"Well, Ferdinand, we'll settle the matter now.  I'll go and get the
money, and you shall give me the note and the ring."

"Triumph!" said the young man to himself, when the old lady had left
the room.  "You're badly sold, Aunt Deborah, but it's a good job for
me.  I didn't think I would have so little trouble."

Within fifteen minutes the money was handed over, and Aunt Deborah
took charge of the note and the valuable diamond ring.

"Be careful of the ring, Aunt Deborah," said Ferdinand.  "Remember, I
expect to redeem it again."

"I'll take good care of it, nephew, never fear!"

"If it were a little smaller, you could wear it, yourself."

"How would Deborah Kensington look with a diamond ring?  The
neighbors would think I was crazy.  No: I'll keep it in a safe place,
but I won't wear it."

"Now, Aunt Deborah, I must speak about other arrangements.  Don't you
think it would be well to start for San Francisco as soon as
possible?  You know I enter upon my duties as soon as I get there."

"Yes, Ferdinand, I think you ought to."

"I wish I could spare the time to spend a week with you, aunt; but
business is business, and my motto is, business before pleasure."

"And very proper, too, Ferdinand," said the old lady, approvingly.

"So I think I had better leave Centreville tomorrow."

"May be you had.  You must write and let me know when you get there,
and how you like your place."

"So I will, and I shall be glad to know that you take an interest in
me.  Now, aunt, as I have some errands to do, I will walk to the
village and come back about the middle of the afternoon."

"Won't you be back to dinner?"

"No, I think not, aunt."

"Very well, Ferdinand.  Come as soon as you can."

Half an hour later, Ferdinand entered the office of the "Centreville
Gazette."

"How do you do, Mr. Kensington?" said Clapp, eagerly.  "Anything new?"

"I should like to speak with you a moment in private, Mr. Clapp."

"All right!"

Clapp put on his coat, and went outside, shutting the door behind him.

"Well," said Ferdinand, "I've succeeded."

"Have you got the money?"

"Yes, but not quite as much as I anticipated."

"Can't you carry out your plan?" asked Clapp, soberly, fearing he was
to be left out in the cold.

"I've formed a new one.  Instead of going to California, which is
very expensive, we'll go out West, say to St. Louis, and try our
fortune there.  What do you say?"

"I'm agreed.  Can Luke go too?"

"Yes.  I'll take you both out there, and lend you fifty dollars each
besides, and you shall pay me back as soon as you are able.  Will you
let your friend know?"

"Yes, I'll undertake that; but when do you propose to start?"

"To-morrow morning."

"Whew!  That's short notice."

"I want to get away as soon as possible, for fear the old lady should
change her mind, and want her money back."

"That's where you're right."

"Of course you must give up your situation at once, as there is short
time to get ready."

"No trouble about that," said Clapp.  "I've hated the business for a
long time, and shall be only too glad to leave.  It's the same with
Luke.  He won't shed many tears at leaving Centreville."

"Well, we'll all meet this evening at the hotel.  I depend upon your
both being ready to start in the morning."

"All right, I'll let Luke know."

It may be thought singular that Ferdinand should have made so liberal
an offer to two comparative strangers; but, to do the young man
justice, though he had plenty of faults, he was disposed to be
generous when he had money, though he was not particular how he
obtained it.  Clapp and Luke Harrison he recognized as congenial
spirits, and he was willing to sacrifice something to obtain their
companionship.  How long his fancy was likely to last was perhaps
doubtful; but for the present he was eager to associate them with his
own plans.




CHAPTER XXI.

HARRY IS PROMOTED.

Clapp re-entered the printing office highly elated.

"Mr. Anderson," said he to the editor, "I am going to leave you."

Ferguson and Harry Walton looked up in surprise, and Mr. Anderson
asked,--

"Have you got another place?"

"No; I am going West."

"Indeed!  How long have you had that in view?"

"Not long.  I am going with Mr. Kensington."

"The one who just called on you?"

"Yes."

"How soon do you want to leave?"

"Now."

"That is rather short notice."

"I know it, but I leave town to-morrow morning."

"Well, I wish you success.  Here is the money I owe you."

"Sha'n't we see you again, Clapp?" asked Ferguson.

"Yes; I'll just look in and say good-by.  Now I must go home and get
ready."

"Well, Ferguson," said Mr. Andersen, after Clapp's departure, "that
is rather sudden."

"So I think."

"How can we get along with only two hands?"

"Very well, sir.  I'm willing to work a little longer, and Harry here
is a pretty quick compositor now.  The fact is, there isn't enough
work for three."

"Then you think I needn't hire another journeyman?"

"No."

"If you both work harder I must increase your wages, and then I shall
save money."

"I sha'n't object to that," said Ferguson, smiling.

