JC-NRLF 
 
 IROWBRIDGE 
 
BDDKS BY SAME AUTHOR, 
 
 THE SILVER MEDAL. 
 
 YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 
 
 HIS OWN MASTER. 
 
 BOUND IN HONOR. 
 
 THE POCKET RIFLE. 
 
 THE JOLLY ROVER. 
 
 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 THE TINKHAM BROTHERS TIDE MILL. 
 
 All handsomely illustrated. 
 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 
 
That Sallu- was in search of him he could not doubt" [p. 42]. 
 
PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS 
 
 BY 
 
 
 
 ]. T. TROWBRIDGE 
 
 ILLTTSTRfiTEn 
 
 BOSTON 
 LEE AND SHEPARD, 47 FRANKLIN STREET 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM, 678 BROADWAY 
 1884 
 
COPYRIGHT, 
 
 1883, 
 J/.T/ 
 
 BLHCTROTYPED AND PRINTED BY 
 
 ALFRED MUDGE & SON, 34 SCHOOL STREET, BOSTON. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. His FATHER S DEBTS 9 
 
 II. FATHER AND SON 15 
 
 III. MR. SOLOMON BASS 21 
 
 IV. Miss SALLIE BASS 26 
 
 V. IN PAWN . . . . , . .31 
 
 VI. IN THE WOODS . . . . 38 
 
 VII. SALLIE S ERRAND 44 
 
 VIII. LIFE AT THE TAVERN 54 
 
 IX. A NEW SUIT OF CLOTHES .... 60 
 
 X. THE BLUE NECKTIE . . . -67 
 
 XI. THE CRISIS . . . . . . .74 
 
 XII. Two OF HIS FRIENDS 81 
 
 XIII. MR. BASS S ABSURD CLAIM .... 89 
 
 XIV. THAT SUIT OF CLOTHES . . . .95 
 XV. NEW HOPE AND A NEW HOME . . . 102 
 
 XVI. BASS S REVENGE 107 
 
 XVII. BROWNIK AND THE BUCKBOARD . . .113 
 
 XVIII. THE NEW PROJECT . . . , .119 
 
 XIX. PHIL S INVITATION . . . . . .124 
 
 M125979 
 
g CONTENTS. 
 
 XX. PHIL S CAVERN AND THE SUMMIT . .132 
 
 XXI. WHAT BASS COULD Uo ] 39 
 
 XXII. MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY . . 145 
 
 XXIII. FATHER AND SON ONCE MORE . . .152 
 
 XXIV. THE NIGHT IN THE BARN : THE MORNING . 160 
 XXV. MRS. CHADBOW MAKES A DISCOVERY . . 167 
 
 XXVI. THE FIRE ! 75 
 
 XXVII. ACCUSATIONS lSl 
 
 XXVIII. THE MAN WITH THE GRAY WHISKERS . . 190 
 
 XXIX. PHIL S SECRET . . 1 99 
 
 XXX. Miss BASS ONCE MORE 2o6 
 
 XXXI. THE NEW BUCKBOARD 2I 3 
 
 XXXII. IN THE LAWYER S OFFICE .... 219 
 
 XXXIII. THE BOY S STORY 224 
 
 XXXIV. CONCLUSION . . 231 
 
PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HIS FATHER S DEBTS. 
 
 PHILIP FARLOW was trudging along the village 
 street, bearing a fish-pole and a dozen fine trout 
 on a forked stick. 
 
 The sun had just set behind the wooded hills, 
 the distant mountain peaks were putting on their 
 loveliest hues, and the soaring summit of Old Blue 
 was wondrously mantled with purple and gold. 
 
 The fall crickets were singing, for it was late 
 summer, and the chasm beneath Thunder Brook 
 bridge was filled with the solitary plashy roar of the 
 torrent as he passed over. 
 
 Phil was happy : he had brought home some 
 thing beside his string of fish from the gorges and 
 streams, the wild life of the woods, the fresh 
 odors, the beauty of the shadowed rocks and of the 
 leaping waters. 
 
 (9) 
 
.19 ..". .I * ; . .KHl, A ND JIIS FRIENDS. 
 
 He had never known much of country life until 
 his father brought him that summer to the village 
 nestled there among the spurs of the White Hills. 
 He had hardly even known happiness before, at least 
 since his mother died, two years ago. 
 
 His unthrifty father was always getting into debt 
 and flitting from place to place, pursued by troubles 
 which seemed to harass far less the man of forty than 
 they did the boy of fourteen. 
 
 For four or five weeks now those troubles had 
 nearly ceased. Coming to a new field, where his 
 character was unknown, Mr. Farlow s gay manners 
 and liberal promises had gained him credit and 
 friends ; and Phil s uneasy thoughts of the future 
 were lulled to rest. They were destined to be 
 rudely jostled, however, very soon. 
 
 He had crossed the bridge, and a turn of the street 
 had brought him opposite a variety store on the 
 other side, from the door of which the proprietor 
 called out to him, 
 
 "Where did ye git them?" 
 
 "In the pools up in the woods," replied Phil, 
 proudly. 
 
 " Ketch em with flies ? " 
 
 " Some with flies and some with worms." And 
 the boy held up his string of trout to be gazed at. 
 
HIS FATHERS DEBTS. II 
 
 " Wai, ye done well ! One or two half-pounders 
 amongst em, ain t they ? " said the man, still talking 
 across the street. 
 
 Phil thought the largest of them might turn the 
 scales at that figure. 
 
