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Nathan was on hand bright and early Monday morning at the office, a look of suppressed excitement in his dark eyes, and a dawning dignity and self-respect in his whole manner.

It was new to him to be expected anywhere and as if he had a right to a businesslike welcome. Even In school he had felt the covert protest of the teacher against him always, and had maintained an attitude of having to fight for his rights.

“You are to use this desk for the present," said Morton Howe, the factotum of the office, "and Mr. Spafford wants you to copy those names on that list into that ledger. He'll be down in about an hour. You’ll find enough to keep you busy till then, I guess," and the kindly old man pointed to a stool by a high desk, showed Nathan where to hang his cap.

"It's a real pleasant morning," he added by way of showing the new assistant a little courtesy. “I guess you'll like it here. We all do."

Nathan's face beamed unexpectedly.

"I should say I would," he surprised himself into saying.

"Mr. Spafford’s a real kind man to work for." Morton Howe was in his employer's confidence, moreover he worshipped David devotedly.

"I should say he was!" responded Nathan with more fervor than originality.

Then began a new life for Nathan. The two days that preceded the journey to New York were one long dream of wonder and delight to the boy. There was hard work to be sure, but Nathan hadn't a lazy streak in him, and every word he copied, every errand he ran, every duty he performed was so much intense pleasure to him. To be needed, and to be able to please were so new to him that he looked on each moment of his day with awe lest it might yet prove a dream and slip away from him.

Never had worker of David's been more attentive, more punctilious in performing a task, more respectful or more worshipful—and all his employees loved him.

"I see you got that young nimshi, Nate Whitney, in your office, Dave," said old Mr. Heath the second day of Nathan's service. "You better look out fer yer money. Keep yer safe well locked. He belongs to a bad lot. He's no good himself. I don't see what you took him for."

"I've never had a better office helper in my experience," said David crisply, with a smile. "He seems to have ability."

"H'mph!" said Grandfather Heath. "Ability to be a scamp I should say. You're a dreamer David, like your father was before you, and there don't no good come of dreamin' in my opinion. You gen'ally wake up to find your nose bit off, er your goods stolen a'fore yer eyes."

"Well, I haven't found it so yet," answered David good naturedly, "and I shouldn't wonder if my boy Nathan will surprise you all some day. If I know anything at all he's going to amount to something."

“Surprise us all, will he? Wal, his brother did that a number of years ago when he made out to murder Enoch Taylor, an' then git out o' the smoke-house ’ithout unlockin' the door, an' a beam acrost it too; an' me the key all safe in its usual place and no way of explainin’ it, 'cept thet he must a-carried some kind long with him, and then fixed the lock all right we wouldn't suspect very early in the mornin'. Oh, he surprised us all right, an' your fine little man'll likely turn out to s'prise you in jest some sech way."

"By the way, Mr. Heath," said David more for the sake of changing the subject than because he had much interest in the matter, "how was it that they suspected Allan Whitney of that murder? He never owned up to it, did he?”

“Oh, no, he lied about it o' course."

"But just how did you ever get an idea that Allan Whitney had anything to do with it ? He didn't bring the news, did he? I've forgotten how it was, it happened so long ago."

"Not he, he didn't bring no news. He hed too much sense to bring news. No, it was Lawrence Billings brought word about findin' Enoch Taylor a moanin' by the roadside."

"Lawrence Billings!" said David. "Then where did Whitney come in? Billings didn't charge him with it, did he?"

"No, we caught Allan Whitney with a gun not a quarter of a mile away from the spot, tryin' to sneak around to git home 'thout bein' seen."

But that wasn't exactly proof positive," said David, who had now reached his own gate and was in a hurry to get in the house.

“It was to anybody that knowed Allan," said the hard, positive old man, "an' ef it wa'n't, what more'd you want thun his runnin' away?”

“That told against him of course," said David quietly. "Well, Mr. Heath, I'm going to New York in the morning, anything I can do for you?"

“No, I gen'ally make out to do with what I ken get in our hum stores. You take a big resk when you travel on railroads. I saw in the New York paper the other day where a train of cars was runnin' west from Bawstun last Sat’day, and come in contact with a yoke of oxen near Worcester, throwing the engine off the track and renderin' it completely unfit fer use ; and killin’ the oxen! It seems turrible to encourage a thing that means such a resk to life and property. And here just a few days back there was another accident down below Wilmington. They was runnin' the train twenty miles an hour! an they run down a hand-car and over-turned their engine and jest ruined it! A thing like that ain't safe ner reasonable. Too much resk fer me!"

