CHAPTER V.UNCLE JACOB RECEIVES HIS WALKING PAPERS.
Squire Marlowe returned to the breakfast room, wearing rather an embarrassed expression. Percy had followed his mother, and the old man found himself for a short time alone. There was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, which vanished on the reappearance of his nephew.
"I am sorry to have left you alone, Uncle Jacob," said the squire, civilly.
"Oh, don't treat me with any ceremony, Albert. Being as we are such near relations, we ought to be free and easy like."
"I am glad to hear you say so, for I shall be obliged to treat you unceremoniously."
"Eh?" said Uncle Jacob, inquiringly.
"I regret to say that my wife, who is of averydelicate organization, is taken suddenly ill, and I am afraid I shall have to ask you to cut your visit short, and come again some other time."
"I'm surprised to hear that, Albert. I thought Mrs. Marlowe looked in excellent health."
"You can't always tell by outward appearances. She is subject to severe headaches, and in that condition can't bear the least noise or excitement. That is why I can't invite you to stay any longer."
"I understand," said Uncle Jacob, with—it might have been—a little significance in his tone.
"I have no doubt," went on the squire, "that Mrs. Barton will be glad to have you pay her a short visit. I will get Percy to drive you down there."
"Thank you," answered the old man, dryly, "but it's only a little way, and I don't mind walking."
"Just as you prefer," said the squire, relieved by Uncle Jacob's declination of his offer, for he knew that Percy would not enjoy the trip.
"I'll get ready to go at once, Albert. Oh, about my plan of opening a cigar store in Lakeville?"
"I cannot advise you to do it," rejoined the squire, hastily. "You wouldn't make enough to pay your rent, or not much more."
"Don't the men in your factory smoke? There's a good many of them. If I could get their trade——"
"They smoke pipes for the most part," said the squire, hurriedly. "They'd find cigars too expensive."
"I meant to combine candy with cigars. That would be a help."
"They keep candy at the grocery store, Uncle Jacob."
"I see there isn't much show for me. Now if I only understood your business, you could give me something to do in the factory, Albert."
"But you don't, and, in fact, Uncle Jacob, it's too hard work for a man of your age."
"Then what would you advise me to do, Albert?" asked the old man, earnestly.
Squire Marlowe assumed a thoughtful look. In fact, he was puzzled to decide how best to get rid of the troublesome old man. To havehim remain in Lakeville was not to be thought of. He would gladly have got rid of Mrs. Barton and her son, whose relationship to his family was unfortunately known, but there seemed to be no way clear to that without the expenditure of money. To have Uncle Jacob for a neighbor, in addition, would be a source of mortification, not only to himself, but even more to his wife and Percy, whose aristocratic ideas he well knew.
"I think you told me you had five hundred dollars," he said, after a pause.
"About that."
"Then I really think it would be the best thing you could do to go back to California, where you are known, and where you can doubtless obtain some humble employment which will supply your moderate wants. It won't cost you much for dress——"
"No, Albert; this coat and vest will do me for best five years longer."
"Just so! That is fortunate. So you see you've only got your board to pay."
"I might get sick," suggested Uncle Jacob, doubtfully.
"You look pretty healthy. Besides, you'll have part of your five hundred dollars left, you know."
"That's so! What a good calculator youare, Albert! Besides, if things came to the worst, there's that five hundred dollars I lent your father twenty-seven years ago. No doubt you'd pay me back, and——"
"I don't know what you refer to," said Squire Marlowe, coldly.
"Surely you haven't forgot the time when your father was so driven for money, when you were a lad of fifteen, and I let him have all I had except about fifty dollars that I kept for a rainy day."
"This is news to me, Uncle Jacob," said the squire, with a chilling frown. "You must excuse me for saying that I think you labor under a delusion."
Uncle Jacob surveyed his neighbor intently, with a gaze which disconcerted him in spite of his assurance.
"Fortunately, I am able to prove what I say," he rejoined, after a slight pause.
He drew from his pocket a wallet which bore the signs of long wear, and, opening it, deliberately drew out a folded sheet of note paper, grown yellow with age and brittle with much handling. Then, adjusting his spectacles, he added: "Here's something I'd like to read to you, Albert. It's written by your father:
My Dear Jacob:I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for lending me the five hundred dollars I so urgently need. I know it is very nearly, if not quite, all you possess in the world, and that you can ill spare it. It will save me from failure, and sometime I hope to repay it to you. If I cannot, I will ask my son Albert to do so when he is able. I don't want you to lose by your kindness to me.Your affectionate brother,Charles Marlowe.