 " That pole and tackle s ben doin on ye good ser 
 vice," the storekeeper continued, with a genial smile. 
 " Glad on t ; which reminds me, by the way, your 
 pop s never been in and settled for em, as he prom 
 ised to, for them and some other things, that 
 chip hat you ve got on, for instance." 
 
 Poor Phil lowered the fish he was holding up so 
 proudly, and shrank back into himself with a fright 
 ened look and gasp. 
 
 " Has n t he? I thought, Mr. Minkins " he be 
 gan, almost ready to lie in order to excuse his father. 
 
 "No, he hain t," said Mr. Minkins. "Why don t 
 he come this way no more lately ? " 
 
 "I I don t know," faltered Phil, although he 
 could guess well enough. 
 
 "Wai, jest remind your pop, will ye ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," Phil meekly replied, as he turned to 
 walk on, glancing timidly around to see who had 
 overheard this unpleasant conversation. 
 
 Drigson, the tailor, had overheard it, for one. He 
 sat cross-legged on the counter by his open shop- 
 
12 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 window, near which he had drawn his work in order 
 ~o make the most of the waning daylight, and out of 
 which he now thrust his little bald head. 
 . "Ha! That s a perty mess of trout you ve got," 
 he said, with a skinny smile. " Le me see." 
 
 Phil was no longer in a mood for exhibiting his 
 trophies ; he paused, nevertheless, and swung them 
 around in full view of the sallow old man. 
 
 " Perty good ! perty good ! You had the luck to 
 hook the good-sized ones." 
 
 " I flung back the little ones," Phil explained. 
 
 " That s right ! that s right ! Some of you sum 
 mer boarders go out and fetch home strings of little 
 bits of fellers no bigger n your finger, that it s a 
 perfect shame to see took out of the water : no 
 wonder trout is growing skurce. I used to bait a 
 ho.ok occasionally myself, when a man could get a 
 good mess for breakfast without tramping miles for 
 em ; but that has n t been of late years. Has your 
 father left town ? " 
 
 "No, sir." And Phil moved on, in dread of what 
 was coming next. 
 
 " I ain t seen nor heard from him lately," the tailor 
 continued, still leaning his head out of the window, 
 with his elbows on the sill, and raising his voice as 
 the distance between him and Phil increased. Lest 
 
HIS FATHERS DEBTS. 13 
 
 he should be growing too loud, the sensitive boy 
 thought it best to stop again. " I sent him my bill, 
 and the last time he went by I spoke to him about 
 it ; and I ve been to see him two or three times, 
 but I ve got nothing but pleasant words from him ; 
 which I must say," added the tailor, with a sweet 
 grimace, "he is by all odds the pleasantest man I 
 ever measured for a suit o clo es. If, only," 
 here the grimace turned somewhat sour, " if he 
 was a leetle mite more prompt in paying an honest 
 man s bill." 
 
 " I m sorry I I m sure," said Phil, in deep 
 distress, trying to get away. 
 
 " I m sure you are. And see here, my good little 
 boy," cried the tailor, with a fawning, persuasive sim 
 per, lowering his voice, " get the money from your 
 father and bring it to me, and I 11 make you a hand 
 some present out on t." 
 
 " I 11 bring it to you without taking any present, if 
 I can," Phil replied, as he finally moved on. 
 
 He had not gone far when a rattling buggy drew 
 up beside him, and an old gentleman put out his head 
 from under the black top. 
 
 " Whenever you catch more fish than you know 
 what to do with, you may bring em to me," he said, 
 with humorous gravity. 
 
14 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; thank you," stammered the boy. 
 
 " Are you pretty well now ? " 
 
 The old gentleman often asked Phil that question 
 in a friendly, half-professional way. He was the 
 village doctor, and he had brought him safely out of 
 a fit of sickness when the Farlows first came to 
 town. 
 
 "I am well now," Phil answered. "I wish you 
 would take these" offering the trout, with a sudden 
 recollection of his indebtedness. 
 
 " I m obliged to you, Phil," said the doctor, with a 
 smile. " I won t take your fish. But there s one 
 thing you must learn to take, a joke. Did you hand 
 your father that bill the other day ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Why don t he pay it ? " 
 
 " I don t know. I wish he would I wish he 
 could pay you," said Phil, ready to whimper with 
 shame and grief. 
 
 The doctor regarded him with curiosity and 
 sympathy. 
 
 " I know you wish it : you re an honest boy. 
 I d rather lose the bill than hurt your feelings. 
 Keep well and keep honest, Philip. Good day." 
 
 The kind face disappeared under the black top, 
 and the buggy rattled on. 
 
FATHER AND SON. 15 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 MR. FARLOW boarded with his son at the 
 village tavern. Solomon Bass was the land 
 lord, and Sallie Bass, aged sixteen, was his only 
 child. 
 
 Sallie had front teeth too large for her mouth 
 (though her mouth was by no means small), curly 
 red hair, cut short like a boy s, and freckles. People 
 used to say that a witch met her as she was coming 
 into the world and threw bran in her face. People 
 used also to say they wondered her face did n t ache : 
 she was so homely. 
 
 But she was a good friend to Phil ; and you might 
 often have seen them playing together like two 
 boys. Tomboy, the neighbors called her. 
 
 She did n t care ; she liked being a tomboy, and 
 was never happier than when hunting hens eggs 
 or going a-berrying or a-fishing with Master Phil. 
 
 She ran out to meet him as he approached the 
 old-fashioned tavern which, within a year or two, 
 
1 6 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 had grown smart with a new coat of paint and 
 the title of hotel and accompanied him into the 
 yard. 
 
 " O Phil ! " she cried, " it s too mean for anything 
 I could n t go with you this afternoon ! But I had 
 to do that awful writing for pa." 
 
