The young master of Hyson Hall

When the boys arrived at Hyson Hall the next morning—for Phil thought it better to go home before continuing the search for his uncle—they found great trouble there.

Joel had not returned at all, and Susan, not knowing what had happened to him or the boys, was in sore distress. Phœnix had been obliged to go home at dark, and she had sat up all night. She had determined to send Jenny to the neighbors in the morning, but when day broke she had formed a different plan.

The boys might be ever so far away, looking for Mr. Berkeley, and there ought to be some one there who would attend to things. She was afraid that Joel had gone off and got drunk.

There had been times when he had done this thing, and she could imagine no other reason for his staying away and sending no message. So she resolved to send Jenny to her father to ask him if he could not come to Hyson Hall, to stay a day or two until things were straightened out. She could not be left alone another night.

After a very early breakfast, Jenny had walked to town and taken the train for a station within a mile of her father’s house. Susan was rejoiced to see the boys, but was not surprised to hear them say that they must start off again after breakfast. But they did not start off again.

When Phil heard of Joel’s continued absence, he made up his mind that they would not leave home until either Joel or Jenny’s father should arrive; but he must ride back to town to give information in regard to Emile.

They had passed by the town so early that morning that he thought Mr. Harrison—the lawyer to whom he intended to make his complaint—was probably still in bed.

As soon as possible he started off, leaving Chap behind in charge of the stock and other farm affairs, with special injunctions to take good care of Kit and get him in condition for another trip on the morrow.

Chap determined that Kit should be well fed that day, but when he went to the grain-bins he was surprised to find them all empty. Kit and the two work-horses had to get along as well as they could on hay and a little corn which Chap found in the corn-house.

When Phil reached Mr. Harrison’s office he introduced himself,—for that gentleman did not know him,—and then told the tale of Emile’s attempting to shoot him, and of his stealing his gun; also relating what Susan had told him of Emile’s conduct at Hyson Hall.

Mr. Harrison listened quietly, and then asked,—

“Were there any witnesses to young Touron’s attempt on your life?”

“No, sir,” said Phil; “my friend did not get there until it was all over.”

“And he did not see Touron go away with the gun?”

“No,” said Phil; “but he saw the buggy far up the road, and he knew the French boy had the gun, because I told him so.”

Mr. Harrison smiled.

“I am afraid you cannot make out much of a case without witnesses,” he said, “and as I have heard of other troubles at your place in which Touron fared very badly, it would not do to begin proceedings with nothing to back them but your assertions. However, I will look into the matter further, but I will first mention that I have just heard from Mr. Markle, who is the Tourons’ lawyer, that he has received a despatch from New York, in which young Touron states that he was obliged to leave this town on account of a conspiracy against his safety; and also states that his father desires instant despatch in settling up this foreclosure business. As he is his father’s accredited agent, Mr. Markle feels bound to obey his instructions, and I see nothing to prevent the Hyson Hall property passing out of the hands of its present proprietors. I have investigated the matter thoroughly, and find there is quite a large sum due the holder of the mortgage. As there seems no money to pay this, nothing remains but to sell the place, since Touron is so determined to push matters.”

“I suppose all that will happen,” said Phil, mournfully, “unless I can soon find my uncle. But it is all stuff about a conspiracy against Emile Touron. He ran away because he was afraid I would inform against him.”

“That may be,” said Mr. Harrison; “but I don’t see how it is to be proved. Suppose we walk round to the place where he lodged and ask some questions there.”

Mr. Harrison and Phil went to the tavern, and were there informed by the proprietor himself that Mr. Touron had come in from a drive the evening before, had taken the horse and buggy to the place where they had been hired, and had then walked to the tavern and asked if supper was ready.