"Yes, there has to be risk in all progress, I suppose; well, good-night, Mr. Heath," said David, and went smiling into the house to tell Marcia how far behind the times their neighbor was.

Miranda was hovering songfully back and forth between the kitchen and dining-room, mindful of any items of news that he could catch, very happy over the pleasure that was to come to Nathan on the morrow; and she heard the whole account of David's talk with Mr. Heath, though David thought she was engrossed with her preparations for supper. Miranda had a way like that, leaving an ear and an eye flung out on watch behind her while she did duty somewhere else and nobody suspected. It was always, however, a kindly as and eye for those she loved.

The reference to Allan Whitney and the murder brought a serious look to her face, and she managed to get behind the door and hear the whole of it. But when mention was made of Lawrence Billings her face blazed with sudden illumination. Lawrence Billings! It was Lawrence Billings who had committed the crime, of course! Strange that she had never thought of him before! Strange she had never overheard that he had been the one to bring the news!

Lawrence Billings, as a little boy, had followed Alan Whitney like a devoted dog. His sleek, light head, his pale, pasty countenance and faded, furtive blue eyes were always just behind wherever Allan went. No one ever understood why Allan protected him and tolerated him, for he was not of Allan's type, and his native cowardliness was a by-word among the other boys. It may be his devotion touched the older boy, or else he was sorry for his widowed mother, whose graying goldish hair, frightened, tired eyes, and wistful, drooping mouth looked pitifully like her son's. However it was, it was well understood from the first day little Lawrence Billings, carrying his slate under his arm, and clinging fearfully to his mother's hand, was brought to the school-house that Allan Whitney had constituted himself a defender. Miranda knew, for she had stood by the school-gate when they entered, and seen the appeal of the widow's eyes toward the tall boy in the school-yard as the rabble of hoodlums around her son set up a yell: "Here comes mother's pet!" Something manly in Allan's eyes had flashed forth and answered that appeal of that mother in true knightly fashion, and never again did Lawrence Billings want for a champion while Allan was about. Of course Allan had protected Lawrence Billings! It was just like Allan, even though it meant his own reputation—yes, and life!

For a moment tears of pride welled into Miranda's eyes, and behind the kitchen door she lifted her face to the gray painted wall and. muttered softly: "Thanks be!" as a recognition of her boy's nobility. Then she moved thoughtfully back to her cooking, albeit with an exalted look upon her face, as if she had seen the angel of renunciation, and been blest thereby.

However, when she thought of Lawrence Billings, her face darkened. What of the fellow who would allow such sacrifice of one he professed to love? Did Lawrence know that he was exiling Allan from his home all these years? Did he realize what it had meant? Had he consented that Allan should take his crime, or was he in anywise a party to the arrest?

Lawrence Billings still lived in the little old rundown house on the edge of the village belonging to his mother, and still allowed his mother to take in sewing for a living, her living and part of his, for his inefficiency had made it hard for him to get or keep any kind of position. But Lawrence always managed to keep neatly dressed and to go out with the girls whenever they would have him. His unlimited leisure and habit of tagging made him a frequent sight at all gatherings of a social nature whether of church or town; but his weak mouth and expressionless eyes had always been despised by the thorough-going Miranda, though she tolerated him because of Allan. Now, however, her mind began to stir fiercely against him. Couldn't something be done to clear the name of Allan Whitney, even if he never came back to take advantage of it? It was terrible to have a man like Lawrence Billings walking around smirking when Allan was exiled and despised.

Of course, Miranda grudgingly admitted to herself, she might be mistaken about Lawrence Billings being the criminal—but she knew she was not. Now that she had thought of it every word of Allan's, every circumstance of his behavior toward Lawrence in the past, even the meaningful tone of his voice when he said, "But I know who did it! " pointed to the weaker man. Miranda felt she had a clue, yet saw as yet nothing she could do with it. The conditions were just the same as when Allan went away. Mrs. Billings, just as faded and wistful, a trifle more withered, was sewing away, and coughing her little hacking apologetic cough of a Sunday; a trifle more hollow perhaps, but just as sad and unobtrusive. Who could do anything against such a pinny adversary? The girl had an instant's revelation of why Allan had gone away instead of defending himself. It brooded with her through the night and while she was preparing the early breakfast which Nathan had been invited to share with David.

Fried mush and sausage and potatoes, topped off with doughnuts and coffee and apple-sauce! How good it all tasted to Nathan, eaten in the early candle-lighted room, with the pink dawn just flushing the sky; and Rose, shy and sweet, her eyes still cloudy with sleep, sitting opposite smiling. The boy felt as if he were transformed into another being and entering a new life where all was heaven.