 " Where s my father ? " said Phil, gloomy and 
 agitated. 
 
 " I guess he s around somewheres," Sallie replied. 
 " How funny he is lately ! When anybody comes 
 he don t want to see, he slips out the back way and 
 hides in the barn." 
 
 " Does he ? " said Phil, bitterly. " Who is wanting 
 him ? " 
 
 " Folks he owes money to, I guess," said Sallie. 
 "The washerwoman has been after him two or three 
 times to-day. Has n t he really got anything to pay 
 with ? Pa s getting dreadfully worked up about it ; 
 and I 11 tell you something, if you won t tell." 
 
 " What is it ? " Phil asked, as they passed under 
 the shed, where he threw down his string of fish on 
 a bench. 
 
 " One thing I had to do to-day was to make out his 
 bill, and it s an awful long one. Pa says it must 
 be paid now. I hope there won t be any trouble 
 about it ; if there is, it won t be my fault, Phil." 
 
FATHER AND SON. I/ 
 
 " I know that." Phil choked a little and went on. 
 "I don t see what we re going to do." 
 
 " What makes you care ? " Sallie inquired, with 
 wondering kindness. " It ain t your fault, neither. 
 I wouldn t mind, but ain t he a strange man, 
 though ? He may not be to blame for having no 
 money, but then he need n t take so many rides and 
 smoke so many cigars he can t pay for. That s what 
 pa says." 
 
 " He never paid for this fish-pole ; and I wish I 
 had never seen it ! " said Phil, throwing it down 
 spitefully, and looking as if he was about to cry. 
 " And that new suit of his, he could have got along 
 without a new suit. And the doctor, I wish they 
 had let me die before they ever called him in We 
 shall have to leave here, I see it all, and begin 
 our old miserable life over again." 
 
 " How was that, for mercy s sake, Phil ? " said 
 Sallie. 
 
 " I can t tell. It was what killed my mother. I 11 
 see him," said Phil, with sudden resolution, " and 
 say to him what I ve never dared to say yet, I 11 
 say it, though he is my father ! " 
 
 He found the elder Farlow walking leisurely to 
 and fro in the large corner room they occupied, 
 the best in the house, smoking a cigar. The boy s 
 
1 8 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 heart beat so fast at the thought of what he had 
 come to say that he could not find breath to say it ; 
 and, with a sick look, he sank down on a chair. 
 
 " I was waiting for you, Phil," said the man, with 
 out pausing in his walk. " I want you to get your 
 things quietly together, ready to leave here in the 
 morning." 
 
 " Are we going ? " Phil asked, in consternation. 
 
 " Rather ! " replied his father, with a heartless 
 laugh. " There are indications that I have outlived 
 my usefulness here. That abject creature, the land 
 lord, glowers upon me in a way no gentleman can 
 put up with." 
 
 He turned to look at himself in the glass. It 
 was a full, amiable, dissipated face he saw there, 
 and a stocky form jauntily dressed. He arranged 
 his necktie and smoothed his rough chin. 
 
 " I have n t had a shave for three days. That 
 barber is a rascal. He seems to think I m a mint of 
 money. He has been after me this afternoon, con 
 siderably sharper than his best razor." 
 
 "Can t a man shave himself?" Phil tremblingly 
 inquired. 
 
 " Course he can, if he chooses. Why ? " 
 
 " I should think he would always choose, when he 
 has n t money to pay a barber." 
 
FATHER AND SON. IQ 
 
 Mr. Farlow turned suddenly and looked at the boy, 
 surprised at his audacity. 
 
 " You should think so, should you ? " he exclaimed, 
 sarcastically. 
 
 Gaining courage with his breath, Phil broke out 
 impetuously, 
 
 "O father! don t be angry at what I say! It s 
 only what mother used to say; and I know it is true, 
 and you know it. It s dreadful to be always hav 
 ing to dodge your debts in this way. Mr. Minkins 
 dunned me on your account as I came along, and so 
 did the tailor and the doctor, all within five minutes ; 
 and people on the street heard them, and I never felt 
 so mortified in all my life. Why can t we pay our 
 debts, like other people ? " 
 
 " Because it is n t convenient, that s all. I d pay 
 if I could. Don t be a fool, boy ! Take it easy, as 
 I do." 
 
 Mr. Farlow puffed his cigar and resumed his walk. 
 
 " I wish you would n t take it so easy," said Phil, 
 beginning to cry. " If you spent some of the time 
 in earning money which you do in making debts and 
 studying how to get rid of paying them, it would be 
 so much better. Why don t we go to work ? I d 
 rather." 
 
 At this the man lost his temper, and with a 
 
2O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 furious gesture flung his cigar from the window. 
 It was only half smoked, and he did not know where 
 he was to get another ; but that made no difference 
 with the improvident Mr. Farlow. 
 
 " Things have come to a pretty pass," he cried, 
 angrily, "when a man has to be lectured by his own 
 son. I can stand a good many things, but I can t 
 stand that" 
 
 He seemed convulsed with passion. Phil regarded 
 him with fear and pity, strangely mixed with thrills 
 of affection : for, after all, this man was his father; 
 and it pierced him to the heart to see him so moved. 
 
 The storm was only a gust, however ; it was over 
 in a moment. A false and shallow life of self-in 
 dulgence undermines the character, and renders it 
 incapable of any deep and permanent feeling. Mr. 
 Farlow could not even be serious for five minutes. 
 