My Dear Jacob:
I cannot tell you how grateful I am to you for lending me the five hundred dollars I so urgently need. I know it is very nearly, if not quite, all you possess in the world, and that you can ill spare it. It will save me from failure, and sometime I hope to repay it to you. If I cannot, I will ask my son Albert to do so when he is able. I don't want you to lose by your kindness to me.
Your affectionate brother,
Charles Marlowe.
"You can see the signature, Albert. You know your father's handwriting, don't you?"
Squire Marlowe reluctantly took the paper and glanced at it.
"It may be my father's writing," he said.
"May be!" repeated the old man, indignantly. "What do you mean by that?"
"I dare say it is. In fact, I remember his mentioning the matter to me before he died."
"What did he say?"
"That it was quite a favor to him, the loan, but that he repaid it within three years from the time he received it."
"What!" exclaimed Uncle Jacob, pushing his spectacles up, in his amazement. "Your father said that?"
"Yes, he did," answered Albert Marlowe, with unabashed effrontery.
"That he paid back the five hundred dollars I lent him?"
"That's what I said," repeated the squire, impatiently.
"Then it's a lie—not of my brother's, but of—somebody's. That money remains unpaid to this day."
Squire Marlowe shrugged his shoulders. "No doubt you think so," he said, "but you are growing old, and old people are forgetful. That is the most charitable view to take of your statement."
"I wouldn't have believed this, Albert," said the old man, sorrowfully. "And you a rich man, too! I don't mind the money. I can get along without it. But to be told that I am claiming what has already been repaid!"
"I don't lay it up against you," went on the squire, smoothly. "I've no doubt you have forgotten the payment of the debt, and——"
"I don't forget so easily, though I am sixty-five. Don't fear that I shall ask for it again—indeed, I haven't asked for it at all—but I shall not forget how you have treated my claim. Of course it amounts to nothing in law—it's outlawed long ago—but I only wishmy poor brother were alive to disprove your words."
Even Albert Marlowe was shamed by the old man's sorrowful dignity.
"We can't agree about that, Uncle Jacob," he said; "but if ever you get very hard up, let me know, and I'll see if I can't help you—in a small way."
"You are very kind," answered the old man, "but I don't think that time will come. As you say, my wants are few, and I am still able to work. I'll go up to my room and get my valise, and then I'll go over to Mary Barton's."
"Thank Heaven! I've got rid of him," mused the squire, as from the doorway he saw Uncle Jacob walking slowly down the street. "I was afraid he'd mention that money he lent father. With twenty-seven years' interest it would amount to a good deal of money—more than I could well spare. I don't think I shall hear from it again."
"Has he gone, Albert?" asked Mrs. Marlowe, returning to the breakfast-room.
"Yes; I told him you were indisposed, and couldn't stand excitement."
"No matter what you told him, as long as we are rid of him."
CHAPTER VISQUIRE MARLOWE IS SURPRISED.
Mrs. Barton was washing the breakfast dishes, and was alone, Bert having gone to his daily work at the shoe shop, when the outer door opened and Uncle Jacob entered the cottage, valise in hand.
"I've accepted your offer sooner than you expected, Mary," he said.
"You are heartily welcome, Uncle Jacob," responded his niece, with evident sincerity. "If you can put up with our poor accommodations after being entertained in Albert's luxurious home——"
"Don't trouble yourself about that, Mary," interrupted the old man. "Albert doesn't want me. He civilly asked me to find another stopping place."
"You don't mean it!" exclaimed Mrs. Barton indignantly.
"You see," explained Uncle Jacob, with a quiet smile, "his wife was taken suddenly indisposed—after she found I wasn't as rich as she expected."
"I hope you won't take it too much to heart, Uncle Jacob," observed Mary Barton, in a tone of solicitude.
Uncle Jacob's amused laugh reassured her.
"It is just what I expected, Mary," he said, "and I shan't grieve over it much. You ought to have seen how they all looked when I asked Albert's advice about opening a small cigar and candy store in the village. You can imagine what a mortification it would be to my high-toned nephew to have my sign out,
JACOB MARLOWE,Candy and Cigars.
over a small seven by nine store, when our relationship was known."
"I hope that won't prevent your carrying out the plan, Uncle Jacob. If your gains are small, you can make your home with us and pay what you can afford."
