooner Katy commences her musical education the better. Besides, I am lonely, and my household sadly needs a woman to look after it.”

Mrs. Raymond would have preferred to postpone the marriage for six months; but she could assign no reasons for it, and so at length yielded to the squire’s request, and that day four weeks was appointed for the wedding. The next day Squire Turner went to the city, and selected a handsome silk dress-pattern, which was forwarded by express to Mrs. Raymond, with an intimation that it was for her wedding-dress. She could not do otherwise than accept it, and the village dress-maker was sent for at once to superintend its making up.

Time slipped by, and the day for the marriage had nearly arrived. The wedding-dress was completed, and various other articles, which had also been sent through the squire’s liberality, lay upon the bed in Mrs. Raymond’s chamber.

“What a beautiful dress, mother!” said Katy. “I wish you would try it on.”

More to please the little girl than herself, Mrs. Raymond consented and tried on the new dress. She was still a fine-looking woman, as I have already said, and the new dress became her well. Little Katy looked at her in admiration, and said, “How beautiful you look, mother! I wish Harry were here to see you.”

At the sound of Harry’s name Mrs. Raymond’s face changed. She could not conceal from herself that what she was about to do would have been strongly opposed by Harry, had he been at home. Would he ever come home? That was the question which occurred to her, and, if he did, what would he say to find her Squire Turner’s wife?

“I wish I could put it off for six months,” she thought.

They were in a room on the second floor, and there was no one in the lower part of the house. Just then the front door was heard to open.

“Go downstairs, Katy,” said Mrs. Raymond. “Somebody has come in. See who it is, and come and tell me.”

Katy went down, and directly Mrs. Raymond heard a loud exclamation. She could not exactly make it out, but it sounded like “Harry!” A wild hope sprang up in her heart. Without thinking of her bridal dress she hurried downstairs. She was not deceived. There stood Harry, her Harry, taller and manlier than when she saw him last, but with the same frank, handsome face, holding his little sister in his arms.

“Harry!” exclaimed Mrs. Raymond, in joyful surprise; and in a moment the long-separated son and mother embraced.

“God be thanked for your return, my dear son!” she said. “Where have you been all this long time?”

“It will take a long time to tell, mother. I have just returned from Australia.”

“From Australia!” exclaimed Mrs. Raymond, in amazement.

“Yes, mother, it’s a long story. I will tell it by and by. But how well you are looking! And (for the first time noticing his mother’s elegant dress) how handsomely you are dressed! Have you come into a fortune since I went away?”

“No, Harry,” said Mrs. Raymond, confused.

“I expected to find you in poverty, perhaps in want,” said Harry, puzzled more and more. “I didn’t think to see you dressed like a queen.”

“It’s mother’s wedding-dress, Harry,” said little Katy, who did not share her mother’s embarrassment.

“Your wedding-dress, mother!” exclaimed Harry, his face clouding. “Who are you going to marry?”

“I did it for the best, Harry,” said his mother, uneasily; “and he has been very kind.”

“Who is he, mother?”

“Squire Turner. He—”

“Squire Turner!” exclaimed Harry, vehemently, springing to his feet; “it is not possible you are thinking of marrying him. He is the worst enemy we have.”

“No, Harry,” said his mother; “you are mistaken there. You must, at least, do him justice. He has been very kind, very kind, indeed. I don’t know how I should have got along, in the sad days after we lost you, but for his kindness.”

“So you think he has been kind, mother?” said Harry, with a peculiar expression.

“Very kind, as Katy can tell you,” said Mrs. Raymond. “Not that this is reason enough to marry him. But it is for Katy’s sake I am going to do it. Squire Turner has promised to give her every advantage, and she will begin to take music-lessons as soon as we are married. I have had very hard work getting along, Harry, and it was a relief to feel that I need have no more anxiety about making a living.”

“Then you don’t love him, mother?”

“I shall never love any one again, Harry. My love was buried in your father’s grave.”

“I am glad of that, at any rate; glad that you don’t love this scoundrel—”

“Harry, Harry, don’t talk so, I beg of you.”

“Mother, I have good reason for all I say. I know Squire Turner better than you.”

“How can you know him so well, when you have been away for more than a year?”

“Have you any idea why I went away so suddenly? I don’t mean to New York; but how it happened that I disappeared from New York?”

“No, Harry, I know nothing of it.”

“Then I will tell you. Squire Turner, whom you think so kind, had me kidnapped on board a vessel bound for China, and I started on my long voyage without any chance of letting you know what had become of me.”

“This is a strange story, Harry. Are you sure of it?”

“Yes. I have proof of it. I did not suspect at first that Squire Turner had anything to do with the matter, till one day, in the cabin, I picked up a letter directed to Captain Brandon by Squire Turner, which made it all clear.”