 " Come ! " He turned again, after stamping madly 
 across the room, and confronted the wretched boy 
 with mocking laughter " Get up on the chair there, 
 and preach your dad a sermon. By the laws, you 
 shall ! " 
 
 He was actually laying hold of the lad, and poor 
 Phil was struggling to escape, when there came a 
 rap at the door. 
 
MR. SOLOMON BASS 21 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MR. SOLOMON BASS. 
 
 MR. SOLOMOM BASS appeared, a short, fat 
 man, with puffy, purple cheeks, and small* 
 imbedded eyes, like those of a pig. Farlow was 
 himself again. 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Landlord ! Just in time." 
 
 Perceiving an ominous paper in Solomon s hand, 
 and a determined look in the dull eyes, he added, 
 quickly, 
 
 " I was just sending my boy down to ask you to 
 make out our bill. Regret extremely to leave your 
 hospitable roof, you know, but business is pressing ; 
 and if you will have the kindness to get your account 
 ready" 
 
 " I Ve got it here," said Solomon, dryly ; while 
 Sallie showed her teeth in the doorway behind him 
 
 " All right." Mr. Farlow took the paper and 
 tossed it carelessly on the table. " I 11 examine it 
 and arrange matters in the morning." 
 
 "Can t ye just as well arrange matters now?" 
 said Solomon Bass. 
 
22 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 He was not only pig-eyed, he was also known to 
 be extremely pig-headed, when he had once made 
 up his mind. That his mind was made up now, 
 Mr. Farlow could see by the lurid light in his red 
 veined and mottled face. 
 
 " Oh, certainly ! " said the boarder, with intrepid 
 cheerfulness, taking up the paper again. He held 
 it toward the open window, and scanned it with an 
 air at once complacent and critical. 
 
 " Board for self and son, forty-four dollars. Teams, 
 twenty-seven dollars. I suppose that is all right. 
 But what is this? Hens nest? I haven t had any 
 hen s nest." 
 
 " It ain t hen s nest. What is it, Sallie ? " said 
 Mr. Bass. 
 
 " Sundries ! " said Sallie, scornfully. " I don t 
 write so bad as all that ! " 
 
 "Sundries; why, of course!" said Mr. Farlow, 
 pleasantly. " It s very well written indeed, Sallie ; 
 only the light is poor. Twenty-nine dollars. Ain t 
 that rather steep for sundries, Mr. Landlord ?" 
 
 " Guess not." Mr. Bass rolled over from one 
 leg to the other, while a shrewd twinkle came into 
 the small eyes. " You ve had everything charged, 
 you know, even to your cigars ; which ain t com 
 mon with gentlemen, and which it ain t my custom 
 
MR. SOLOMON BASS. 23 
 
 to allow, not by no manner of means. But while 
 you was waiting for your baggage, which you said 
 had gone astray, and expecting your remittances, 
 which did n t seem to come, I did n t like to crowd 
 you." 
 
 "Very kind in you, indeed," said Mr. Farlow. 
 " I shall have the pleasure of recommending your 
 house and its obliging landlord, and sending you a 
 great many guests." And once more he tossed the 
 bill on the table, as if it had been settled. 
 
 " I ve been more obliging than I ever shall be 
 again, if I know myself," said Solomon Bass ; 
 "and I can t say as I hanker much for the kind 
 of guests you ll be likely to send. If you object 
 to the sundries, there s the items, two columns of 
 drinks, you 11 notice." 
 
 " I notice," laughed the boarder. " That s all 
 right. I only regret I did n t make it three columns. 
 I owe you a hundred dollars, Mr. Bass." 
 
 Mr. Bass rolled over on the other leg, and winked 
 approvingly. 
 
 " Which, I m sorry to say, I must continue to owe 
 for a few days," Mr. Farlow added, in his easy way. 
 " My remittances have n t come, and I m going to 
 see about them." 
 
 " This is how you propose to arrange it, is it ? " 
 cried Solomon. 
 
24 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Certainly," coolly replied Mr. Philip Farlow. 
 " Is n t it satisfactory ? " 
 
 " Satisfactory ! To be swindled and robbed as 
 I Ve been by you ! I 11 have you arrested, sir ! " 
 
 " Oh, well, if you think you can arrange matters 
 more to your mind in that way, you re welcome to 
 try. Phil, we sha n t go in the morning, after all. 
 We are going to stay and be arrested." So saying, 
 the cheerful debtor flung himself upon a chair in 
 an attitude of exasperating indifference. 
 
 "I ll have you up for false pretences, sure as 
 fate," vowed the landlord, with fat, clinched fist, 
 his little eyes dully glowing, " if you don t give me 
 my hundred dollars, or some security." 
 
 Farlow was quietly drumming with his fingers on 
 the window-sill. He stopped, and looked up with a 
 hopeful expression. 
 
 " Security ? I 11 give you anything I Ve got, 
 see how accommodating I am, but I don t know 
 what it will be, unless 
 
 He hesitated, and glanced down at the suit made 
 for him by Drigson, which he had on. Then he 
 dangled his watch chain, but it was only a chain : 
 the watch was gone long ago. At length his eyes, 
 having wandered around the room, rested on Phil. 
 
 " Unless you take my boy there. Cpnie, landlord, 
 
MR. SOLOMON I5ASS. 2$ 
 
 an idea strikes me. I 11 leave him as a hostage, to 
 have and to hold, possess and enjoy, till I make full 
 payment of the hundred I owe you." 
 
 " Think I m a fool ? " muttered Solomon, after 
 stupidly staring for a moment, as if unable to take in 
 this strange proposition. 
 
 Sallie pulled his arm and whispered something in 
 his ear. 
 
