"That's so, aunt, but I can explain it," said Ferdinand, after a

slight pause.

"How was it?"

"You know the French barbers can change your hair to any shade you
want."

"Can they?"

"Yes, to be sure.  Now--don't laugh at me, aunt--a young lady I used
to like didn't fancy dark hair, so I went to a French barber, and he
changed the color for me in three months."

"You don't say!"

"Fact, aunt; but he made me pay him well too."

"How much did you give him?"

"Fifty dollars, aunt."

"That's what I call wasteful," said Aunt Deborah, disapprovingly.

"Couldn't you be satisfied with the nat'ral color of your hair?  To
my mind black's handsomer than brown."

"You're right, aunt.  I wouldn't have done it if it hadn't been for
Miss Percival."

"Are you engaged to her?"

"No, Aunt Deborah.  The fact was, I found she wasn't domestic, and
didn't know anything about keeping house, but only cared for dress,
so I drew off, and she's married to somebody else now."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Deborah, emphatically.  "The jade!  She
wouldn't have been a proper wife for you.  You want some good girl
that's willin' to go into the kitchen, and look after things, and not
carry all she's worth on her back."

"I agree with you, aunt," said Ferdinand, who thought it politic, in
view of the request he meant to make by and by, to agree with hie
aunt in her views of what a wife should be.

Aunt Deborah began to regard her nephew as quite a sensible young
man, and to look upon him with complacency.

"I wish, Ferdinand," she said, "you liked farmin'."

"Why, aunt?"

"You could stay here, and manage my farm for me."

"Heaven forbid!" thought the young man with a shudder.  "I should be
bored to death.  Does the old lady think I would put on a frock and
overalls, and go out and plough, or hoe potatoes?"

"It's a good, healthy business," pursued Aunt Deborah, unconscious of
the thoughts which were passing through her nephew's mind, "and you
wouldn't have to spend much for dress.  Then I'm gittin' old, and
though I don't want to make no promises, I'd very likely will it to
you, ef I was satisfied with the way you managed."

"You're very kind, aunt," said Ferdinand, "but I'm afraid I wasn't
cut out for farming.  You know I never lived in the country."

"Why, yes, you did," said the old lady.  "You was born in the
country, and lived there till you was ten years old."

"To be sure," said Ferdinand, hastily, "but I was too young then to
take notice of farming.   What does a boy of ten know of such things?"

"To be sure.  You're right there."

"The fact is, Aunt Deborah, some men are born to be farmers, and some
are born to be traders.  Now, I've got a talent for trading.  That's
the reason I've got such a good offer from San Francisco."

"How did you get it?  Did you know the man?"

"He used to be in business in New York.  He was the first man I
worked for, and he knew what I was.  San Francisco is full of money,
and traders make more than they do here.  That's the reason he can
afford to offer me so large a salary."

"When did he send for you?"

"I got the letter last week."

"Have you got it with you?"

"No, aunt; I may have it at the hotel," said the young man,
hesitating, "but I am not certain."

"Well, it's a good offer.  There isn't nobody in Centreville gets so
large a salary."

"No, I suppose not.  They don't need it, as it is cheap living here."

"I hope when you get out there, Ferdinand, you'll save up money.
You'd ought to save two-thirds of your pay."

"I will try to, aunt."

"You'll be wantin' to get married bimeby, and then it'll be
convenient to have some money to begin with."

"To be sure, aunt.   I see you know how to manage."

"I was always considered a good manager," said Deborah, complacently.
"Ef your poor father had had _my_ faculty, he wouldn't have died as
poor as he did, I can tell you."

"What a conceited old woman she is, with her faculty!" thought
Ferdinand, but what he said was quite different.

"I wish he had had, aunt.  It would have been better for me."

"Well, you ought to get along, with your prospects."

"Little the old woman knows what my real prospects are!" thought the
young man.

"Of course I ought," he said.

"Excuse me a few minutes, nephew," said Aunt Deborah, gathering up
her knitting and rising from her chair.  "I must go out and see about
tea.  Maybe you'd like to read that nice book you brought."

"No, I thank you, aunt.  I think I'll take a little walk round your
place, if you'll allow me."

"Sartin, Ferdinand.  Only come back in half an hour; tea'll be ready
then."

"Yea, aunt, I'll remember."

So while Deborah was in the kitchen, Ferdinand took a walk in the
fields, laughing to himself from time to time, as if something amused
him.

He returned in due time, and sat down to supper Aunt Deborah had
provided her best, and, though the dishes were plain, they were quite
palatable.

When supper was over, the young man said,--

"Now, aunt, I think I will be getting back to the hotel."

"You'll come over in the morning, Ferdinand, and fetch your trunk?"