"Thank you, Mary, you are a true friend, and I shan't forget your kind offer. But I never had the slightest idea of opening such a store. I only mentioned it to test Albert."
"But you will have to do something, Uncle Jacob," said Mary Barton, perplexed; "and that would be as easy as anything. Bert could go in the evening and help you if you found it too confining."
"I have something else in view in the city," returned Jacob. "I don't need to earn much you know. I don't set up to be a dude," headded, with a comical glance at his rustic attire, "and I don't mean to board at the Fifth Avenue Hotel."
"I am sorry you can't stay in Lakeville," said Mrs. Barton regretfully.
"I will stay here a week, Mary, to get acquainted with you and your boy. I have taken a fancy to him. He is a fine, manly youth, worth a dozen of such fellows as Percy Marlowe."
"Indeed, he is a good boy," said his mother proudly. "I don't see what I could do without him."
"So, Mary, if you'll show me where you are going to accommodate me, I'll go up and take possession."
"Will you mind my putting you in with Bert? I have but two chambers."
"Not a bit. It will be all the better. If I were going to stay here permanently I would build an extension to the house for you."
"But that would be expensive, Uncle Jacob."
"So it would. I'm always forgetting that I am not a rich man. You see I was rich once. As I told Albert, I have seen the time when I had a hundred thousand dollars to my credit in a bank of Sacramento."
"Oh, Uncle Jacob! Why didn't you investit in government bonds, and you would have been independent for life?"
"Because I was not so prudent as my niece, I suppose. However, it's no use crying over spilt milk, and I've got a matter of five hundred dollars left."
"But that won't last long, Uncle Jacob."
"Not unless I work. But I'm pretty rugged yet, and I guess I can manage to scrape along."
When Bert came home to dinner, he was surprised and pleased to find Uncle Jacob installed and evidently feeling quite at home.
"I wish I could stay at home this afternoon to keep you company," he said; "but I have only an hour for dinner."
"Business first, my boy!" said the old man. "For pleasure we'll wait till this evening. Is there a livery stable in the village?"
"Yes, sir; Houghton's."
"Then after supper we'll hire a buggy, and you and your mother and I will take a ride."
"But, Uncle Jacob, you forget that it will cost a dollar, or perhaps two."
"No, I don't, Mary; but I'm having a vacation, and I want to enjoy myself a little before pitching into hard work again. I am sure you will be the better for a ride."
"Yes, I shall. I haven't had one for months, and it will be a real treat."
"Then we will cast prudence to the winds for once, and have a good time. I suppose you can drive, Bert."
"Oh yes, sir; I like it. I worked for a few weeks in the grocery store, and drove every day. I like a horse."
"So do I; but I don't care much about handling the reins myself. You'll promise not to upset the carriage, as Percy did the other day?"
"Not unless we meet two tramps, as he did," said Bert, laughing.
"I declare, Mary, there is your boy calling his old uncle a tramp."
"And myself, too, uncle."
"That makes it seem a little better. Are you going back to the shop?"
"Yes, uncle; my time is up."
"I'll walk along with you."
As the two walked together, Uncle Jacob took a five dollar bill from his pocket, and handed it to Bert.
"There, Bert," he said, "I want you to give that to your mother toward buying groceries and meat this week, as her expenses will be increased by my being in the house."
"But, Uncle Jacob, we don't want you to pay board."
"I am able to do it, and prefer it, Bert. So say no more about it."
In truth, this donation was a relief to Bert and his mother, for they were compelled to economize closely, and yet wanted to live well while Uncle Jacob was visiting them.
About seven o'clock Bert drove round to the house in a handsome top buggy, drawn by a spirited black horse, the best in Houghton's stable.
"I'll let you have it, Bert," said Mr. Houghton, "because I know you're a careful driver. There are few persons I would trust with Prince."
"You may depend on me, Mr. Houghton."
"I know I can, Bert;" and with a few directions the stable keeper resigned the turnout to Bert.
"You have got a stylish rig, Bert," said Uncle Jacob. "I think we shall have to drive by Albert Marlowe's."
"Just what I would like," remarked Bert, with a smile.
Bert had his share of human nature, and rather enjoyed being seen by his aristocratic relatives in such a stylish turnout.
Supper was over at Squire Marlowe's and the family were sitting on the piazza, the evening being warm, when Percy espied the buggy approaching.
"I wonder who's driving Houghton's best team?" he said.