"Nor I," said Harry.

"I was intending at any rate to raise Harry's wages, as I find he
does nearly as much as a journeyman.  Hereafter I will give you five
dollars a week besides your board."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" said Harry, overjoyed at his good fortune.

"As for you, Ferguson, if you will give me an hour more daily, I will
add three dollars a week to your pay."

"Thank you, sir.  I think I can afford now to give Mrs. Ferguson the
new bonnet she was asking for this morning."

"I don't want to overwork you two, but if that arrangement proves
satisfactory, we will continue it."

"I suppose you will be buying your wife a new bonnet too; eh, Harry?"
said Ferguson.

"I may buy myself a new hat.  Luke Harrison turned up his nose at my
old one the other day."

"What will Luke do without Clapp?  They were always together."

"Perhaps he is going too."

"I don't know where he will raise the money, nor Clapp either, for
that matter."

"Perhaps their new friend furnishes the money."

"If he does, he is indeed a friend."

"Well, it has turned out to our advantage, at any rate, Harry.
Suppose you celebrate it by coming round and taking supper with me?"

"With the greatest pleasure."

Harry was indeed made happy by his promotion.  Having been employed
for some months on board-wages, he had been compelled to trench upon
the small stock of money which he had saved up when in the employ of
Prof. Henderson, and he had been unable to send any money to his
father, whose circumstances were straitened, and who found it very
hard to make both ends meet.  That evening he wrote a letter to his
father, in which he inclosed ten dollars remaining to him from his
fund of savings, at the same time informing him of his promotion.  A
few days later, he received the following reply:--


"MY DEAR SON:

"Your letter has given me great satisfaction, for I conclude from
your promotion that you have done your duty faithfully, and won the
approbation of your employer.  The wages you now earn will amply pay
your expenses, while you may reasonably hope that they will be still
further increased, as you become more skilful and experienced.  I am
glad to hear that you are using your leisure hours to such good
purpose, and are trying daily to improve your education.  In this way
you may hope in time to qualify yourself for the position of an
editor, which is an honorable and influential profession, to which I
should be proud to have you belong.

"The money which you so considerately inclose comes at the right
time.  Your brother needs some new clothes, and this will enable me
to provide them.  We all send love, and hope to hear from you often.

"Your affectionate father,
"HIRAM WALTON."


Harry's promotion took place just before the beginning of September.
During the next week the fall term of the Prescott Academy commenced,
and the village streets again became lively with returning students.
Harry was busy at the case, when Oscar Vincent entered the printing
office, and greeted him warmly.

"How are you, Oscar?" said Harry, his face lighting up with pleasure.
"I am glad to see you back.  I would shake hands, but I am afraid you
wouldn't like it," and Harry displayed his hands soiled with
printer's ink.

"Well, we'll shake hands in spirit, then, Harry.  How have you passed
the time?"

"I have been very busy, Oscar."

"And I have been very lazy.  I have scarcely opened a book, that is,
a study-book, during the vacation.  How much have you done in French?"

"I have nearly finished Telemachus."

"You have!  Then you have done splendidly.  By the way, Harry, I
received the paper you sent, containing your essay.  It does you
credit, my boy."

Mr. Anderson, who was sitting at his desk, caught the last words.

"What is that, Harry?" he asked.  "Have you been writing for the
papers?"

Harry blushed.

"Yes, sir," he replied.  "I have written two or three articles for
the 'Boston Weekly Standard.'"

"Indeed!  I should like to see them."

"You republished one of them in the 'Gazette,' Mr. Anderson," said
Ferguson.

"What do you refer to?"

"Don't you remember an article on 'Ambition,' which you inserted some
weeks ago?"

"Yes, it was a good article.  Did you write it, Walton?"

"Yes, air."

"Why didn't you tell me of it?"

"He was too bashful," said Ferguson.

"I am glad to know that you can write," said the editor.  "I shall
call upon you for assistance, in getting up paragraphs occasionally."

"I shall be very glad to do what I can," said Harry, gratified.

"Harry is learning to be an editor," said Ferguson.

"I will give him a chance for practice, then," and Mr. Anderson
returned to his exchanges.

"By the way, Oscar," said Harry, "I am not a printer's devil any
longer.  I am promoted to be a journeyman."

"I congratulate you, Harry, but what will Fitz do now?  He used to
take so much pleasure in speaking of you as a printer's devil."

"I am sorry to deprive him of that pleasure.  Did you see much of him
in vacation, Oscar?"

"I used to meet him almost every day walking down Washington Street,
swinging a light cane, and wearing a stunning necktie, as usual."

"Is he coming back this term?"

"Yes, he came on the same train with me.  Hasn't he called to pay his
respects to you?"

