"I can't understand this," said Mrs. Burton, beginning to be troubled. "My poor husband had made all arrangements for paying his interest on the day of his death. When he left the house, he spoke of it. Do you mean to say he did not call at your office?"
If Aaron Wolverton had dared, he would have denied this, but Mr. Burton had been seen to enter the office, and so that he would not do him any good.
"He did call upon me, Mrs. Burton."
"And said nothing about the interest?"
"He said this, that he would pay me the coming week."
"He said that, when he had the money in his pocket?" said Mrs. Burton, incredulously.
"Of course I didn't know that he had the money with him. He probably thought ofanother way in which he wanted to use a part or all of it."
"I don't believe it. He never mentioned any other use for it, and he was not owing any one except you. Mr. Wolverton, I don't like to say it, but I think he paid you the interest."
"Do you doubt my word?" demanded Wolverton, with assumed indignation.
"Suppose I say that you have forgotten it."
"I would not forget anything of that kind. You are very unjust, Mrs. Burton, but I will attribute that to your disappointment. Let me suggest one thing, however. If your husband had paid me, he would have been sure to take a receipt. If you have his wallet here—I happen to know that he was in the habit of carrying a wallet—and you doubt my word, examine the wallet and see if you can find the receipt."
Mrs. Burton thought this a good suggestion, and went up-stairs for the wallet. She opened it, but, as Wolverton had good reason to know would be the case, failed to find the important paper.
"I can't find it," she said, as she re-entered the room.
"Did I not tell you so?" returned Wolverton, triumphantly. "Doesn't that settle it? Wasn't your husband a good enough business man to require a receipt for money paid?"
"Yes, yes," murmured the widow. "Mr. Wolverton, if you are right it arouses in my mind a terrible suspicion. Could my husband have been waylaid, murdered, and robbed?"
"No, I don't think so. His death was evidently the result of accident—the upset of his team."
"What then became of the money—the hundred and fifty dollars which he carried with him?"
"There, my dear lady, you ask me a question which I cannot answer. I am as much in the dark as you are."
"If this story is true, then we are one hundred and fifty dollars poorer than we supposed. It will be bad news for Robert."
"It need not be bad news for you, Mrs. Burton," said Wolverton, in an insinuating tone,shoving his chair a little nearer that occupied by the widow.
Mrs. Burton looked up in surprise.
"How can it fail to be bad news for me?" she asked. "A loss like that I cannot help feeling."
"Do you think I would be hard onyou, Mrs. Burton?" asked Wolverton, in the same soft voice.
"If you are disposed to wait for the money, or relinquish a part under the circumstances, Robert and I will feel very grateful to you, Mr. Wolverton."
"I might, upon conditions," said the agent, furtively shoving his chair a little nearer.
"What conditions?" asked Mrs. Burton, suspiciously.
"I will tell you, if you won't be offended. Mrs. Burton—Mary—you can't have forgotten the early days in which I declared my love for you. I—I love you still. If you will only promise to marry me—after a while—all shall be easy with you. I am a rich man—richer than people think, and can surround you with luxuries. I will be a father to that boy ofyours, and try to like him for your sake. Only tell me that you will be mine!"
Mrs. Burton had been so filled with indignation that she let him run on, quite unable to command her voice sufficiently to stem the torrent of his words. As he concluded, she rose to her feet, her eyes flashing, and her voice tremulous with anger, and said: "Mr. Wolverton, are you aware that my poor husband has been dead but a month?"
"I am perfectly aware of it, Mary."
"Don't address me so familiarly, sir."
"Mrs. Burton, then, I am perfectly acquainted with that fact, and would not have spoken now, but I saw you were anxious about the future, and I wished to reassure you. Of course I wouldn't hurry you; I only meant to get some kind of an answer that I might depend upon."
"And you thought that, after loving such a man as Richard Burton, I would be satisfied to take such a man as you?" said the widow, with stinging sarcasm.
"Richard Burton was not an angel," said Wolverton, harshly, for his pride was touchedby the contempt which she made no effort to conceal.
"Don't dare to say anything against him!" said the widow, her eyes flashing ominously.
"Well, then, he was an angel," said Wolverton, sulkily; "but he's dead, and you will need to look to another protector."
"My son will protect me," said Mrs. Burton, proudly.
"That boy?" said Wolverton, contemptuously. "But I make allowance for a mother's feelings. Once more, Mary, I make you the offer. Remember that I am a rich man, and can surround you with luxuries."
"I would rather live in a log house on a crust, than to marry you, Mr. Wolverton," she said, impetuously. "If you were the only man in the world, I would go unmarried to my grave rather than wed you!"
Wolverton rose, white with wrath.
"You are tolerably explicit, madam," he said. "I can't charge you with beating round the bush. But let me tell you, ma'am, that you have done the unwisest act of your life in making me your enemy."
"I did not mean to make you an enemy," said Mrs. Burton, softening. "I suppose I ought to acknowledge the compliment you have paid me, but I must decline, once for all, and request you never again to mention the subject."
Aaron Wolverton was not so easily appeased.
"I do not care to stay any longer," he said. "You had better mention to your son about the interest."
Mrs. Burton had an opportunity to do this almost immediately, for Bob and Clip entered the house just as Wolverton was leaving it.
"What have you done to Mr. Wolverton, mother?" asked Bob. "He looked savage enough to bite my head off, and wouldn't even speak to me."
"Robert, I have some bad news to tell you. Mr. Wolverton tells me that your father didn't pay him the interest on the day of his death."
"I believe he tells a falsehood," said Bob, quickly.
"But he says, with some show of reason, if the interest was paid, why didn't your father take a receipt?"
"Can no receipt be found?"
"No; I searched your father's wallet in vain."