"By gracious, if it isn't Bert Barton and his mother and Uncle Jacob!" he exclaimed, a minute later.
The squire adjusted his eyeglasses, and looked at the carriage now nearly opposite.
"You are right, Percy," he said.
"What can it mean, Albert?" asked his wife, in bewilderment, as Uncle Jacob bowed from the buggy.
"It means that a fool and his money are soon parted," answered the squire.
"I thought your uncle was poor."
"So he is, and he will soon be poorer from all appearances. Uncle Jacob never was a good financial manager. He was always too liberal, or he wouldn't be as poor as he is now. Why with five hundred dollars he probably feels as rich as a nabob."
"No doubt Bert Barton will help him spend it," said Percy. "It won't last long at any rate, if he drives out every evening."
"When his money is all gone he will probably throw himself on you for support, father."
"I wash my hands of him," said Squire Marlowe, in a hard tone. "If he squanders his money, he must take the consequences."
"I am glad to hear you speak in that way, Albert," commented his wife, approvingly.
Uncle Jacob enjoyed his drive and paid two dollars at the stable without letting the thought of his extravagance worry him.
"I hope you enjoyed it, Mary," he said.
"I don't know when I have enjoyed myself so much, Uncle Jacob."
"Nor I," put in Bert.
"Then I think the money well spent. It makes me feel young again, Mary. I think I made a mistake in staying away so long."
CHAPTER VII.UNCLE JACOB LEAVES LAKEVILLE.
On his way home to dinner the next day, Bert fell in with Percy Marlowe.
"I saw you out driving last evening," remarked Percy.
"Yes," answered Bert composedly.
"You had Houghton's best team?"
"Yes."
"How much did you have to pay?"
"I believe Uncle Jacob paid two dollars."
"He must be crazy to pay two dollars for a ride. Why, he's almost a pauper."
"I think that ishisbusiness, Percy. As to being a pauper, I don't believe he will ever be that."
"Don't be too sure of it. Why, he told father he had only five hundred dollars. How long do you think that's going to last him if he throws away his money on carriage rides?"
"It's only for once, and, as I said, that isn't our business."
"I don't know about that, either. When he has spent all his money he'll be coming upon father to support him."
"I don't believe he will," said Bert, to whom it was disagreeable to hear the kind old man spoken of slightingly.
"You see if he doesn't. But it won't do any good. Father says as he makes his bed he must lie on it. And I say, Bert Barton, it isn't very creditable to you and your mother to help the old man squander his money."
"I don't thank you for your advice, Percy Marlowe," retorted Bert, with spirit. "If ever Uncle Jacob does come to want, I'll work for him, and help him all I can."
"You! why you're as poor as poverty itself!" exclaimed Percy, with a mocking laugh.
"Good morning!" said Bert shortly, provoked, but not caring to prolong the discussion.
When he reached home, he gave Uncle Jacob an account of his conversation with Percy.
The old man laughed.
"So Albert says that as I make my bed I must lie upon it?" he repeated.
"Yes, sir; but I hope you won't be troubled at that. You will always be welcome here."
Uncle Jacob's eyes grew moist, and he regarded Bert with affection.
"You are a good boy and a true friend, Bert," he said, "and I shall not forget it."
"I don't know but Percy was right, Uncle Jacob. It does seem extravagant paying such a price for a ride."
"It's only for once in a way, Bert. You mustn't grudge the old man a little enjoyment in his vacation. I shall be going to work next week."
"You will? Where?" asked Bert eagerly.
"In New York. An old California friend of mine, who is in charge of a mine that has been put on the New York market, will give me a clerkship and a small salary which will support me in comfort. So you see I am all right."
"I am very glad to hear it, Uncle Jacob," said Bert joyfully. "I was afraid youwouldn't find anything to do, and would have to spend all your money on living."
"Come, Bert, that isn't much of a compliment to my ability. If Iamsixty-five, I am able to earn a living yet, and though twelve dollars a week isn't much——"
"If I could earn twelve dollars a week I should feel rich, Uncle Jacob."
"True, but you are only fifteen."
"Almost sixteen."
"I forgot that," said Uncle Jacob, smiling. "Well, even at sixteen, a boy can hardly expect to earn as much as twelve dollars a week. By the way, how much does Albert pay you?"
"Four dollars a week."
"Is that about the usual price for boys employed as you are?"
"Most shoe bosses pay more. The squire pays low wages all round."
"Then why don't the men go elsewhere?"