 " Nonsense, Sal ! " He pushed her impatiently 
 off. " What good would the boy be to me ? I 
 should only have him to feed." 
 
 He was going from the room, when Farlow, who 
 had been drumming again, called after him. 
 
 " Consider it, will you ? T will be better than 
 trying the arrest dodge, and so losing all chance of 
 getting your money. Well, as you please." 
 
26 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MISS SALLIE BASS. 
 
 FATHER!" exclaimed the horrified boy, 
 after Bass was gone, "you wouldn t do it, 
 would you ? " 
 
 " Why not ? It s the easiest way out of our 
 present difficulties. I shall strike a streak of luck, 
 and send for you before winter." 
 
 " You are always talking about a streak of luck," 
 retorted Phil, his eyes flashing through tears. 
 " You never struck one yet, and you never will." 
 
 "Won t I ?" said his father, with a resentful curl 
 of the lip. "Then of course you ll be better off 
 here than roughing it with me." 
 
 "But, father, put me to work at some honest 
 trade ; or take me with you. Don t pawn me, as 
 you would an old coat. O father ! " 
 
 Phil was earnestly pleading when Sallie reap 
 peared. 
 
 " Pa wants to see you down-stairs, Mr. Farlow," 
 she said, with a gleam of triumph in her good- 
 natured face. 
 
MISS SALLIE BASS. 2? 
 
 " You ve talked him over ? " sa^jd Farlow, eagerly. 
 
 " I guess so," said Sallie, with a smile and nod. 
 
 " Don t go ! don t, father! " And Phil threw him 
 self forward to prevent his father from rising from 
 the chair. 
 
 " Don t hold me," said Farlow, struggling to his 
 feet. " It will be all right. Let go ! " 
 
 He unclasped Phil s hands by main force, and 
 left the room, while the boy fell face downward 
 upon the vacant chair, sobbing and refusing to be 
 consoled by the sympathetic Sal. 
 
 " Come, Phil," said the girl, trying to lift him up ; 
 " I would n t feel so about it. I should be glad if he 
 did leave me here, if I was you What do you want 
 to keep with him for ? " 
 
 He is my father," said the wretched boy. " I 
 would n t mind his leaving me ; but to think of his 
 doing it in this way. " 
 
 " That shows what sort of a man he is," urged Sal. 
 "The sooner you are rid of him the better. You like 
 this place, don t you ? Have n t you had a good time 
 here, rozberrying and blackberrying, sassafrasing 
 and checkerberrying ? and finding sweet -flag and 
 spruce-gum ? Don t I know the nice spots ? and 
 hain t I took you to em ? " 
 
 There was not a youngster in the neighborhood 
 
28 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 more familiar with the woods and fields than Bass s 
 tomboy, as she was called ; and she had indeed shown 
 Phil all their treasures ; but he turned a deaf ear to 
 her persuasions now. 
 
 "There s piles of trout to be ketched yet," she 
 went on ; "and I 11 go with you next time, and show 
 you the pool where me and pa hauled out the lunkers 
 last spring. And the frost grapes ! I know the shore 
 in the meadows where the bushes and trees are cov 
 ered with em ! It s perty near time for em now ; 
 and I would n t miss em for anything." 
 
 Phil .sat up in the chair, still disconsolate, how 
 ever, in view of all these promised delights. 
 
 "Think of his offering to pawn me, for that s 
 what it amounts to," he said, in a fresh burst of 
 rage. " What would my mother say ? Don t talk to 
 me of frost grapes ! " 
 
 " And you really want to go off with that man ! " 
 cried Sallie. " O Phil ! what are you thinking of ? 
 Jest at the beginning of nutting time! You never 
 was in the woods after a big blow in the fall of the 
 year, or you would never be willing to leave this place, 
 with nuts getting ripe, let me tell ye ! We can 
 gether bushels ; and have all we want to eat and lay 
 up for winter, and some to sell besides." 
 
 " To sell ! " said Phil growing interested as a pros- 
 
MISS SALLIE BASS. 2Q 
 
 pect opened of his raising money and paying some of 
 his father s debts. 
 
 " Of course, to sell ! And then there s cider time 
 coming. I guess you never took apples to a cider- 
 mill and watched the grinding and pressing, and 
 the cider running down the grooves in little rivers. 
 And, oh my ! did you ever suck new cider through 
 a straw ? " 
 
 " I knew he would do almost anything to dodge a 
 debt, but I never thought he would do this," said 
 the inconsolable Phil. 
 
 " The fact is," replied the girl, candidly, "he is no 
 sort of a man. If he can jest eat and drink, and 
 smoke, and ride around and treat his friends with 
 other folks money, that s all he thinks of for the 
 time. Little he cares what happens to you or any 
 body to-morrow. Every one sees through him after 
 a little while. Only to-day he promised our Bridget 
 a silk dress. You should have seen her laugh as 
 soon as his back was turned ! He has a rich mouth, 
 but a poor pocket, says she. If I wait for the gown 
 he will give me, you 11 see me going in rags 
 
 Sallie imitated the Irish brogue and ended with a 
 laugh. Thereupon Phil flared up. 
 
 " You sha n t make fun of my father ! He s a gen 
 tleman, whatever you may say ; and he has always 
 been kind to me." 
 
3O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "Well, I do declare!" Sallie r.eplied, sitting on a 
 hassock and looking at him with amused wrinkles 
 about her freckled nose, and her big teeth shining. 
 " Kind ! He s jest awful kind to you now, ain t 
 he ? I d f oiler him all over the world, if I was you. 
 I was going to tell you of the sleigh-rides we 11 have 
 next winter, they re dreadful nice ! And the spell 
 ing schools and the day schools you could go to if 
 you wished. But no matter. There s the bell. Your 
 fish are fried, and you d better go down and get your 
 supper." 
 