“But what interest could Squire Turner have in getting you out of the country?” asked Mrs. Raymond.

“I think I know of a reason, mother,” said Harry; “but I don’t care to mention it now.”

“You said the vessel was bound for China. How, then, did you get to Australia?”

“I was thrown into the sea,” said Harry; “and, after floating about for many hours, was picked up at length by a vessel bound for Australia.”

“You have, indeed, encountered great perils, my dear son,” said his mother, shuddering. “Thank God, you escaped them all, and are once more restored to us.”

Harry was about to question his mother more particularly respecting her trials during his absence, when a knock was heard at the door.

“I will open it, mother,” said Harry.

Opening the front door he saw on the step a well-dressed gentleman, whom he did not recognize.

“Does Mrs. Raymond live here?” asked the stranger.

“Yes, sir. Would you like to see her?”

“I should like to do so. I am managing some business for her.”

Here he offered his card, which bore the name:—

“FRANCIS ROBINSON,
“Attorney at Law,
“Milwaukie.”

“Won’t you walk in, sir?” said Harry, considerably surprised.

“This is my mother,” he said, introducing the lawyer. “Mother, this is Mr. Robinson, of Milwaukie, who says he is attending to some business there for you.”

“Will you be seated, sir?” said Mrs. Raymond. “I had not heard your name, but I suppose it’s about the land warrant.”

“Yes, madam. I am glad to say that we have succeeded. I happened to be called East on business, and thought I would call in person, and communicate the favorable termination of our negotiation. I went first to the house of Squire Turner; but, learning that he is out of town for a day or two, inquired you out, and have great pleasure in being the first to impart the good news to you.”

“May I inquire,” said Harry, “how much my mother is likely to realize for the land warrant?”

“The other party have agreed to your terms. They will compromise without an appeal to law, agreeing to pay ten thousand dollars.”

“Ten thousand dollars!” repeated Mrs. Raymond, in bewilderment. “Surely there is some mistake. Squire Turner told me I might realize from seventy-five to a hundred dollars from it.”

“Seventy-five to a hundred dollars!” he repeated. “Are you sure you understood Squire Turner aright?”

“Certainly. He told me only a fortnight since that he thought I would obtain this sum, and I felt lucky to get anything at all.”

“There is a great mistake somewhere,” said the lawyer, significantly. “Of one thing, however, I can assure you,—that the ten thousand dollars will actually be paid.”

“Mother,” said Harry, “have you given Squire Turner authority to act for you in this matter?”

“I have,—that is, I signed a paper which he said gave him such authority.”

“He showed me that paper,” said Mr. Robinson.

“Can my mother revoke that authority?” asked Harry.

“Undoubtedly.”

“Then she does revoke it at once,—am I not right, mother?”

“If you think best, Harry.”

“I do think best. It is evident that Squire Turner has not been faithful to your interests. If you wish, I will act as your agent.”

“But you are so young, Harry.”

“I have seen something of the world, mother, since I left home. I shall not hesitate to take charge of the business. Mr. Robinson will assist me.”

“Certainly. I shall be happy to do whatever I can.”

“Then, Mr. Robinson, if it would not be too much trouble, and you can spare the time, will you give me a history of the case, and explain how matters at present stand?”

“I see,” said the lawyer, smiling, “that you know how to come to the point. I will endeavor to imitate you.”

He made a brief and comprehensive statement, which Harry readily understood.

“Have you the warrant, Mr. Robinson?” asked our hero.

“Yes; it was committed to me by Squire Turner.”

“That is all right. I was afraid he had it in his possession, and that might give us trouble.”

“No; it is out of his power to affect the arrangements already made.”

“How long shall you remain East, Mr. Robinson?” asked Harry. “I shall wish to see you again.”

“I shall remain in New York a week, my head-quarters being at the Astor House.”

“I will call upon you there. Meanwhile, we leave this matter entirely in your hands.”

Mr. Robinson was about to go, when little Katy, who had been looking out of the window, suddenly exclaimed:—

“Mother, I see Squire Turner coming up the road. I think he is coming here.”

All present looked at each other in momentary doubt as to what was best to be done. Harry was the first to grasp the situation.

“Mr. Robinson,” he said, “will you be kind enough to accompany me to another room, and wait? I would like your presence by and by. Mother, while you are upstairs and changing your dress, Katy will admit Squire Turner, and tell him you will be down directly. Mind, Katy, not a word about my having got home, or about Mr. Robinson’s being here. When you come down, mother, you must tell Squire Turner that you have changed your mind about marrying him, and, if he makes any objection, call me in.”

“I see you are a master of strategy, my young friend,” said Mr. Robinson, smiling. “I place myself unhesitatingly in your hands.”

Harry’s programme was instantly carried out, and one minute later Squire Turner knocked at the door of the cottage.