"Because they live here, and it is better to work cheaper here than to move. Some have gone away."
"Well, keep up your courage, Bert, and the time will come when you will be earning twelve dollars a week like your rich old uncle. If the office were only in Lakeville, so that I could board with your mother——"
"I wish it was, Uncle Jacob."
"Well, Mary, I shan't have to open a cigar store in Lakeville," remarked Uncle Jacob, as his niece entered the room.
Mrs. Barton looked an inquiry, and Bert exclaimed: "Uncle Jacob has secured a clerkship in New York at twelve dollars a week."
"I amreallyglad!" said Mrs. Barton, with beaming face.
"Come, Mary, did you too think, like Bert here, that I was headed for the poorhouse?"
"I felt a little anxious for you, Uncle Jacob, I admit."
"You see that your fears were idle."
"Will you have to work very hard?" asked Mrs. Barton.
"No; my employer is an intimate friend."
"When do you commence work?"
"Next Monday, so that I must leave you on Saturday."
"Bert and I will both miss you; but as it is for your good, we won't complain. Now, Uncle Jacob, I hope you won't take it amiss if I urge you not to be too free with your money, but to try to save up some of your salary so that you can add to your little fund."
"Thank you, Mary. I suppose you are afraid I will be driving fast horses in Central Park, eh?"
"I am more afraid you will be too generouswith your money, and give away more than you can afford."
"Well thought of, Mary! So far from that, I am going to turn miser and hoard up every cent I can."
"I don't think there is much danger of that."
"Oh, you have no idea how mean I can be if I try. However, as I shall be acting according to your advice, you can't find fault with me."
"I see you don't mean to follow my advice, Uncle Jacob."
"Still I am glad you gave it. It shows that you feel a real interest in your shabby old uncle. Some time—I can't promise how soon—I shall invite you and Bert to come and spend the day in New York. I will get a day off from the office, and we'll have a nice excursion somewhere."
On Friday, Uncle Jacob called on Squire Marlowe; not at the house, however, but at the factory.
"I've come to bid you good-by, Albert," he said.
"Are you going back to California?" asked the Squire.
"No, I am going to New York."
"It is expensive living in New York."
"I have obtained a situation there."
"Ah, indeed! That is different. What sort of a position?"
"I shall be a clerk in a mining office."
"What pay will you get?"
"Twelve dollars a week."
"Very fair! I congratulate you. You ought to live on that and save money besides."
"That's what Mary Barton says."
"Then she gives you very sensible advice. It will be a great deal better than opening a cigar store in Lakeville."
"I wouldn't do that after what you said on the subject," returned Uncle Jacob in a deferential tone, though there was a twinkle in his eye.
"I am glad you recognize the fact that I counseled you for your good," said the Squire pompously. "As an experienced business man, my judgment is worth something, I apprehend."
"Quite so, Albert; quite so! Is your wife feeling better?"
(Uncle Jacob had seen Mrs. Marlowe riding out the day before, apparently in full health.)
"She is somewhat improved, but still delicate," said Squire Marlowe guardedly. "I am sorry I cannot invite you to dine with us again before you go to the city."
"I should hardly be able to do so, as I go away to-morrow."
"Just so! I will say good-by for you, and that will do just as well."
"That's a load off my mind!" soliloquized the squire, after Uncle Jacob had left him. "I was afraid the old man would squander all his money, and then come upon me for that old loan. I hope he'll keep away from Lakeville in the future."
The next day Uncle Jacob left town. As he quitted the house, he put a sealed envelope into Mary Barton's hand.
"If you are ever in trouble, and cannot communicate with me," he said, "open this envelope. Take good care of it!"
"I will, Uncle Jacob. I will put it away in my trunk."
"Well, good-by, Mary, and God bless you!"
A minute later and Uncle Jacob was gone. Mrs. Barton went back to covering balls and Bert to his place in the shoe shop. Their united earnings enabled them to live comfortably, and they were content, though they had nothing to spare. But trouble was close at hand, though they did not suspect it.
What that trouble was will be disclosed in the next chapter.
CHAPTER VIII.DISCHARGED.
Three days later, while on his way to the factory, Bert overtook Luke Crandall, who was employed like himself in pegging shoes.
"Have you heard the news, Bert?" asked his friend.
"No; what is it?"
"All the peggers are to be discharged; you and I, and the two other boys."
"Is that true?" asked Bert, stopping short, and surveying his friend with a look of dismay.