"What is a receipt, missis?" asked Clip.
"It's a piece of paper with writing on it, Clip," said the widow, adjusting her explanations to Clip's intelligence.
"Golly! I saw de old man take a piece of paper from Massa Burton's pocket after he was dead—when he was a-lyin' on the ground."
"Say that again, Clip," said Bob, eagerly.
Clip repeated it, and answered several questions put to him by Mrs. Burton and Bob.
"It's all clear, mother," said Bob. "That old rascal has got up a scheme to rob you. He thinks there isn't any proof of the payment. If he suspected that Clip had been a witness of his robbery he would have been more careful."
"What shall I do, Bob?"
"Wait a while. Let him show his hand, and then confront him with Clip's testimony. I wonder if he destroyed the receipt?"
"Probably he did so."
"If he didn't, I may get it through Sam.Don't be worried, mother. It'll all come out right."
One thing the widow did not venture to tell Bob—about Mr. Wolverton's matrimonial offer. It would have made him so angry that she feared he would act imprudently.
Bob and his mother deliberated as to whether they should charge Mr. Wolverton openly with the theft of the receipt. On the whole, they decided to wait a while, and be guided by circumstances. If he took any measures to collect the money a second time, there would be sufficient reason to take the aggressive.
Bob had another reason for delay. He intended to acquaint Sam Wolverton with the matter, and request him to keep on the lookout for the receipt. Should he find it, he knew that Sam would gladly restore it to the rightful owner. He cautioned Clip not to say anything about what he saw on the day of his father's death, as it would put Wolverton on his guard, and lead him to destroy the receipt if still in his possession.
I must now relate a little incident in which Clip and Aaron Wolverton were the actors.
The creek on which Burton's Ranch was located was a quarter of a mile distant from the house. It was about a quarter of a mile wide. Over on the other side of the creek was the town of Martin, which was quite as large as Carver. In some respects it was a more enterprising place than Carver, and the stores were better stocked. For this reason there was considerable travel across the creek; but as there was no bridge, the passage must be made by boat.
Bob owned a good boat, which he and Clip used considerably. Both were good rowers, and during Mr. Burton's life they spent considerable time in rowing for pleasure. Now Bob's time was so occupied that the boat was employed only when there was an errand in the opposite village.
"Clip," said Bob, one morning, "I want you to go down to Martin."
"Yes, Massa Bob," said Clip, with alacrity, for he much preferred such a jaunt to working in the fields.
The errand was to obtain a hammer and a supply of nails at the variety store in Martin. Clip was rather given to blunder, but still there was no reason why he should not execute the errand satisfactorily.
Clip went down to the creek, and unfastened the boat. He jumped in, and began to paddle away, when he heard a voice calling him.
"Here, you Clip!"
Looking round, Clip recognized in the man hailing him Aaron Wolverton.
Mr. Wolverton did not own any boat himself, and when he had occasion to go across the river he generally managed to secure a free passage with some one who was going over. If absolutely necessary, he would pay a nickel; but he begrudged even this small sum, so mean was he.
Clip stopped paddling, and answered the call.
"Hi, Massa Wolverton; what's the matter?"
"Come back here."
"What fo'?"
"I want you to take me over to Martin."
Now Clip was naturally obliging, but he disliked Wolverton as much as one of his easy good nature could do. So he felt disposed to tantalize him.
"Can't do it, Massa Wolverton. I'm in a terrible hurry."
"It won't take you a minute to come back."
"Massa Bob will scold."
"You needn't mind that, boy. Come back, I say!"
"I dassn't."
"Don't be a fool, you little nigger. I'll pay you."
"What'll you give?" asked Clip, cautiously.
"I'll give you—a cent."
"Couldn't do it, nohow. What good's a cent to me?"
"A cent's a good deal of money. You can buy a stick of candy."
"'Tain't enough, Massa Wolverton. I ain't goin' to resk gettin' licked for a cent."
Cunning Clip knew that there was no danger of this, but he thought it would serve as an argument.
"I'll give you two cents," said Wolverton, impatiently.
"Couldn't do it," said Clip. "Ef it was five, now, I might 'sider it."
Finally Wolverton was obliged to accede to Clip's terms, and the colored boy pushed the boat to shore, and took in his passenger.
"Can you row good, Clip?" asked Wolverton, nervously, for he was very much afraid of the water, and he had never had Clip for a boatman before.
"You jes' bet I can, Massa Wolverton. I can row mos' as good as Massa Bob."
"Well, show it then; I am in a hurry to get over the creek."
Clip rowed to the middle of the creek, and then stopped paddling.
"I reckon you'd better pay me the money now, Massa Wolverton," he said.
"Why, you young rascal, are you afraid to trust me?"
"I dunno 'bout dat; but I wants my money."
"You haven't earned it yet. What are you afraid of?"
"You might forget to pay me, Massa Wolverton."
"No, I sha'n't. Push on."
"I'm goin' to sleep," said Clip, lying back in a lazy attitude.
"You young rascal! I've a good mind to fetch you a slap on the side of the head."
"Better not, Massa Wolverton," drawled Clip. "Might upset the boat."
"Give me the oars," said Wolverton, impatiently.
He took them; but he had never rowed in his life, and he almost immediately turned the boat around.
"Hi, yah!" laughed Clip, delighted. "Where was you raised, Massa Wolverton, not to understand rowin' no better dan dat?"
"Take the oars, you black scoundrel, and row me across, or I'll pitch you out of the boat!"
"Ef you do, what'll 'come of you, Massa Wolverton?" said Clip, not at all alarmed.
This was indeed an important consideration for a man so timid on the water as the real estate agent.
"You put me out of all patience," said Wolverton, furiously. "Are you going to row or are you not?"