"No," answered Harry, with a smile.  "He hasn't done me that honor.
He probably expects me to make the first call."

"Well, Harry, I suppose you will be on hand next week, when the
Clionian holds its first meeting?"

"Yes, I will be there."

"And don't forget to call at my room before that time.  I want to
examine you in French, and see how much progress you have made."

"Thank you, Oscar."

"Now I must be going.  I have got a tough Greek lesson to prepare for
to-morrow.  I suppose it will take me twice as long as usual.  It is
always hard to get to work again after a long vacation.  So
good-morning, and don't forget to call at my room soon--say to-morrow
evening."

"I will come."

"What a gentlemanly fellow your friend is!" said Ferguson.

"What is his name, Harry?" asked Mr. Anderson.

"Oscar Vincent.  His father is an editor in Boston."

"What! the son of John Vincent?" said Mr. Anderson, surprised.

"Yes, sir; do you know his father?"

"Only by reputation.  He is a man of great ability."

"Oscar is a smart fellow, too, but not a hard student."

"I shall be glad to have you bring him round to the house some
evening, Harry.  I shall be glad to become better acquainted with
him."

"Thank you, sir.  I will give him the invitation."

It is very possible that Harry rose in the estimation of his
employer, from his intimacy with the son of a man who stood so high
in his own profession.  At all events, Harry found himself from this
time treated with greater respect and consideration than before, and
Mr. Anderson often called upon him to write paragraphs upon local
matters, so that his position might be regarded except as to pay, as
that of an assistant editor.




CHAPTER XXII.

MISS DEBORAH'S EYES ARE OPENED.

Aunt Deborah felt that she had done a good stroke of business.  She
had lent Ferdinand four hundred and fifty dollars, and received in
return a note for five hundred and fifty, secured by a diamond ring
worth even more.  She plumed herself on her shrewdness, though at
times she felt a little twinge at the idea of the exorbitant interest
which she had exacted from so near a relative.

"But he said the money was worth that to him," she said to herself in
extenuation, "and he's goin' to get two thousand dollars a year.  I
didn't want to lend the money, I'd rather have had it in the savings
bank, but I did it to obleege him."

By such casuistry Aunt Deborah quieted her conscience, and carefully
put the ring away among her bonds and mortgages.

"Who'd think a little ring like that should be worth so much?" she
said to herself.  "It's clear waste of money.  But then Ferdinand
didn't buy it.  It was give to him, and a very foolish gift it was
too.  Railly, it makes me nervous to have it to take care of.  It's
so little it might get lost easy."

Aunt Deborah plumed herself upon her shrewdness.  It was not easy to
get the advantage of her in a bargain, and yet she had accepted the
ring as security for a considerable loan without once questioning its
genuineness.  She relied implicitly upon her nephew's assurance of
its genuineness, just as she had relied upon his assertion of
relationship.  But the time was soon coming when she was to be
undeceived.

One day, a neighbor stopped his horse in front of her house, and
jumping out of his wagon, walked up to the door and knocked.

"Good-morning, Mr. Simpson," said the old lady, answering the knock
herself; "won't you come in?"

"Thank you, Miss Deborah, I can't stop this morning.  I was at the
post-office just now, when I saw there was a letter for you, and
thought I'd bring it along."

"A letter for me!" said Aunt Deborah in some surprise, for her
correspondence was very limited.  "Who's it from?"

"It is post-marked New York," said Mr. Simpson.

"I don't know no one in New York," said the old lady, fumbling in her
pockets for her spectacles.

"Maybe it's one of your old beaux," said Mr. Simpson, humorously, a
joke which brought a grim smile to the face of the old spinster.
"But I must be goin'.  If it's an offer of marriage, don't forget to
invite me to the wedding."

Aunt Deborah went into the house, and seating herself in her
accustomed place, carefully opened the letter.  She turned over the
page, and glanced at the signature.  To her astonishment it was
signed,

"Your affectionate nephew,
"FERDINAND B. KENSINGTON."

"Ferdinand!" she exclaimed in surprise.  "Why, I thought he was in
Californy by this time.  How could he write from New York?  I s'pose
he'll explain.  I hope he didn't lose the money I lent him."

The first sentence in the letter was destined to surprise Miss
Deborah yet more.

"Dear aunt," it commenced, "it is so many years since we have met,
that I am afraid you have forgotten me."

"So many years!" repeated Miss Deborah in bewilderment.  "What on
earth can Ferdinand mean?  Why, it's only five weeks yesterday since
he was here.  He must be crazy."

She resumed reading.