"Yes; I wish it wasn't."
"What is the reason?"
"The squire has bought a pegging machine, and he has hired a man from out of town to run it. So he will have no need of us."
"How soon is he going to put it in?" asked Bert, with a sinking heart.
"Next Monday. At the end of this week we shall be discharged."
"What are you going to do?" Bert inquired, after a pause.
"I shall be all right. I have an uncle who keeps a store in Bradford, and I am going there to tend in the store, and shall board in the family. What shall you do?"
"I don't know," answered Bert soberly. "This has come on me so suddenly, that I haven't had time to think."
"There's precious little chance for a boy in Lakeville, unless he goes to work on a farm."
"I don't even know if there is a chance to do that. All the farmers are supplied with help. Besides, they generally pay a boy in his board and clothes, and I need money to help support my mother."
"Isn't old Marlowe your uncle?"
"No, but he is my mother's cousin."
"Then he ought to do something for you out of relationship."
"I don't expect it," answered Bert. "He appears to feel very little interest in us."
They had reached the factory, and entering, were soon at work. Before noon the bad news was confirmed, and the boys were informed that their services would not be required after Saturday night.
At dinner Bert informed his mother, and she too was dismayed. It was a calamity she had never dreamed of. She supposed Bert was sure of continued employment in pegging till he was old enough to be employed in some other part of the business.
"I don't see what we shall do, Bert," she said. "There is no other shop in Lakeville.If there were, you might get a chance there."
"There is no business of any kind here outside of Marlowe's shop."
"True. What are the other boys going to do?"
"Luke Crandall is going into his uncle's shop at Bradford, and the other two boys talk of leaving town."
"I do think Albert Marlowe might find some place for you. We are near relations, and he knows how I depend on your earnings."
"He isn't a man to consider that, mother."
Mrs. Barton was silent, but she determined to make an application to her cousin in Bert's behalf. Accordingly, in the evening, she said to him. "Bert, I am going out to make a call. I would like to have you look after the house while I am gone."
"Yes, mother."
Mrs. Barton did not venture to let Bert know of her intention, for he would have done his best to prevent her applying to the squire for a special favor. Perhaps he was too proud, but it was an honorable pride. Besides, he knew very well that the appeal was likely to prove ineffectual.
With a faltering step Mrs. Barton advanced and rang the bell of her cousin's handsomehouse. It was a call from which she shrank, but she was spurred by necessity.
"Is Mr. Marlowe in?" she inquired.
"I will see, ma'am."
Squire Marlowe was at home, and she was ushered into his presence.
Albert Marlowe was not, on the whole, surprised to see his cousin. He guessed the errand that brought her, and he frowned slightly as she entered the room.
"Good evening," he said, in a distant tone. "I hope you are well."
"Well in health, but anxious in mind, Albert," she said. "Bert tells me that he has been discharged from the shop."
"Yes, but he is not the only one. There are three other boys."
"It has come upon us like a thunderbolt. I had no idea that he was in any danger of losing his place."
"I have nothing against your son, Mrs. Barton. It is a business necessity that compels me to dispense with his services."
"Why a business necessity?"
"You may have heard that I intend to introduce a pegging machine. It will do the work cheaper and more effectually than under the present system."
"Oh, why couldn't you have let matters remain as they were? You may gain something, but you are depriving the boys of their livelihood."
"You don't regard the matter in a business light, Mrs. Barton. I must keep up with the times. Other manufacturers are making the change, and I should stand in my own light if I adhered to the old-fashioned system."
"I don't pretend to know about business, Albert, but I do know that in dismissing Bert you deprive us of more than half our income, and Heaven knows we need it all."
"Your son can find something else to do."
"What is there for him to do in Lakeville? I shall be grateful if you will suggest anything."
"No doubt he can get a chance to work on a farm."
"I know of no farmer who needs his services, and even if there were one he would not get money for his services, and that is what we want."
"Of course farming isn't the only thing," said the squire vaguely. "If he looks round sharp he will come across something——"
Mrs. Barton shook her head.
"You know how little business there is in Lakeville," she answered. "Isn't there someother department in the factory in which you can employ him?"
Squire Marlowe shook his head.
"He is too young for any other work," he said.
"Then what are we to do?"
"Oh, you'll think of something," said the squire indefinitely. "He is to be in the shop the rest of the week, and that will give you time to think the matter over."
"Then you can't hold out any hope!" said Mrs. Barton mournfully.