"I want my money," said Clip.
Wolverton was compelled to hand over a nickel, but registered a vow that if ever he caught Clip on land, he would make him pay for his impudence.
Clip took the oars, and made very good progress till he was about fifty feet from the other side of the creek. Then he began to make the boat rock, stopping his rowing.
"What are you about?" shouted Wolverton, turning pale.
"It's good fun, ain't it, Massa Wolverton?" said Clip; laughing insolently.
"Stop, you little rascal! You'll upset the boat."
"Golly! ain't dis fun?" said Clip, continuing his rocking.
"I'll choke you, if you don't stop," screamed Wolverton.
He rose to catch hold of Clip. The boy jumped up, and ducked his head. The result of the combined motion was that the boat,which was flat-bottomed, capsized, and the two were thrown into the water.
There was no danger, for the water at this point was only four feet deep; and Clip could swim, while Aaron Wolverton was too tall to be drowned in that depth of water.
Wolverton was almost scared out of his wits. He cut such a ludicrous figure as he floundered in the water, that Clip screamed with delight. The black boy swam to the boat, and, managing to right her, got in again; but Wolverton waded to the shore, almost beside himself with rage.
"Is you wet, Massa Wolverton?" asked Clip, innocently, showing his white teeth.
"Come ashore, and I'll lick you!" shouted Wolverton, who had by this time landed, his clothes dripping wet.
"I reckon I'm too busy," answered Clip, with a grin. "I'm sorry you's wet, Massa Wolverton. Hi yah!"
"I'll wring your neck, you young tike!" said Wolverton, savagely.
"Dat old man's a hog," mused Clip. "Ain't much like my poor old gran'ther.Hewasalways kin' an' good. I mind him sittin' in front of de ole cabin door down in Arkansaw. I 'spec' de old chap's done dead afore this," concluded Clip, with a sigh.
Clip kept at a safe distance from shore, and the agent was compelled to defer his vengeance, and go to the house of an acquaintance to borrow some dry clothes.
When he returned, it is needless to say that it was not in Clip's boat.
He opened his desk, to enter a business transaction in his account-book, when he made a startling discovery.
The receipt had disappeared!
Wolverton uttered a cry of dismay when he found that the receipt had disappeared. With trembling fingers he turned over a pile of papers in the hope of finding the important paper.
"Where on earth can it be?" he asked himself, with a troubled face.
He set himself to consider when he had seen it last and where he had placed it.
"It must be in the desk somewhere," he decided, and resumed his search. Those of my readers who have mislaid any article can picture to themselves his increasing perplexity as the missing paper failed to turn up.
He was finally obliged to conclude that it was not in the desk. But, if so, where could it be? If not found, or if found by any one else, his situation would be an embarrassingone. He had assured Mrs. Burton that the interest money had not been paid. Now suppose the receipt were found, what would be the inference? He could not help acknowledging that it would look bad for him. Until he learned something of its whereabouts he would not dare to press Mrs. Burton for a second payment of the interest money.
"It is as bad as losing a hundred and fifty dollars," he groaned. "It is a pile of money to lose."
Aaron Wolverton did not appear to consider that it was losing what was not his property, and was only preventing him from pushing a fraudulent claim. He actually felt wronged by this inopportune loss. He felt somehow that he was the victim of misfortune.
But what could have become of the receipt? That was what troubled him. Was there anybody who was responsible for its disappearance? Naturally it would be important for Mrs. Burton to get hold of it; but then, they did not know of its existence. They had no evidence that the receipt had even been delivered to Richard Burton. Still it was possiblethat Bob Burton had visited the house, and searched the desk. He would inquire of his sister.
He opened the door leading to the kitchen, where Miss Sally Wolverton was engaged in some domestic employment.
"Sally, has the Burton boy been here this morning?"
"No; why should he come? He isn't one of your visitors, is he?"
"Was he here yesterday?"
"No; what makes you ask?"
"There was a little business, connected with the farm, which he might have come about."
"I am glad he didn't come," said Sally. "He's too high-strung for me."
"I don't like him myself; but sometimes we have to do business with those we don't like."
"That's so. How's the widder left?"
"She's got the ranch, but I hold a mortgage of three thousand dollars on it," replied her brother, his features expanding into a wintry smile. A man who can laugh heartily possesses redeeming traits, even if in some respectshe is bad; but Aaron Wolverton had never been known to indulge in a hearty laugh.
"Can she pay?"
"Not at present."
"Is the mortgage for a term of years?"
"No; it can be called in at the end of any year."
"I never liked that woman," said Miss Sally Wolverton, grimly.
Sally Wolverton did not like any woman who was younger and prettier than herself, and there were few who were not prettier. She had never known of her brother's infatuation for the lady she was criticising, otherwise she would have been tempted to express herself even more strongly. She was strongly opposed to his marriage, as this would have removed her from her place in his household, or, even if she remained, would have deprived her of her power. Aaron did not care at present to take her into his confidence. Still he could not forbear coming, in a faint way, to the defense of the woman he admired.
"Mrs. Burton is a fine-looking woman," he said.
"Fine looking!" repeated Sally with a contemptuous sniff. "I don't admire your taste."
"She isn't in your style, Sally," said Aaron, with a sly twinkle in his eye.
Sally Wolverton was taller than her brother, with harsh features, a gaunt, angular figure, and an acid expression.
"I hope not," she answered. "I hope I don't look like an insipid doll."
"You certainly don't, Sally; you have expression enough, I am sure."
"Do you think Mrs. Burton pretty?" asked Sally, suspiciously.