 " I sha n t eat any supper till I know," Phil declared. 
 Nor could she, by the most persistent coaxing, in 
 duce him to go down. 
 
 " I hate you ! " he suddenly broke out, seeing the 
 plain face close to his, smiling altogether too sweetly 
 upon him. " And I wish you would let -me alone! " 
 
 " Oh, well ! I can do that ! " cried Sallie, with 
 spirit, jumping up. " Some time you 11 maybe know 
 who your friends was and wish you d kep em. I 
 spoke a good word for you to pa. He don t want 
 you. No son of such a man as that, says he, will 
 ever be worth the husks he sleeps on. I did n t think 
 so, and I teased him to let you stay. This is the 
 thanks I get for it. Hate me, do you ? " And Miss 
 Sallie waltzed scornfully out of the room. 
 
IN PAWN. 31 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IN PAWN. 
 
 PHIL knew he had done her wrong, and was sorry 
 for it when it was too late. Her sympathy was 
 better than none ; and why should he have been so 
 irritated at the sight of her homely features thrust 
 near his own ? 
 
 His anxiety was more than he could bear, now that 
 he was left alone. Determined to know the worst, 
 he was going to find his father, when that light- 
 hearted delinquent came swaggering into the room, 
 smiling with satisfaction and smoking another cigar. 
 
 " Have you pawned me ? " Phil demanded, with a 
 sort of sullen fierceness burning in his red, wet eyes. 
 
 " Pawned you ? What are you talking about ? " 
 said Farlow, evasively. "That s not the proper 
 phrase to use, my boy." 
 
 " I don t care for the phrase, I mean the thing," 
 replied Phil. " I ve seen enough of pawning when 
 I ve been knocking about with you. I know what it 
 is. Sometimes you call it shoving things up a spout. 
 Say, have you shoved me up ? " 
 
32 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "Nothing of the sort." Farlow paced the room 
 and puffed. " I merely mentioned leaving you here 
 as a hostage. That s nothing new or dishonorable 
 or uncommon : history is full of hostages." 
 
 " Well," cried Phil, his fear and grief giving place 
 to desperate defiance, " have you done it ? " 
 
 " If I have, it means simply that you are to stay 
 here a little while until I can make arrangements for 
 you elsewhere. That s all. It s nothing you need 
 be troubled about. But it s not decided yet," Far- 
 low added, in a careless tone ; " and it won t be till 
 morning. So come along to supper." 
 
 " I won t go to supper till you tell me it is not to 
 be at all," said Phil. " I ought to have something to 
 say about it, and I say this : if you use me to pay 
 for your horses and liquors and cigars, I never will 
 call you father again, and I 11 run away from this 
 house as soon as the thing is done. Now you know." 
 
 " Well, well ! " said Farlow, in a slightly embar 
 rassed, mildly conciliatory tone. " I did n t think you 
 would feel so about it. Of course, if you object, 
 there s an end of it. I 11 see what else can be done 
 in the morning." 
 
 Phil knew his father too well to be fully satisfied 
 with this smooth answer. How could he tell that it 
 was not one of his easy, convenient fasehoods ? 
 
IN PAWN. 33 
 
 He went down to supper, however, and afterwards 
 tried to learn the true state of the case from Sallie. 
 But Sallie was resentful, and would have nothing to 
 say to him. She turned her back at his approach, 
 and went off romping with one or two companions. 
 
 Phil was deeply hurt ; he felt as if he had lost 
 his only friend. A lonely, anxious, miserable night 
 awaited him. Even if he was not to be pledged as 
 security for his father s debts, he knew too well that 
 their troubles were not over. 
 
 In order that he might be up early the next 
 morning, he went early to bed. But he could not 
 sleep. 
 
 " How can he sleep ? " he said to himself, hearing 
 his father s deep and steady breathing in the bed 
 near his own. " Why am I troubled when he cares 
 so little for what may happen ? " 
 
 He tossed feverishly about until near midnight. 
 Then he lost himself, and the first thing he knew, it 
 was morning. 
 
 He started up. It was broad day. A streak of 
 sunlight stole through the curtains and fell across 
 the coverlet. He sat up and looked over eagerly 
 at the bed in which his father had slept. It was 
 tumbled and empty. His father was gone. 
 
 Phil sprang out with trepidation and pulled on 
 3 
 
34 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 his clothes. Hurrying down-stairs, he found the 
 landlord sweeping the piazza floor. 
 
 " Where is my father ? " he asked. 
 
 Solomon rested his broom, and turned his small, 
 sleepy-looking eyes on the agitated boy. 
 
 " Your father? He left here a good hour ago." 
 
 " Where has he gone ? " 
 
 "That s more n I know. He told some of his 
 creditors he would square accounts with em this 
 mornin ; so what does he do but kick his heels at 
 em fore they was stirrin , expectin the stage to 
 pick him up, I s pose." 
 
 The boy stood panting a moment, then said, 
 
 " Did he square accounts with you ? " 
 
 " t)on t you know he did ? " said Solomon, going 
 on with his sweeping. 
 
 " Did he pay you ? " Phil demanded. " Did he give 
 you any money?" 
 
 "About as much as the feller sold his dog for," 
 Bass replied, with just a gleam of humor in his puffed 
 and red-veined face. " Sold him for a hundred dol 
 lars, but took his pay in puppies, five puppies, at 
 twenty dollars apiece. You are the puppies, Bub." 
 