Afterward there was a brief sweet worship; then Miranda stuffed his pockets with seed cakes. Rose walked beside her father, holding his hand silently, as she stole glances across at Nathan, who proudly carried the valise wherein his own insignificant bundle reposed along with David's things. The early morning light was over everything and summer had glanced back and waved a fleeting hand at the day with soft airs and lingering warmth of sunshine. 'The boy's heart was fairly bursting with happiness.

Oh, the glories and the wonders of that journey! At Schenectady there was a stop of several minutes and David took Nathan forward and introduced him to the engineer, who kindly showed him the engine, taking apparent pride and pleasure in explaining every detail of its working. The engineer had come to be a hero to the boys and knew his admirers when he saw them. He invited Nathan to ride to Albany in the engine with him, and the boy with shining eyes allowed David to accept the invitation for him, and climbed on board feeling as if he were about to mount up on wings and fly to the moon. David went back to his coach and his discussion of Whig versus Loco-Foco.

At Albany a new engineer came on duty and Nathan went back to his place beside David in the carriage. But there was a world of new delight to watch, with David ready to explain everything; and there were two men to whom David introduced him. One, a Mr. Burleigh, was going down to New York to lecture “In Opposition to the Punishment of Death,” as the notices in the Tribune stated. Nathan listened with tense interest to the discussion for and against capital punishment; the more because the subject had come so near to the elder brother who had been his youthful paragon and idol. David, turning once, caught the look in the boy's eyes and wondered again at the intellectual appreciation he seemed to have, no matter what the subject.

The other gentleman was a Mr. Vail, an intimate friend of and closely associated with Professor Samuel Morse, the inventor of the Electro-Magnetic Telegraph. He had recently set up a private telegraph of his own, at his home and was making interesting experiments in connection with Professor Morse. This man noticed the boy's deep interest when the subject was mentioned, and the eager questions in his eyes that dared not come to his lips. He kindly took out a pencil and paper, making numerous diagrams to explain the different parts of the instrument, and the theory upon which they worked, and as the occupants of the coach bent over the paper and listened to his story, the beauties of the strange new way were almost forgotten by the boy traveller, and his eyes glowed over the fairy tale of science.

Then as they neared the great city of New York about which he had dreamed so many dreams, the boy's heart beat high with excitement. His face went pale with suppressed emotion. He was a boy of few words, and not used to letting anyone know how he felt, but the three men in the coach could not help seeing that he was greatly stirred.

"A fine fellow that," murmured Mr. Vail to Mr. Burleigh as the train drew in at the station, and Nathan seemed engrossed in the various things which David was pointing out to him.

"Yes," assented Mr. Burleigrh. "He asked some bright questions. He'll do something in the world himself one day or I'm mistaken. Has a good face."

"Yes, a very good face. I've been thinking as I watched him this morning if more boys were like that we needn't be afraid for the future of our country."

Nathan just then turned, lifting un-self-conscious eyes to the two men opposite, and perceived in a flash, by their close regarding, that the words he had just overheard were spoken concerning himself. A look of wonder, and then of deep shame crossed his face. He dropped his gaze and his long dark lashes swept like a gloomy veil over the bright eager eyes that had just glowed so finely, while a deep wave of crimson spread over his face.

They had thought that of him just seeing him once, these gentlemen! But if they knew how people regarded him at home! Ah, if they knew! He could hear even now the echo of old Squire Heath's ejaculations concerning himself: "That young Whitney's a rascal an' a scoundrel. He'll never amount to a row of pins. He ought to have his hide tanned."

Nathan's confusion was so great that it was unmistakable, and David turning toward him suddenly saw that something was wrong.

"I've just got caught in expressing my opinion of your young friend here," smilingly acknowledged Mr. Vail. "I hope he will pardon my being so personal, but I have taken a great liking to him. I hope he will find it possible to come to Philadelphia some time soon and visit me. I can then show him my instrument. If you should come down next month perhaps you will bring him with you."

The flood of color in the boy's face was illumined by a holy wonder as he looked from one gentleman to the other. Truly he had been lifted out entirely from his old life and set in a sphere where no one knew he was a worthless scoundrel not to be trusted. He heard David promising to bring him with him if possible the next time he went to Philadelphia and he managed to stumble out a few broken words of thanks to both gentlemen, feeling all the time how inadequate they were; but had he known it, words were unnecessary, for his eloquent eyes spoke volumes of gratitude.

The train came to a standstill then and there were pleasant leave-tkings with their fellow-travellers, after which David and Nathan took their way through the city to the hotel where David usually stopped, Nathan feeling suddenly shy and young and quite countrified.