"Oh, so so!" answered Aaron, guardedly; for he did not care to reveal the secret to his sister at present. She was useful to him as a housekeeper, and moreover (an important point) she was very economical; more so than any person whom he could hire. He did indeed pay his sister, but only a dollar a week, and out of this she saved nearly one half, having the gift of economy in quite as large a measure as himself.
This assurance, and her brother's indifferent tone, relieved Sally from her momentarysuspicion. Yet, had she been able to read her brother's secret thoughts, she would have been a prey to anxiety. He had made up his mind, if ever he did marry Mrs. Burton, to give Sally her walking-ticket.
"I can't afford to support two women," he reflected, "and my wife ought to be able to do all the work in so small a household."
"Why are you so anxious to know whether any of the Burtons have been here?"
"I thought they might come," answered her brother, evasively. "You haven't seen anything of that black imp, Clip, have you?"
"No; has he any business with you?"
"I have some business with him," snarled Wolverton. "He played a trick on me this morning."
"What sort of a trick?"
"I got him to carry me across the creek in his boat, and he managed to upset me."
"Did he do it a-purpose?"
"Yes; he laughed like a hyena when he saw me floundering in the water."
"If he comes round here, I'll give him a lesson. I can't abide a nigger any way.They're as lazy as sin, and they ain't got no more sense than a monkey. It's my opinion they are a kind of monkey, any way."
Fortunately for the colored race all are not so prejudiced against them as Sally Wolverton—otherwise they would be in a bad case.
"By the way, Sally, have you seen a stray paper about the floor in my room?" asked Wolverton, with assumed carelessness.
"What sort of a paper was it?"
"It was a—a receipt," answered her brother, hesitating.
"What kind of a receipt—from whom?" asked Sally, who possessed her share of general curiosity.
"That isn't to the point. If you have seen such a paper, or picked it up, I shall feel relieved. I might have to pay the money over again if I don't find it."
This was misrepresenting the matter, but Wolverton did not think it expedient to give his sister a clew to so delicate a secret.
"No; I have seen no paper," she said shortly, not relishing his evasive reply. "Have you searched your desk?"
"Yes."
"And didn't find it?"
"No."
"Suppose I look. Four eyes are better than two."
"No, thank you, Sally," answered her brother, hastily. "I am particular about not having my papers disturbed."
Aaron Wolverton would have gained some valuable information touching the missing paper if he could have transferred himself at that moment to Burton's Ranch.
Bob and Clip were out in the yard when Sam Wolverton made his appearance, breathless and excited.
"What's the matter, Sam?" asked Bob, wondering.
"Let me catch my breath," gasped Sam. "I—I've got some good news."
"Then you are welcome. Has your uncle got married?"
"No; nor aunt Sally either," replied Sam. "What do you say to that?" and he drew from his vest pocket a long strip of paper.
"What's that?" asked Bob, eagerly.
"It's the receipt", answered Sam.
"What!" exclaimed Bob, in great excitement. "Not the receipt for the money?"
"That's just what it is," answered Sam, nodding emphatically.
"Let me see it."
Sam put the paper in Bob's hand.
There it was in regular form, a receipt for one hundred and fifty dollars, being the semi-annual interest on a mortgage on Burton's Ranch, dated on the day of Richard Burton's death, and signed by Aaron Wolverton.
"Hurrah!" shouted Bob, waving it aloft. "Then father did pay it, after all, and that mean scoundrel—excuse my speaking of your uncle in such terms, Sam—"
"I don't mind," said Sam, philosophically.
"That mean scoundrel wanted us to paythe money a second time. I'm ever so much obliged to you, Sam. But where on earth did you find it?"
"I'll tell you, Bob," answered Sam, perching himself on the fence. "This forenoon Uncle Aaron started out on business—I don't know where he went."
"I know," said Clip, giving way to a burst of merriment.
"How do you know?"
"I rowed him across de creek. I was out in de boat when old Massa Wolverton come along and axed me to take him across. I made him pay me a nickel, and he got into de boat," and Clip began to laugh once more.
"I don't see anything to laugh at, Clip."
"You would, massa Bob, ef you'd been dar. We was almost across when de old boat upset, yah! yah! and old Massa Wolverton—it makes me laugh like to split—tumbled into de water, and got wet as a drownded rat."
"Clip, you bad boy, you did it on purpose," said Bob, trying to look stern.
"Wish I may die!" asseverated Clip,stoutly, for he was not an imitator of George Washington. "Didn't de old man look mad, dough? He jest shook his fist at me, and called me a black imp, 'deed he did."
"I am afraid he was right, Clip," said Bob, shaking his head. "But you haven't told me about the receipt, Sam."
"He sent me into his room to get his hat, when right down on the floor by his desk, I saw a piece of paper. I remembered what you told me, Bob, about the receipt, so I picked it up and slipped it into my pocket. I had to be quick about it, for Uncle Aaron is always in a hurry. Well, I took out the hat, and I didn't dare to take out the paper and look at it till he was out of sight."
"And then—"
"Well, then I saw it was the paper you wanted."
"Mr. Wolverton took it from the pocket of my poor father when he lay dead on the spot where he was thrown out," said Bob, gravely. "It would be hard to think of a meaner piece of rascality."
"Well, I'm glad you've got it, Bob. I don'tknow as I was right in taking it, but I'll take the risk."
"If you never do anything worse than that, Sam, you won't have much to answer for. I wish you'd let me give you something."
"No, Bob, you are my friend, and it would be a pity if I couldn't do you a favor without getting paid for it."
"But this is a great favor. It is worth a hundred and fifty dollars. Without it we might, and probable would, have to pay the interest money over again. Now, when your uncle calls for it, we shall only have to show him the receipt."
"He'll wonder where it came from."
"I hope it won't get you into trouble, Sam."