"Yes, aunt.  Good-night."

"Good-night."

"Well," thought the young man, as he tramped back to the hotel.
"I've opened the campaign, and made, I believe, a favorable
impression.  But what a pack of lies I have had to tell, to be sure!
The old lady came near catching me once or twice, particularly about
the color of my hair.  It was a lucky thought, that about the French
barber.  It deceived the poor old soul.  I don't think she could ever
have been very handsome.  If she was she must have changed fearfully."

In the evening, John Clapp and Luke Harrison came round to the hotel
to see him.

"Have you been to see your aunt?" asked Clapp.

"Yes, I took tea there."

"Have a good time?"

"Oh, I played the dutiful nephew to perfection.  The old lady thinks
a sight of me."

"How did you do it?"

"I agreed with all she said, told her how young she looked, and
humbugged her generally."

Clapp laughed.

"The best part of the joke is--will you promise to keep dark?"

"Of course."

"Don't breathe it to a living soul, you two fellows.  _She isn't my
aunt of all_!"

"Isn't your aunt?"

"No, her true nephew is in New York--I know him.--but I know enough
of family matters to gull the old lady, and, I hope, raise a few
hundred dollars out of her."

This was a joke which Luke and Clapp could appreciate, and they
laughed heartily at the deception which was being practised on simple
Aunt Deborah, particularly when Ferdinand explained how he got over
the difficulty of having different colored hair from the real owner
of the name he assumed.

"We must have a drink on that," said Luke.  "Walk up, gentlemen."

"I'm agreeable," said Ferdinand.

"And I," said Clapp.  "Never refuse a good offer, say I."

Poor Aunt Deborah!  She little dreamed that she was the dupe of a
designing adventurer who bore no relationship to her.




CHAPTER XIX.

THE ROMANCE OF A RING.

Ferdinand B. Kensington, as he called himself, removed the next
morning to the house of Aunt Deborah.  The latter received him very
cordially, partly because it was a pleasant relief to her solitude to
have a lively and active young man in the house, partly because she
was not forced to look upon him as a poor relation in need of
pecuniary assistance.  She even felt considerable respect for the
prospective recipient of an income of two thousand dollars, which in
her eyes was a magnificent salary.

Ferdinand, on his part, spared no pains to make himself agreeable to
the old lady, whom he had a mercenary object in pleasing.  Finding
that she was curious to hear about the great city, which to her was
as unknown as London or Paris, be gratified her by long accounts,
chiefly of as imaginative character, to which she listened greedily.
These included some personal adventures, in all of which he figured
very creditably.

Here is a specimen.

"By the way, Aunt Deborah," he said, casually, "have you noticed this
ring on my middle finger?"

"No, I didn't notice it before, Ferdinand.  It's very handsome."

"I should think it ought to be, Aunt Deborah," said the young man.

"Why?"

"It cost enough to be handsome."

"How much did it cost?" asked the old lady, not without curiosity.

"Guess."

"I aint no judge of such things; I've only got this plain gold ring.
Yours has got some sort of a stone in it."

"That stone is a diamond, Aunt Deborah!"

"You don't say so!  Let me look at it.  It aint got no color.  Looks
like glass."

"It's very expensive, though.  How much do you think it cost?"

"Well, maybe five dollars."

"Five dollars!" ejaculated the young man.  "Why, what can you be
thinking of, Aunt Deborah?"

"I shouldn't have guessed so much," said the old lady,
misunderstanding him, "only you said it was expensive."

"So it is.  Five dollars would be nothing at all."

"You don't say it cost more?"

"A great deal more."

"Did it cost ten dollars?"

"More."

"Fifteen?"

"I see, aunt, you have no idea of the cost of diamond rings!  You may
believe me or not, but that ring cost six hundred and fifty dollars."

"What!" almost screamed Aunt Deborah, letting fall her knitting in
her surprise.

"It's true."

"Six hundred and fifty dollars for a little piece of gold and glass!"
ejaculated the old lady.

"Diamond, aunt, not glass."

"Well, it don't look a bit better'n glass, and I do say," proceeded
Deborah, with energy, "that it's a sin and a shame to pay so much
money for a ring.  Why, it was more than half your year's salary,
Ferdinand."

"I agree with you, aunt; it would have been very foolish and wrong
for a young man on a small salary like mine to buy so expensive a
ring as this.  I hope, Aunt Deborah, I have inherited too much of
your good sense to do that."

"Then where did you get it?" asked the old lady, moderating her tone.

"It was given to me."

"Given to you!  Who would give you such a costly present?"

"A rich man whose life I once saved, Aunt Deborah."