 " He has sold me ? " said Phil, in a tremor of 
 passion. 
 
 " Not edzacly that." Solomon rolled over on one 
 
IN PAWN. 35 
 
 leg and rested his broom again. " To git my pay for 
 keepin him and you, I m to keep you a spell longer. 
 That s where the puppies comes in. He says he 11 
 settle in cash and take you away within a month. 
 Mabby he will and mabby he won t ; so me and you 
 may as well make up our minds to like each other, 
 Bub." 
 
 " I told him I would n t stay here in any such way 
 as that," cried Phil, excitedly; "and I won t!" 
 
 " I ruther guess ye will," Solomon replied, his pig- 
 eyes dully blinking. " I Ve got it in writin ." 
 
 Phil turned abruptly and went back into the 
 house. 
 
 In his room he crammed a few small things into 
 his pockets and buttoned an extra shirt under his 
 coat. Then he went quietly out by the back way, 
 speaking with no one, and hid in the barn. There 
 he watched through a crack for a good opportunity, 
 and, seeing that he was not followed, soon slipped out 
 by a small rear door, and took to the fields. 
 
 He sauntered carelessly along until some bushes 
 on the edge of a piece of woods concealed him from 
 view ; then he began to run. Over rocks and 
 through thickets he made his way, and in half an 
 hour came out on the open road, a mile from the 
 village. 
 
36 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 It was the stage road, the same Farlow had prob 
 ably taken. But his design was neither to overtake 
 his father nor to be picked up by the coach. He 
 had no settled plan, but only a vague determination 
 to get well away from Bass and begin a new life in 
 some place where he was unknown. 
 
 The cool air of the August morning, the sunshine 
 striking through the trees that overshadowed the 
 track, the dewy freshness, action, and freedom, 
 all this had a charm for him even then, and made 
 him half forget his griefs in a sense of exhilara 
 tion. 
 
 The woods, opening on one side, gave him glimpses 
 of the mountains he loved so well, and he stopped 
 to take a farewell look at Old Blue. 
 
 From a high rock by the roadside he gazed up 
 across barren pastures and wooded spurs, to the far 
 away, peaceful top, sunlit, clothed in firs that sprung 
 from gulfs of shadow, where the blue light deepened 
 to blackness. He thought of the bright streams 
 that came down from chasms in those crags, the 
 trout-pools and cascades, and heaved a sigh of 
 regret. Should he never visit them again ? 
 
 The roar of one of those brooks reached his ear 
 as it tumbled down through a hollow and crossed the 
 road a few rods farther along. He would bid good 
 
IN PAWN. 37 
 
 by to that, and then hasten on, wherever good or ill 
 fortune might lead. 
 
 But just as he was going to step down from the 
 rock he heard a wagon, driven rapidly. He thought 
 he knew the sound of those wheels, and waited to 
 let them pass. Sure enough, it was Bass s light 
 open buggy, with Bass himself whipping his white 
 horse along the road. 
 
38 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IN THE WOODS. 
 
 pig-eyes were looking straight before and 
 did not see Phil perched on the rock, who 
 said to himself, 
 
 " He thinks I have gone on after father, and he is 
 chasing us. Let him chase ! I don t want anything 
 to do with him." 
 
 So, instead of jumping down from the rock, Phil 
 climbed over a knoll and entered the hollow through 
 which the brook poured. Remembering that he had 
 had no breakfast, he resolved to find one whilst wait 
 ing for Bass to return and leave the way clear for 
 his journey. 
 
 Up through the woods he went, keeping the course 
 of the brook, now crossing it on stones, now climb 
 ing the banks, and clambering over ledges mossy or 
 bare, passing many a waterfall and clear, dark pool. 
 Natural places for trout, but too near the village not 
 to be all " fished out," as he had learned by previous 
 experience. 
 
 At last he reached a spot far up in the gorge, 
 
IN THE WOODS. 39 
 
 seldom penetrated by any but the most adventurous 
 fishermen. 
 
 Beyond a steep ledge, down which the brook flashed 
 and foamed, the woods opened ; and he found him 
 self in a little glen. In the midst was a rocky basin, 
 blocked by great bowlders, amidst which the shadowy 
 water swirled. 
 
 On his way through the thickets he had cut a 
 birch rod, to which he now attached the end of a 
 line he took from his pocket. To the other end he 
 looped an artificial fly, selected for its color from a 
 dozen he carried in an old envelope. It was soon 
 skipping over the deep places, beside the bowlders, 
 and in the foam where the brook poured down into 
 the basin. 
 
 A silvery flash, a tightening of the line, and a 
 bending of the rod : a fine trout was hooked. Two 
 others were soon landed. 
 
 Then Phil, leaving rod and line flung across the 
 bowlders, opened his pocket-knife at the water s edge 
 and proceeded to prepare his breakfast. 
 
 Having dressed his fish, and laid them on green 
 leaves, he looked for a good place to make a fire. 
 On one side the sun lay bright and warm on ledges 
 where only a few stunted saplings grew. Gathering 
 there a pile of dry sticks in a favorable spot, he 
 
4O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 struck a match, touched it to a handful of dead 
 leaves, and soon had a blaze. 
 
 While the fire was kindling he shaped two or 
 three sharp forks out of green twigs, to be used as 
 spits, impaled his fishes on them, and soon had one 
 broiling over the coals. 
 
 It was not the first time he had lunched in that 
 primitive fashion, and learned how sweet to a hungry 
 boy a small trout is, cooked in the woods beside the 
 stream from which it was taken, held hot in the 
 fingers, and eaten without salt. 
 