"I have often had it in mind to make you a little visit, but I have
been so engrossed by business that I have been unable to get away.  I
am a salesman for A. T. Stewart, whom you must have heard of, as he
is the largest retail dealer in the city.  I have been three years in
his employ, and have been promoted by degrees, till I now receive
quite a good salary, until--and that is the news I have to write
you--I have felt justifed in getting married.  My wedding is fixed
for next week, Thursday.  I should be very glad if you could attend,
though I suppose you would consider it a long journey.  But at any
rate I can assure you that I should be delighted to see you present
on the occasion, and so would Maria.  If you can't come, write to me,
at any rate, in memory of old times.  It is just possible that during
our bridal tour--we are to go to the White Mountains for a week--we
shall call on you.  Let me know if it will be convenient for you to
receive us for a day.

"Your affectionate nephew,
"FERDINAND B. KENSINGTON."


Miss Deborah read this letter like one dazed.  She had to read it a
second time before she could comprehend its purport.

"Ferdinand going to be married!  He never said a word about it when
he was here.  And he don't say a word about Californy.  Then again he
says he hasn't seen me for years.  Merciful man!  I see it now--the
other fellow was an impostor!" exclaimed Miss Deborah, jumping, to
her feet in excitement.  "What did he want to deceive an old woman
for?"

It flashed upon her at once.  He came after money, and he had
succeeded only too well.  He had carried away four hundred and fifty
dollars with him.  True, he had left a note, and security.  But
another terrible suspicion had entered the old lady's mind; the ring
might not be genuine.

"I must know at once," exclaimed the disturbed spinster.  "I'll go
over to Brandon, to the jeweller's, and inquire.  If it's paste,
then, Deborah Kensington, you're the biggest fool in Centreville."

Miss Deborah summoned Abner, her farm servant from the field, and
ordered him instantly to harness the horse, as she wanted to go to
Brandon.

"Do you want me to go with you?" asked Abner.

"To be sure, I can't drive so fur, and take care of the horse."

"It'll interrupt the work," objected Abner.

"Never mind about the work," said Deborah, impatiently.  "I must go
right off.  It's on very important business."

"Wouldn't it be best to go after dinner?"

"No, we'll get some dinner over there, at the tavern."

"What's got into the old woman?" thought Abner.  "It isn't like her
to spend money at a tavern for dinner, when she might as well dine at
home.  Interruptin' the work, too!  However, it's her business!"

Deborah was ready and waiting when the horse drove up the door.  She
got in, and they set out.  Abner tried to open a conversation, but he
found Miss Deborah strangely unsocial.  She appeared to take no
interest in the details of farm work of which he spoke.

"Something's on her mind, I guess," thought Abner; and, as we know,
he was right.

In her hand Deborah clutched the ring, of whose genuineness she had
come to entertain such painful doubts.  It might be genuine, she
tried to hope, even if it came from an impostor; but her hope was
small.  She felt a presentiment that it would prove as false as the
man from whom she received it.  As for the story of the manner in
which he became possessed of it, doubtless that was as false as the
rest.

"How blind I was!" groaned Deborah in secret.  "I saw he didn't look
like the family.  What a goose I was to believe that story about his
changin' the color of his hair!  I was an old fool, and that's all
about it."

"Drive to the jeweller's," said Miss Deborah, when they reached
Brandon.

In some surprise, Abner complied.

Deborah got out of the wagon hastily and entered the store.

"What can I do for you, Miss Kensington?" asked the jeweller, who
recognized the old lady.

"I want to show you a ring," said Aunt Deborah, abruptly.  "Tell me
what it's worth."

She produced the ring which the false Ferdinand had intrusted to her.

The jeweller scanned it closely.

"It's a good imitation of a diamond ring," he said.

"Imitation!" gasped Deborah.

"Yes; you didn't think it was genuine?"

"What's it worth?"

"The value of the gold.  That appears to be genuine.  It may be worth
three dollars."

"Three dollars!" ejaculated Deborah.  "He told me it cost six hundred
and fifty."

"Whoever told you that was trying to deceive you."

"You're sure about its being imitation, are you?"

"There can be no doubt about it."

"That's what I thought," muttered the old lady, her face pale and
rigid.  "Is there anything to pay?"

"Oh, no; I am glad to be of service to you."

"Good-afternoon, then," said Deborah, abruptly, and she left the
store.

"Drive home, Abner, as quick as you can," she said.

"I haven't had any dinner," Abner remarked, "You said you'd get some
at the tavern."

"Did I?  Well, drive over there.  I'm not hungry myself, but I'll pay
for some dinner for you."

Poor Aunt Deborah! it was not the loss alone that troubled her,
though she was fond of money; but it was humiliating to think that
she had fallen such an easy prey to a designing adventurer.  In her
present bitter mood, she would gladly have ridden fifty miles to see
the false Ferdinand hanged.




CHAPTER XXIII.