"You don't say so, Ferdinand!" said Aunt Deborah, interested.  "Tell
me all about it."

"So I will, aunt, though I don't often speak of it," said Ferdinand,
modestly.  "It seems like boasting, you know, and I never like to do
that.  But this is the way it happened.

"Now for a good tough lie!" said Ferdinand to himself, as the old
lady suspended her work, and bent forward with eager attention.

"You know, of course, that New York and Brooklyn are on opposite
sides of the river, and that people have to go across in ferry-boats."

"Yes, I've heard that, Ferdinand."

"I'm glad of that, because now you'll know that my story is correct.
Well, one summer I boarded over in Brooklyn--on the Heights--and used
to cross the ferry morning and night.  It was the Wall street ferry,
and a great many bankers and rich merchants used to cross daily also.
One of these was a Mr. Clayton, a wholesale dry-goods merchant,
immensely rich, whom I knew by sight, though I had never spoken to
him.  It was one Thursday morning--I remember even the day of the
week--when the boat was unusually full.  Mr. Clayton was leaning
against the side-railing talking to a friend, when all at once the
railing gave way, and he fell backward into the water, which
immediately swallowed him up."

"Merciful man!" ejaculated Aunt Deborah, intensely interested.  "Go
on, Ferdinand."

"Of course there was a scene of confusion and excitement," continued
Ferdinand, dramatically.  'Man overboard!  Who will save him?' said
more than one.  'I will,' I exclaimed, and in an instant I had sprang
over the railing into the boiling current."

"Weren't you frightened to death?" asked the old lady.  "Could you
swim?"

"Of course I could.   More than once I have swum all the way from New
York to Brooklyn.  I caught Mr. Clayton by the collar, as he was
sinking for the third time, and shouted to a boatman near by to come
to my help.  Well, there isn't much more to tell.  We were taken on
board the boat, and rowed to shore.  Mr. Clayton recovered his senses
so far as to realize that I had saved his life.

"'What is your name, young man?' he asked, grasping my hand.

"'Ferdinand B. Kensington,' I answered modestly.

"'You have saved my life,' he said warmly.

"'I am very glad of it,' said I.

"'You have shown wonderful bravery."

"'Oh no,' I answered.  'I know how to swim, and I wasn't going to see
you drown before my eyes.'

"'I shall never cease to be grateful to you.'

"'Oh, don't think of it,' said I.

"'But I must think of it,' he answered.  'But for you I should now be
a senseless corpse lying in the bottom of the river,' and he
shuddered.

"'Mr. Clayton,' said I, 'let me advise you to get home as soon as
possible, or you will catch your death of cold.'

"'So will you,' he said.  'You must come with me.'

"He insisted, so I went, and was handsomely treated, you may depend.
Mr. Clayton gave me a new suit of clothes, and the next morning he
took me to Tiffany's--that's the best jeweller in New York--and
bought me this diamond ring.  He first offered me money, but I felt
delicate about taking money for such a service, and told him so.  So
he bought me this ring."

"Well, I declare!" ejaculated Aunt Deborah.

"That was an adventure.  But it seems to me, Ferdinand, I would have
taken the money."

"As to that, aunt, I can sell this ring, if ever I get hard up, but I
hope I sha'n't be obliged to."

"You certainly behaved very well, Ferdinand.  Do you ever see Mr.
Clayton now?"

"Sometimes, but I don't seek his society, for fear he would think I
wanted to get something more out of him."

"How much money do you think he'd have given you?" asked Aunt
Deborah, who was of a practical nature.

"A thousand dollars, perhaps more."

"Seems to me I would have taken it."

"If I had, people would have said that's why I jumped into the water,
whereas I wasn't thinking anything about getting a reward.  So now,
aunt, you won't think it very strange that I wear such an expensive
ring."

"Of course it makes a difference, as you didn't buy it yourself.  I
don't see how folks can be such fools as to throw away hundreds of
dollars for such a trifle."

"Well, aunt, everybody isn't as sensible and practical as you.  Now I
agree with you; I think it's very foolish.  Still I'm glad I've got
the ring, because I can turn it into money when I need to.  Only, you
see, I don't like to part with a gift, although I don't think Mr.
Clayton would blame me."

"Of course he wouldn't, Ferdinand.  But I don't see why you should
need money when you're goin' to get such a handsome salary in San
Francisco."

"To be sure, aunt, but there's something else.  However, I won't
speak of it to-day.  To-morrow I may want to ask your advice on a
matter of business."

"I'll advise you the best I can, Ferdinand," said the flattered
spinster.

"You see, aunt, you're so clear-headed, I shall place great
dependence on your advice.  But I think I'll take a little walk now,
just to stretch my limbs."