In reply to Mr. Harrison’s questions, the tavern-keeper said he was certain young Touron had no gun with him, because he would have been sure to notice it, and he also asserted that there was no gun in Touron’s room; because, having received a message from Mr. Markle, informing him that Touron had been obliged to leave town suddenly, and requesting him to take care of his effects, he had gone up to his lodger’s room and packed all his belongings into his valise, which he intended to keep until his bill was paid. There was no gun in the room.

Phil and Mr. Harrison then went down to the grocer’s house, and were there assured that no gun had been in the buggy when it was brought home the evening before.

“Now,” said Mr. Harrison to Phil, when they went out on the street, “it is quite clear that young Touron did not bring a gun to town with him. Therefore, if your story is correct, the only thing he could have done with it was to throw it away on the road. I am willing to do everything I can to help you prove what you assert, and I will send my clerk on a horse to make search along the road over which Touron passed. He can also ask questions of the people who live on the road. Perhaps some of them have found the gun. You can go with him, if you like, and help him look for the gun, as well as show him how far along the road to go.”

Phil and Mr. Harrison’s clerk soon rode off together, and the road from the town to the place where Phil had waited for Chap was thoroughly searched.

There were not many bushes by the fences, but all these were well looked into, and the people at the houses were questioned, but no gun was found, and no one had seen a gun by the roadside or in the fields.

The afternoon was half gone when Phil rode mournfully home, and the clerk returned to make his report to Mr. Harrison.

When Phil reached Hyson Hall he found Joel. The latter had not been drunk, but had had trouble. He had gone much farther than he had expected, and had been obliged to stay away all night. He had not considered this a matter of much consequence, for he supposed Phil and Chap would be at the house, and that they could attend to the barn affairs for one night at least.

The milking was always done by Jenny and Joel’s mother. But he had not been able to set any hands at all. Disengaged men were very few, and those he saw were not willing to come to a place where they probably would not be paid for their work. Everybody seemed to have heard of the troubles at Hyson Hall, and to know that the house and everything on the place would soon be sold by the sheriff.

He had also tried at several places to buy some oats, for those ordered from Trumbull’s had not come, but nobody would sell him any except for cash.

Phil could not help thinking that Joel ought to have told him some time before that they were so nearly out of oats, but he did not find any fault with the man. He seemed to have managed matters so badly himself that he had not the heart to blame anybody else.

“I guess we will have to turn the horses out to grass,” he said, “until they are sold.” And then he went to the house.

Towards evening Helen Webster came to see her brother and Phil. She had expected to be there sooner, but her mother had wished to come with her, and so the visit was deferred; but there seemed to be no time when there was not something which Mrs. Webster ought to do, and at last Helen had come by herself.

She told the boys of her visit to Mr. Welford, which was the first they had heard of it, and was much surprised to find that Phil had not received a letter from the banker entirely exonerating him from the charges that had been made.

“He ought to have written to you right away!” said Helen, indignantly; “to tell you that he had found out that the things he had said about you were not true. He was quick enough to write when he had fault to find.”

Phil was very much comforted by Helen’s account of her visit to Mr. Welford. He did not think much would come of it, but it pleased him to know he had some one to speak for him.

“I am ever so much obliged to you and your mother,” he said; “but I think Mr. Welford won’t be in any hurry to say he was mistaken. These people don’t believe you when you go to them and tell them the plain truth.”

And then, to prove his position, he gave Helen a full account of all that had recently happened.

Helen was much affected by what Phil told her. She was already so much incensed against Emile Touron that she could find little more to say about him except that he was the most wicked person she knew of, and that he certainly ought to be put in prison. Her grief at the probable sale of Hyson Hall was very great.

“To think of this beautiful place being taken away from your family,” she said, “and given to those horrible French people! It is too dreadful! If my father were rich I would get him to come and buy the place, and then your uncle could buy it back whenever he chose.”

“I was thinking of that myself,” said Chap; “but father couldn’t do it. There isn’t anybody about here who could bid against those Tourons. They are rich people, and they want this place.”

“But isn’t there any way of raising money?” asked Helen, anxiously.