"He won't suspect me. He'll know I couldn't break into his desk, and he won't know anything about having dropped it on the floor. I don't see how he came to be so careless."
"Depend upon it, Sam, it was the work of Providence. Mother says that God often overrules the designs of the wicked, and I think this is an instance. Henceforth, Sam,though you are old Wolverton's nephew, I shall consider you a friend of our family. Why can't you stay to supper to-night?"
"It would never do, Bob, unless I asked permission."
"Then ask permission."
"I am afraid it wouldn't be granted."
"If your uncle is as mean as I think he is, he would be glad for you to get a meal at the expense of somebody else."
"He wouldn't like to have me enjoy myself," said Sam.
"Is he so mean as that?"
"Whenever he hears me singing, he looks mad, and wants to know why I am making a fool of myself."
"He's an uncle to be proud of," said Bob, ironically.
"I just wish I could live at your house, Bob."
"Perhaps I can make an exchange, and give Clip to your uncle instead of you."
"Oh, Massa Bob, don't you do it!" exclaimed Clip, looking scared. "Old MassaWolverton would kill me, I know he would. He hates niggers, I heard him say so."
Bob and Sam laughed, being amused by the evident terror of the young colored boy.
"I won't do it, Clip, unless you are very bad," said Bob, gravely, "though I think Sam would be willing to change."
"Indeed I would," said Sam with a sigh. "There's no such good luck for me."
When Bob carried in the receipt and showed it to his mother, her face lighted up with joy.
"This is indeed a stroke of good fortune," she said; "or rather it seems like a direct interposition of Providence—that Providence that cares for the widow and the fatherless. You must make Sam a present."
"So I will, mother; but if he understands it is for this he won't take anything."
"Sam is evidently very different from his uncle. He is a sound scion springing from a corrupt trunk. Leave it to me to manage. Won't he stay to supper?"
"Not to-night. I invited him, but he was afraid to accept the invitation, for fear of being punished."
"Is his uncle so severe, then?"
"I suspect he beats Sam, though Sam doesn't like to own it."
"And this man, this cruel tyrant, wants to marry me," thought Mrs. Burton, shuddering.
Two days later Sam chanced to be in the house with the two boys, when Mrs. Burton passed through the room, and greeted him pleasantly.
"When is your birthday?" she asked.
"Last week—Thursday—ma'am."
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
"Did you receive a birthday present?"
Sam shook his head.
"There's no one to give me presents," he said.
"You have an uncle and aunt, Sam."
"They never give presents. They tell me I ought to be thankful that they take care of me, and save me from going to the poor-house."
"There would be no danger of that, Sam," said Bob. "If your uncle ever turns you out to shift for yourself, come and live with us."
"I wish he would turn me out to-morrow,then," said Sam; and it was evident the boy meant it.
"Sam, you will permit me to make up for your uncle's neglect," said Mrs. Burton, kindly. "Here is a neck-tie. I bought it for Robert, but I can get another for him. And here is something else which may prove acceptable."
She drew from her pocket a silver dollar, and put it into Sam's hand.
"Is this really for me?" asked Sam, joyfully.
"Yes; it is only a small gift, but—"
"I never had so much money before in my life," said Sam. "It makes me feel rich."
Mrs. Burton looked significantly at Bob. Her woman's wit had devised a way of rewarding Sam for the service he had done the family without his being aware of it.
The gift was well meant, but it was destined to get poor Sam into trouble.
Many a man who had come unexpectedly into a fortune of a hundred thousand dollars would not have felt so rich as Sam with his silver dollar. It must be remembered that he had never before had so much money at one time in his life. The prospect of spending it opened up dazzling possibilities. There were so many things that he wanted, that it was hard to decide which to select.
Among other things, Sam wanted a fishing-pole. There was a supply at a variety store in the village. He had never inquired the price, because he had no money. Now that he was wealthy he determined to inquire.
So he went into the store and, pointing to the coveted article, asked the price.
"Seventy-five cents," answered the old man, Gordon Locke, who kept the store.
"Seventy-five cents!" repeated Sam, thoughtfully.
This would only leave him twenty-five cents, and there were so many other things he wanted.
"Was you calc'latin' to buy, Sam?" asked Mr. Locke, pushing up his iron-bound spectacles.
"I don't know," said Sam, slowly; "I didn't think I'd have to pay so much."
"It's cheap, for the quality," said the store keeper. "This ain't no common fishing-pole. It comes all the way from York."
"Yes, it seems a nice one," Sam admitted.
"Hev you got the money about you?" asked the old man.
"Yes," answered Sam, unguardedly.
"Then you'd better take the pole. You won't find no better within fifty mile."
"I'll think about it," said Sam.
He could not make up his mind to part with his precious dollar so soon. As long as he had it, he felt like a man of property. When it was once changed, he would once more be a poor boy.
In spite of the storekeeper's persuasions, hewalked out with his money intact, leaving the coveted fishing-pole behind.
Now it so happened that his uncle, who never allowed anything to pass unnoticed, saw from the window Sam come out of the store, which was nearly opposite.
"What business has he there, I wonder?" he said to himself.
Five minutes later he made an errand to visit the store himself.
"Good-day, Mr. Wolverton," said Gordon Locke, deferentially.
"Good-day, Locke! Didn't I see my nephew, Sam, come out of here just now?"
"Like as not you did. He was here."
"What business had he here?"
"He was looking at them fishin'-rods."
"He was, hey?" said Wolverton, pricking up his ears.
"Yes; he reckoned he'd buy one soon."
"What's the price?"
"Seventy-five cents."
"He reckoned he'd pay seventy-five cents for a fishin'-rod," said Wolverton, slowly. "Did he show you the money?"
"No; but he said he had it."