"No, but you mustn't be despondent. Something will turn up."
Mrs. Barton was silent, and her sad face made the squire vaguely uncomfortable. He wished she would go.
"Mrs. Marlowe is not feeling well this evening," he said awkwardly, "or I would invite you to meet her. Some other evening——"
"I am not in the mood to meet any one to-night, Albert," she said. "I will be going," and she rose from her chair and moved toward the door.
"Good-evening, then. I am glad to have seen you."
Mrs. Barton did not reply to the compliment. Her heart was too full of sorrow to respond to what she knew to be insincere andunmeaning. She understood very well that Albert Marlowe was glad to be rid of her.
"How unreasonable women are!" muttered Squire Marlowe, impatiently, as he closed the door upon his unwelcome guest. "Mary Barton would have had me postpone all improvements in my shop for the sake of keeping that boy of hers in his place. Business considerations are as nothing to women. They are so unpractical."
Mrs. Barton walked homeward slowly, musing bitterly on her cousin's want of feeling.
"How cold-hearted he is!" she murmured. "He evidently cares nothing for our needs, or the prospect of our hardships. He lives in a fine house, and rears his family in luxury, while Bert and I are likely to want even the necessaries of life."
Perhaps Mrs. Barton was a little too despondent. Perhaps she ought to have had more trust in Providence; but there had been sorrows in her life which had robbed her of her natural hopefulness, and she was no longer as courageous in the face of threatening misfortune as she had once been.
She had nearly reached home when, from out of the darkness, a man's figure advanced from the roadside and laid his hand upon her arm.
"Who are you!" she asked faintly, suppressing a scream.
"Don't be frightened, Mary," was the reply, "I am your husband, Simeon Barton."
CHAPTER IX.MRS. BARTON'S SECRET.
Mrs. Barton staggered, and would have fallen, had not the other held her up. "You here," she exclaimed, in amazement, "after being absent so many years?"
"Yes; it has been a cruel exile. We have been very unfortunate."
"Where have you been these last ten years, Simeon?"
"For the last eight years in Canada."
"And you did not write me?"
"No; I feared it would set officers on my track. I have heard from you now and then, indirectly. Have you suffered much?"
"It has been a weary time. It would have been easier to bear if I had heard from you."
"A letter from Canada would have been sure to attract attention and invite comment. Besides, I had no money to send you. Misfortune has pursued me, and I have only been able to support myself. When I think of theprobable author of my misfortunes, I own it has made me feel revengeful."
"To whom do you refer, Simeon?"
"To Albert Marlowe."
"What do you mean? How is he responsible for your—misfortune?"
"I will tell you. I believe that it was he who stole the bonds, the loss of which was imputed to me."
"Is it possible that you have any proof of this?" asked Mary Barton eagerly. "The bond that was found in your possession——"
"Was placed in my overcoat pocket for the express purpose of throwing suspicion upon me. You remember that it was a bond for five hundred dollars, while the amount stolen was six thousand."
"Yes."
"Albert and I were both at work in the same establishment. We were on a level, so far as means are concerned."
"Yes."
"Now he is a rich man," added Simeon Barton significantly.
"Yes; he is considered worth thirty thousand dollars."
"It was the stolen money that gave him his start, I verily believe."
"He did not start in business for himself for more than a year after—the trouble."
"No; for he thought it would invite suspicion. I have reason to think that he disposed of the bonds in Canada, and with the proceeds started in as a manufacturer. How otherwise could he have done so? He was only earning two dollars a day when we were working together, and it cost him all of that to support his family."
"I have often wondered where he obtained money to go into business."
"I don't think there is any mystery about it."
"And you have been compelled to bear the consequences of his wrong-doing while he has been living in luxury?" said Mary Barton bitterly.
"Yes; but mine is not a solitary case. Wickedness often flourishes in this world. We must look to the future for compensation."
"Do you think you will ever be able to prove your innocence, Simeon?"
"It is all that I live for. If I can do that, we can live together again. But tell me, before I go any further, how are you and the boy getting along?"
"We are comfortable," answered Mary Barton briefly. She did not care to add to herhusband's anxieties by speaking of Bert's discharge.
"I wish I had some money to give you, but I only had enough to bring me here and return."
"You had an object in coming?"
"Yes; there was a man who was employed by Weeks Brothers at the time of the loss of the bonds. I learned some months since—it is not necessary to explain how—that he could throw light on the long unsolved mystery—that he knew the real thief. I am in search of him. Some time I hope to find him, and make clear my innocence by the aid of his testimony."