“Yes,” said Chap, “there is a way, and the thing ought to have been done long ago. That wreck down there——”

“Now, look here, Chap,” interrupted Phil, “it’s of no use to talk about that wreck. Even if there is any treasure in it, we couldn’t get at it without first spending a lot of money, and that is what we haven’t got. No, Helen,” he continued, “there isn’t any way of raising money that I can see. There isn’t anything I could sell, except some horses and cows, and they wouldn’t bring anything like enough. Besides, I haven’t any right to sell uncle’s property, even to pay his debts.”

“No,” said Chap; “and if you were to do anything of that kind your uncle would come along next day and make a jolly row about selling his stock for half-price.”

“Couldn’t you take boarders?” suggested Helen. “That is a splendid way to make money in the summer-time, and this house is big enough to hold ever so many of them.”

“That would be capital!” cried Chap. “I’d just like to stay here, Phil, and help you run a boarding-house. I could ride over the country and buy up butter and eggs.”

“And bring them home all mixed together,” said Helen, laughing. “I don’t think you would make much of a manager, Chap, if the people were at all particular.”

“Now, Helen,” said Chap, “you know I am very particular.”

“There is no use arguing about that,” interrupted Phil. “We couldn’t get any boarders to come here. They’d be afraid they’d be sold with the rest of the property.”

“Don’t talk that way, Phil,” said Helen. “It sounds awful.”

The party was now joined by Phœnix.

“I didn’t know whether I’d find you at home or not,” he said to Phil; “but I came over to see. Sorry I couldn’t stay last night, for I left Susan in a dreadful stew. Didn’t find your uncle, I suppose?”

“No,” said Phil.

He was about to begin an account of his adventures the day before, when Phœnix pulled a letter out of his pocket and handed it to him.

“I was in town this afternoon,” he said, “and the people in the post-office gave me this to bring to you. It is a drop letter, and must have been put in yesterday. They said they saw you in town, but guessed you must have forgotten to stop at the office.”

“I did forget,” said Phil, as he took the letter. Glancing at the address, his face brightened. “It’s from uncle!” he exclaimed.

“Good! good!” cried Helen, clapping her hands. “Now everything will be all right! I felt sure all the time that something good would happen!”

Phil tore open the envelope and took out the note it contained. It was very short, and he read it aloud. He had no secrets from his friends. This was the note:

Phil stood, pale, with the letter in his hand, and said not a word. Helen burst into tears.

“That is too cruel!” she said. “What does he mean?”

Chap’s face flushed, and he clinched his fist.

“Do you suppose,” he said to Phil, “that he got his back up in that way because you didn’t send the gun to him?”

But Phil made no answer. He still stood with his eyes fixed on the floor. This was the most cruel blow he had ever received, and it stunned him.

Phœnix said nothing, but his mind was filled with an earnest wish that he had not stopped at the post-office.

“Chap,” said Phil, directly, in a husky voice that did not seem like his own, “I won’t bother you to stay here to-night, but I would like you to come round in the morning. Good-by, all!”

And he went into the house with the letter in his hand.

Helen and the two boys walked down the porch-steps without a word. But when they were some distance from the house, Chap suddenly stopped and shook his fist.

“The fellow that ought to have his head punched worst of all,” he cried, “is that uncle!”

Half an hour later Phil was sitting gloomily on the porch, looking over the fields, when a man came through the hall and out of the front door to speak to him.

“I am Jenny’s father,” said the man. “She said you were a little hard pushed and needed help, and so I came over with her.”

Phil rose and looked up at the person addressing him. To his surprise, he recognized him as the man who had held his horse on the day he had violated a town ordinance by tying Jouncer to a tree. The man recognized him also.

“Hello!” he cried. “So you are young Hyson, are you? I’ve heard a good deal about you, but never knew who you were before. I suppose you haven’t been tying any more horses to trees lately?”