"I've made good progress," said the young man to himself, as he
lounged over the farm.  "The old lady swallows it all.  To-morrow
must come my grand stroke.  I thought I wouldn't propose it to-day,
for fear she'd suspect the ring story."




CHAPTER XX.

A BUSINESS TRANSACTION.

Ferdinand found life at the farm-house rather slow, nor did he
particularly enjoy the society of the spinster whom he called aunt.
But he was playing for a valuable stake, and meant to play out his
game.

"Strike while the iron is hot!" said he to himself; "That's a good
rule; but how shall I know when it is hot?  However, I must risk
something, and take my chances with the old lady."

Aunt Deborah herself hastened his action.  Her curiosity had been
aroused by Ferdinand's intimation that he wished her advice on a
matter of business, and the next morning, after breakfast, she said,
"Ferdinand, what was that you wanted to consult me about?  You may as
well tell me now as any time."

"Here goes, then!" thought the young man.

"I'll tell you, aunt.  You know I am offered a large salary in San
Francisco?"

"Yes, you told me so."

"And, as you said the other day, I can lay up half my salary, and in
time become a rich man."

"To be sure you can."

"But there is one difficulty in the way."

"What is that?"

"I must go out there."

"Of course you must," said the old lady, who did not yet see the
point.

"And unfortunately it costs considerable money."

"Haven't you got enough money to pay your fare out there?"

"No, aunt; it is very expensive living in New York, and I was unable
to save anything from my salary."

"How much does it cost to go out there?"

"About two hundred and fifty dollars."

"That's a good deal of money."

"So it is; but it will be a great deal better to pay it than to lose
so good a place."

"I hope," said the old lady, sharply, "you don't expect me to pay
your expenses out there."

"My dear aunt," said Ferdinand, hastily, "how can you suspect such a
thing?"

"Then what do you propose to do?" asked the spinster, somewhat
relieved.

"I wanted to ask your advice."

"Sell your ring.  It's worth over six hundred dollars."

"Very true; but I should hardly like to part with it.  I'll tell you
what I have thought of.  It cost six hundred and fifty dollars.  I
will give it as security to any one who will lend me five hundred
dollars, with permission to sell it if I fail to pay up the note in
six months.  By the way, aunt, why can't you accommodate me in this
matter?  You will lose nothing, and I will pay handsome interest."

"How do you know I have the money?"

"I don't know; but I think you must have.  But, although I am your
nephew, I wouldn't think of asking you to lend me money without
security.  Business is business, so I say."

"Very true, Ferdinand."

"I ask nothing on the score of relationship, but I will make a
business proposal."

"I don't believe the ring would fetch over six hundred dollars."

"It would bring just about that.  The other fifty dollars represent
the profit.  Now, aunt, I'll make you a regular business proposal.
If you'll lend me five hundred dollars, I'll give you my note for
five hundred and fifty, bearing interest at six per cent., payable in
six months, or, to make all sure, say in a year.  I place the ring in
your hands, with leave to sell it at the end of that time if I fail
to carry out my agreement.  But I sha'n't if I keep my health."

The old lady was attracted by the idea of making a bonus of fifty
dollars, but she was cautious, and averse to parting with her money.

"I don't know what to say, Ferdinand," she replied.  "Five hundred
dollars is a good deal of money."

"So it is, aunt.  Well, I don't know but I can offer you a little
better terms.  Give me four hundred and seventy-five, and I'll give
you a note for five hundred and fifty.  You can't make as much
interest anywhere else."

"I'd like to accommodate you," said the old lady, hesitating, for,
like most avaricious persons, she was captivated by the prospect of
making extra-legal interest.

"I know you would.  Aunt Deborah, but I don't want to ask the money
as a favor.  It is a strictly business transaction."

"I am afraid I couldn't spare more than four hundred and fifty."

"Very well, I won't dispute about the extra twenty-five dollars.
Considering how much income I'm going to get, it isn't of any great
importance."

"And you'll give me a note for five hundred and fifty?"

"Yes, certainly."

"I don't know as I ought to take so much interest."

"It's worth that to me, for though, of course, I could raise it by
selling the ring, I don't like to do that."

"Well, I don't know but I'll do it.  I'll get some ink, and you can
write me the due bill."

"Why, Aunt Deborah, you haven't got the money here, have you?"

"Yes, I've got it in the house.  A man paid up a mortgage last week,
and I haven't yet invested the money.  I meant to put it in the
savings bank."

"You wouldn't get but six per cent there.  Now the bonus I offer you
will be equal to about twenty per cent."

"And you really feel able to pay so much?"

"Yes, aunt; as I told you, it will be worth more than that to me."