"Oho, he had the money," repeated Aaron Wolverton, shaking his head ominously. "Where'd he get it? That's what I'd like to know."
"I reckon you gave it to him; he's your nephew."
"I don't pamper him in any such way as that. So he's got money. I'll have to look into that."
Wolverton, who was of a suspicious disposition, was led to think that Sam had stolen the money from him. He could think of no other way in which the boy could get possession of it.
He went home, and sought his sister Sally.
"Sally, where is Sam?"
"I don't know." Then, noticing the frown upon her brother's brow, she inquired, "Is anything the matter?"
"I think there is. Sam has money."
"What do you mean? Where'd he get it, Aaron?"
"That's what I want to find out," and he told her of Sam's visit to the store.
"Have you missed any money, Aaron?"
"Not that I know of. You haven't left any round?"
"No."
"It stands to reason the boy has taken money from one of us. Even if he hasn't, whatever he has belongs to me by right, as I am takin' care of him."
"Half of it ought to go to me," said Sally, who was quite as fond of money as her brother.
"I don't know about that. But where's the boy?"
"I don't know. He may have gone over to see the Burtons. He's there most of the time."
"I'll foller him."
Aaron Wolverton went into the shed, and came out with a horse-whip. He did not keep a horse, but still he kept a whip. For what purpose Sam could have told if he had been asked.
"If the boy's become a thief, I want to know it," said Wolverton to himself.
Sam had really started on the way to theBurtons. His uncle struck his trail, so to speak, and followed him. He caught up with his nephew about half a mile away. Sam had thrown himself down on the ground under a cotton-wood tree, and gave himself up to pleasant dreams of the independence which manhood would bring. In his reverie he unconsciously spoke aloud. "When I'm a man, Uncle Aaron won't dare to boss me around as he does now."
The old man, creeping stealthily near, overheard the words, and a malicious smile lighted up his wrinkled face.
"Oho, that's what he's thinkin' of already," he muttered. "What more?"
"I wish I could live with the Burtons," proceeded the unconscious Sam. "They would treat a boy decently."
"So I don't treat him decently," repeated Wolverton, his small eyes snapping.
He had by this time crawled behind the trunk of the tree under which Sam was reclining.
"I sometimes think I'd like to run away and never come back," continued Sam.
"You do, hey?" snarled Wolverton, as he stepped out from behind the tree.
Sam jumped to his feet in dire dismay, and gazed at his uncle panic-stricken.
"Did you just come?" he stammered. "I didn't hear you."
"No, I reckon not," laughed his uncle, with a queer smile. "So you want to get quit of your aunt and me, do you?"
"I don't reckon to live with you always," faltered Sam.
"No; but you ain't a-goin' to leave us just yet. There's a little matter I've got to inquire into."
Sam looked up inquiringly.
"What is it?"
"What did you go into Locke's store for?" demanded his uncle, searchingly.
"I just went in to look round," answered Sam, evasively.
"You went to look at a fishing-pole," said Aaron Wolverton, sternly.
"What if I did?" asked Sam, plucking up a little courage.
"Did you have the money to buy it?"
"Ye—es," answered Sam, panic stricken.
"How much money have you got?"
"A dollar."
"Which you stole from me!" asserted Wolverton, with the air of a judge about to sentence a criminal to execution.
"No, I didn't. It didn't come from your house."
"Where did it come from?"
"Mrs. Burton gave it to me—for my birthday."
"I don't believe it. It's one of your lies. Give it to me this instant."
Poor Sam became desperate. What! was he to lose the only money of any account which he ever possessed? He was not brave, but he made a stand here.
"You have no right to it," he said, passionately. "It's mine. Mrs. Burton gave it to me."
"I tell you it's a lie. Even if she had done so I should have the right, as your uncle, to take it from you. Give it to me!"
"I won't!" said Sam, desperately.
"Won't, hey?" repeated Wolverton, grimly. "Well, we'll see about that."
He raised the horse-whip, and in an instant Sam's legs—he was standing now—felt the cruel lash.
"Won't, hey?" repeated his uncle. "We'll see."
"Help!" screamed Sam. "Will no one help me?"
"I reckon not," answered his uncle, mockingly, and he raised his whip once more.
But before the lash could descend, it was snatched from him, and, turning angrily, he confronted Bob Burton, fierce and indignant, and saw Clip standing just behind him.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, you brute!" exclaimed Bob.
"Do you want me to thrash you, too?" snarled Wolverton, angrily.
"You can try, if you want to," returned Bob, contemptuously.
"Sam, what was he going to whip you for?" asked Bob, turning to his unfortunate friend.
"I'll answer that question," said Wolverton, "though it's no concern of yours. The boy has been robbing me."
"What have you to say, Sam?"
"It's not true."
"What do you charge him with taking, Mr. Wolverton?"
"A dollar."
"It's the one your mother gave me, Bob."
"To be sure! I saw her give it to you myself."
"He lies, and you swear to it," said Wolverton, with a sneer.
"Mr. Wolverton, you have brought a false charge against your nephew, and you know it. If you don't care to take his word or mine, you can come over to our house and ask my mother whether Sam's story is true."
"It doesn't matter whether it's true or false," said Wolverton, doggedly. "Sam is under my charge, and I have a right to any money he comes by."
"I always knew you were mean," said Bob, contemptuously, "but this is ahead of anything I ever imagined. Do you still accuse Sam of robbing you?"
"I don't know whether he did or not."
"You can easily satisfy yourself by calling on my mother."
"I mean to call on your mother, but it won't be on this business," said Wolverton, opening his mouth and showing the yellow fangs which served for teeth.
"You are at liberty to call on any business errand," said Bob.
"Indeed, you are very kind, remarkably kind, considering that the ranch is as much mine as your mother's."