"Oh, Simeon, if you only could!" exclaimed Mrs. Barton, clasping her hands.
"I shall try, at all events."
"I wonder if it would not be well to consult Uncle Jacob?"
"Uncle Jacob!" repeated Simeon Barton in surprise.
"Yes; I have not told you. He has returned from California, and is now in New York."
"Have you seen him?"
"Yes; he spent a week at our house."
Mrs. Barton went on to give the particulars of Uncle Jacob's visit.
"He is a poor man," she concluded. "As I understand, he brought home but five hundred dollars, but he is lucky enough to be employed in an office in New York at a salary of twelve dollars a week."
"If I were earning that, and could hold up my head an honest man, without a stain—an undeserved stain—upon my name, I should be happy."
"Can you tell me Uncle Jacob's address?" he asked, after a pause. "I don't think I shall venture to call upon him, for I am subject to arrest on the old charge, as you know, and the New York detectives are sharp, but I might write to him and ask his advice. But stay! he thinks me dead, does he not?"
"Yes."
"And Bert—is that what you still call him?—he still thinks that he has no father living?"
"You wished it so, Simeon."
"Yes; but the time may come when the secret can be revealed to him. I may disclose myself to Uncle Jacob. I don't remember him very well, but——"
"He is the best and kindest of men. I wish, he could have found employment here."
"Did he visit Albert?"
"Yes; he remained at his house one night."
"Was he well received?"
"At first; for, coming from California, Albert supposed him rich. When he found he had but five hundred dollars, he lost no time in turning him out of the house."
"Poor Uncle Jacob! It must have hurt the old man's feelings."
"I feared it would, but he only seemed amused—not at all offended."
"He has seen so much of the world that he probably expected it. The old man seemed in good spirits, then?"
"Yes; he declared that he was well able to earn his own living still, though he is sixty-five, and was as gay and cheerful as a young man. He insisted on paying his board while he was with us."
"There is nothing mean about Uncle Jacob."
"No; and it is a mystery to me why such men as he, who would make so good use of riches, should almost always be poor."
"And men like Albert Marlowe are rich."
"Yes."
"There are a good many things that are difficult to make out. Where are you going to stay to-night, Simeon?" she asked, after a pause.
"I—don't know."
"I wish I could invite you to the house where you have the best right to be."
"I wish so, too."
"Bert doesn't know that you are alive. Perhaps I might introduce you as an old friend of his father."
"If you think it would do. He would not speak of your having a visitor?"
"Not if I told him not to do so."
"You have tempted me strongly, Mary. I should like to see our boy, to see with my own eyes how he is looking at fifteen. And it would be a comfort to rest once more beneath the same roof as the wife from whom I have been so long separated."
"I think we can risk it, Simeon. I must introduce you under another name."
"Call me Robinson. That is the name I have borne for some years past."
"Mother!" was heard from a little distance.
"Bert has come out in search of me, being alarmed by my long absence. Now, be on your guard."
"Is that you, mother? Where have you been so long? I got quite anxious about you."
"I met an old friend of your father, Bert, and in talking with him I forgot how time waspassing. Mr. Robinson, this is my son Herbert."
Bert greeted the stranger politely. As his hand rested for a moment in the hand of Mr. Robinson, he felt the latter tremble.
"Do you remember your father, Herbert?" asked the supposed stranger.
"Not very well. He died when I was quite a young boy."
"True! It was indeed a long time since," murmured Robinson, with a sigh.
"Bert, I have invited Mr. Robinson to stay with us to-night. It is long since I have seen him and we may not meet again for some time. He will share your room."
"Certainly, mother."
They went together to the cottage. Mrs. Barton prepared some tea, and they sat down to a slight meal.
"Oh, if it could only continue thus!" thought Simeon Barton, as he looked wistfully at the wife and son from whom he had been so long separated. "It is like a sight of the promised land."
"Do you know my mother's cousin, Albert Marlowe?" asked Bert, during the evening.
"I used to know him some years ago."
"Shall you call upon him? He is a rich man now."
"I think not I never—liked—him much."
Bert laughed.
"Ditto for me!" he said. "He is a cold, selfish man. He is not popular with his workmen."
"By the way, Bert," said his mother, "you need not mention Mr. Robinson's visit. His business requires secrecy."
"All right, mother! I'll bear it in mind."