"How do you make that out?"
"I have a mortgage on it for half its value."
"I deny it. The ranch is worth much more than six thousand dollars. Besides, the time has not yet come when you have the right to foreclose."
"There you are wrong, young man! As the interest has not been promptly paid, I can foreclose at any time."
"You will have to see my mother about that," said Bob, carefully concealing the fact that the receipt had been recovered.
"I thought you would change your tune," said Wolverton, judging from Bob's calmer tone that he was getting alarmed.
Bob smiled, for he felt that he had the advantage, and foresaw Wolverton's discomfiture when the receipt was shown him.
"I am not quite so excited as I was," headmitted. "When I saw you with the whip uplifted I was ready for anything."
"Give me back the whip!" said Wolverton, menacingly.
"Will you promise not to use it on Sam?"
"I'll promise nothing, you young whipper-snapper! What business have you to interfere between me and my nephew?"
"The right of ordinary humanity."
"Give me the whip."
"Then make me the promise?"
"I won't."
"Then I propose to keep it."
"I will have you arrested for theft."
"Do so. I will explain matters to Judge Turner."
Judge Turner, the magistrate before whom such cases came, heartily despised and hated Aaron Wolverton, as the latter knew full well. He would certainly dismiss any charge brought against Bob by such a man. This consideration naturally influenced him.
"Very well," he said, though with an ill grace, "if your mother gave Sam the money, I retract the charge of theft. Nevertheless,as his guardian, I demand that the dollar be given to me."
"Give it to me to keep for you, Sam," said Bob.
Sam gladly took it from his pocket, and threw it towards Bob, who dexterously caught it.
"Now, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob, quietly; "you will have to demand the money from me; Sam hasn't got it."
"You'll have to pay for your impudence, Robert Burton!" said Wolverton, wrathfully. "You forget that you are all in my power."
"You may find yourself mistaken, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob. "At any rate, I don't think I shall lose any sleep on that score."
"You can tell your mother I shall call this evening," continued Wolverton. "I expect her to be ready with the interest, which is long overdue."
"I will give her your message, Mr. Wolverton. Now, Clip, let us go on. Mr. Wolverton will excuse us, I know, when I tell him that we have an errand in the village."
"Yah, yah!" laughed Clip, gleefully; notthat there was anything particular to laugh at, but because it took very little to excite Clip's risibilities.
Mr. Wolverton turned upon Clip with a frown. He had not forgotten the trick Clip played upon him when he was upset in the river, and he would have liked nothing better than to flog him till he roared for mercy.
"What is that black ape grinning about?" he demanded.
Clip ought to have felt insulted, but he was only amused.
"Yah, yah!" he laughed again.
Aaron Wolverton made a dash at him with his recovered whip, but Clip nimbly jumped to one side and laughed again.
"Didn't do it dat time, Massa Wolverton," said Clip, showing his teeth.
"I'll get even with you yet, you black monkey!"
If Clip had been alone, Wolverton would have proceeded then and there to carry out his threat. But he had a wholesome respect for Bob, whose physical strength and prowess he well knew. It made him angry whenever hethought of this boy, who seemed born to be a thorn in his side. He was stronger than Wolverton, though the land agent was a man grown, and it was humiliating to Wolverton to be obliged to admit this fact.
But he had one consolation in the mortgage he held upon the Burton ranch. Here the law was on his side, and he saw his way clear to annoy and injure Bob and his family, without running any risk himself. As for the chance of the mortgage ever being paid off, that he thought extremely small. If Richard Burton were still alive, he would have been right, but Bob, young as he was, bade fair to be a better manager than his father. He was not so sanguine, or, if the truth must be told, so reckless in his expenditures. Besides, he knew, though his father was ignorant of it, that Wolverton, for some reason which he could not penetrate, was a bitter enemy of the family, and that his forbearance could not be depended upon.
When Bob and Clip had left the scene Aaron Wolverton turned to Sam, and scowled at his unfortunate nephew, in a way which was by no means pleasant or reassuring.
"I've a good mind to flog you for all the trouble you've brought upon me," he said.
"I don't see what I've done, uncle."
"You don't, hey? Haven't you sided with that upstart, the Burton boy?"
Sam was judiciously silent, for he saw his uncle was very much irritated.
"Why did you give that dollar to him?"
"He told me to."
"Suppose he did; is he your guardian or am I?"
"You are, Uncle Aaron."
"I'm glad you are willing to admit it. Then why did you give him the dollar?"
"Because his mother gave it to me. If you had given it to me, I wouldn't have done it."
"You'll have to wait a good while before I give you a dollar."
Sam was of the same opinion himself, but did not think it wise to say so.
"You deserve to be punished for what you have done," said his uncle, severely.
"I wish I were as strong and brave as Bob," thought Sam. "I don't see how he dares tostand up before Uncle Aaron and defy him. He makes me tremble."
The truth was, Sam was not made of heroic mold. He was a timid boy and was easily overawed. He lacked entirely the qualities that made Bob so bold and resolute. He could admire his friend, but he could not imitate him.
"Now, come home," said Wolverton, shortly.
Sam followed his uncle meekly.
When they reached home Sam was set to work. At twelve o'clock the bell rang for dinner. Sam dropped his axe (he had been splitting wood) and entered the kitchen, where the frugal meal was spread. His uncle was already sitting in his place, and Sam prepared to sit down in his usual chair.
"Samuel," said his uncle, "you have disobeyed me. You do not deserve any dinner."
Sam's countenance fell, for he was very hungry.
"I am very hungry," he faltered.
"You should have thought of that when you disobeyed me and gave your money to the Burton boy. This is intended as a salutarylesson, Samuel, to cure you of your stubbornness and disobedience."
"You are quite right, Aaron," said Miss Sally in her deep voice. "Samuel needs chastening."
Poor Sam slunk out of the door in a state of depression. Not being ordered to return to his work, he went out into the street, where he met Bob and Clip, and to them he told his tale of woe.
"Your uncle is as mean as they make 'em," said Bob. "Here, go into the baker's and buy some doughnuts and pie."
He handed Sam a quarter, and the hungry boy followed his advice, faring quite as well as he would have done at his uncle's table. Rather to Mr. Wolverton's surprise, he worked all the afternoon without showing signs of hunger, and that gentleman began to consider whether, after all, two meals a day were not sufficient for him.
Though the receipt was lost, Wolverton could not give up his plan of extorting the interest from Mrs. Burton a second time. It might have been supposed that he would have some qualms of conscience about robbing the widow and the fatherless, but Mr. Wolverton's conscience, if he had any, gave him very little trouble. He would have thought himself a fool to give up one hundred and fifty dollars if there was the slightest chance of securing them.
Towards evening of the day on which Bob had interfered with him, he took his hat and cane, and set out for Burton's Ranch.
It so happened that Bob answered the bell. He had been sitting with his mother, chatting about their future plans.
"Good-evening, Mr. Wolverton," said Bob,who felt it incumbent upon him to be polite to a guest, even though he disliked him.
"Evening," returned Wolverton, curtly. "Is your mother at home?"
"Yes, sir. Will you come in?"
Wolverton had not the good manners to acknowledge the invitation with thanks, but strode into the sitting-room, following Bob.
The widow anticipated his visit, having been informed by Bob that he had announced his intention of coming.
"Good-evening, Mr. Wolverton. Take a seat," she said, pointing to a chair a few feet from her own. "Robert, take Mr. Wolverton's hat."
Wolverton looked at the widow with a hungry gaze, for she was the only woman, he had ever loved.
"If she would only marry me, all her troubles would be over," he said to himself. "She's a fool to refuse."
We, who have some idea of Mr. Wolverton's character and disposition, are more likely to conclude that marriage with such a man would be only the beginning of trouble.
"I've come on business, Mrs. Burton," said the visitor, in an aggressive tone.
"State it, if you please, Mr. Wolverton," the widow answered, calmly.
"Hadn't you better send your son out of the room? We'd better discuss this matter alone."
"I have no secrets from Robert," said the widow.
"Oh, well, just as you please; I don't care to have him interfere in what doesn't concern him."
"Any business with my mother does concern me," said Bob; "but I will try not to give you any trouble."
"The business is about that interest," Wolverton began, abruptly.
"What interest?"
"You must know what I mean—the interest on the mortgage."
"My husband paid it on the day of his death."
"It's easy enough to say that," sneered Wolverton, "but saying it isn't proving it, as you must have the good sense to know."
"When my husband left me on that fatal morning, he told me that he was going to your office to pay the interest. I know he had the money and with him, for he had laid down the wallet, and I saw the roll of bills."
"Why didn't he pay it, then? That's what I'd like to know."
"Didn't he pay it to you, Mr. Wolverton?" asked Mrs. Burton, with a searching glance. "Carry back your memory to that day, and answer me that question."
Mr. Wolverton showed himself a little restive under this interrogatory, but he assumed an air of indignation.
"What do you mean, widder?" he demanded, bringing down his cane with emphasis upon the floor. "Do you doubt my word?"
"I think you may be mistaken, Mr. Wolverton," said Mrs. Burton, composedly.
"Who has been putting this into your head, widder? Is it that boy of yours?"
Bob answered for himself:
"I don't mind saying that I did tell mother that I thought the money had been paid."
"Humph! you think yourself mighty smart, Bob Burton," snarled Wolverton. "Nat'rally you'd like to get rid of paying the interest, if you could; but you've got a business man to deal with, not a fool."
"You are no fool where money is concerned, there's no doubt about that. But I want to ask you one thing, if my father didn't pay you the money which mother can testify to his carrying with him on the morning of his death, what became of it?"
"How should I know? Did you search his wallet when he was brought home?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't find the money?"
"No."
"So you conclude that he paid it to me. Let me tell you, young man, that doesn't follow. He may have been robbed when he was lying on the ground insensible."
"I think very likely he was," returned Bob, quietly.
"What do you mean by that?" demanded Wolverton, uneasily. "Who could have robbed him?"
"Possibly some one that we wouldn't be likely to suspect."
"What does he mean? Can he possibly suspect me?" thought Wolverton, fixing his eyes on Bob's face. "But no! I certainly didn't take any money from him."
"You may be right," he said aloud; "but that hasn't anything to do with my claim for interest. Whether your father was robbed of the money, or spent it, is all one to me. It wasn't paid to me, I can certify."
"Would you be willing to swear that the money was not paid to you that day, Mr. Wolverton?"
"Do you mean to insult me? Haven't I told you it was not paid?"
"Do you expect me to pay it to you, then?" asked Mrs. Burton.
"Widder, I am surprised you should ask such a foolish question. It lies in a nutshell. I'm entitled to interest on the money I let your husband have on mortgage. You admit that?"
"Yes."
"I'm glad you admit that. As your husbanddidn't pay, I look to you for it. I can say no more."
Mrs. Burton took a pocket-book from a pocket in her dress, and handed it to Robert. Bob opened it, and drew therefrom a folded paper.
"Mr. Wolverton," he said, quietly, "I hold in my hand a receipt signed by yourself for the interest—one hundred and fifty dollars—dated the very day that my poor father died. What have you to say to it?"
Mr. Wolverton sprang to his feet, pale and panic-stricken.
"Where did you get that paper?" he stammered, hoarsely.