 After breakfast, having drunk from the basin, and 
 then used it as a finger-bowl, he resolved to explore 
 the gorge farther up. 
 
 " It s my last chance," he said, " and I may as well 
 make the most of it. I 11 see what s in the great 
 hole I found the other day." 
 
 Half hidden by a thicket, under the steep side of 
 the mountain, so steep that it seemed toppling 
 down, was a cavern, which looked as if it had been 
 scooped out by the torrent in bygone ages before 
 it had cut its present bed through the rocks below. 
 The floor was covered with moss and dead leaves ; 
 the walls were smooth, the rock above projected like 
 a roof. 
 
 A wild fancy crossed the mind of the lonely and 
 homeless boy. 
 
IN THE WOODS. 41 
 
 " I might sleep here, and live on the fish in the 
 brook." 
 
 But then a shudder seized him, as he thought of the 
 gloomy autumn coming, the long, dreary nights, and 
 the terrible winter. Could he build a fireplace in 
 there, wall up the entrance, and protect himself from 
 hunger and cold ? 
 
 He was too sensible a boy to dream of such a 
 thing, except in the mood of doubt and desperation 
 he was in that morning. As it was, he soothed his 
 anxious soul by planning a possible hermitage, cloth 
 ing himself in the skins of savage beasts (for there 
 were bears in the mountains), and living a life of 
 solitude and misanthropy astonishing to men. 
 
 He lay a long while on the dry, mossy floor, digest 
 ing his breakfast, listening to the brook singing 
 through the gorge, and indulging these wild fancies. 
 Then, startled by a rustling of the bushes, he sprang 
 to his feet. 
 
 His first thought was that a bear was coming home 
 to the very den into which he had strayed, and that 
 he had better get out of it. 
 
 He stopped near the entrance, however, to obtain 
 a sight of the approaching object, and saw what 
 almost made him laugh. 
 
 Not a bear, by any means, but, standing among 
 
42 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 loose stones above the brook, where scattered poplars 
 grew, looking about with an air of bewildered 
 curiosity, her freckled face squinting in the slanting 
 bars of sunshine, the tomboy, Sallie Bass. 
 
 Phil s heart gave a leap of joy, not simply because 
 the comer was not a bear, but because in his friend 
 less solitude he recognized a friend. 
 
 He yearned to go out and show himself to Sallie, 
 but restrained the first eager impulse, remembering 
 that he had left his life at the tavern behind him, 
 and dreading to renew any ties that might draw him 
 back to it. 
 
 That Sallie was in search of him he could not 
 doubt. She pushed the boughs aside and looked all 
 about, down at the brook and up at the crag, 
 then stopped and listened, her lips apart and her 
 white teeth gleaming among the green leaves. 
 
 She carried her sunbonnet in her hand, and her 
 short red hair was tumbled over her eyes ; not like 
 the artificial " bangs " of the period, whose barbarous 
 ugliness spoils many a pretty brow, but with an 
 unkempt carlessness well in keeping with her char 
 acter of tomboy. 
 
 Phil laughed, with sympathetic tears in his eyes, 
 as he watched her looking for him up and down the 
 gorge, while he was so near. She seemed to hesi- 
 
IN THE WOODS. 43 
 
 tate, undecided whether to turn back or go on, 
 when something in the appearance of the overhang 
 ing ledge attracted her, and she gazed straight at 
 the bushes through which he peered. 
 
 " Phil Farlow ! " she cried ; " are you in there ? " 
 He could hardly keep from tittering nervously as 
 she advanced towards him, groping among the 
 poplars and fixing her eyes on the very spot where 
 he was, still without seeing him. Suddenly she 
 started back with a half-frightened expression, then 
 darted resolutely forward, thrusting the bushes 
 aside. 
 
44 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SALLIE S ERRAND. 
 
 / T > HE two met face to face. Phil burst into an 
 *- excited laugh. 
 
 " Wai, if you ain t a perty feller ! " cried Sallie, 
 laughing too, but with very different emotions. 
 "What a chase you have given me ! What did you 
 hide away from me for ? " 
 
 " I did n t hide away from you. What were you. 
 chasing me for ? " retorted Phil. 
 
 " Because I wanted to find you," said Sallie, " and 
 be friends with you again, and and I I m 
 awful sorry I was cross with you last night : you 
 had trouble enough without that." 
 
 " I did n t blame you," said Phil. " I said a horrid 
 thing to you. It was because I was just worried to 
 death. I did n t mean it." 
 
 " I did n t believe you did," cried Sallie, overjoyed. 
 " If I had, I should n t have come here to find you 
 and bring you something." 
 
 " What s that ?" Phil asked, eagerly. 
 
45 
 
 "A letter your father left for you." And she 
 took a crumpled envelope from her pocket. 
 
 Phil turned pale as he broke it open and read its 
 brief contents. His first agitation changed to dis 
 appointment, and, returning the letter to the enve 
 lope, he thrust it into his coat. 
 
 " I thought you might be glad to get it," Sallie 
 said, eying him curiously. 
 
 " So I should have been, if he had written only 
 one word to " 
 
 He choked, winked away a tear, and added, bit 
 terly, 
 
 "All he says is, that he thought it best not to 
 wake me to say good by ; he felt obliged to go with 
 out me, and I shall hear from him in a few days. 
 Just as if " 
 
 But evidently the boy s feelings were softening a 
 little towards his father. He took out the letter and 
 read it again, then heaved a sigh. 
 
 " I suppose he means what he says. But it s 
 little enough he will ever do for me after this. I ve 
 only myself to depend on, and I m glad I know 
 it." 
 
 " Just as though you did n t have any friends," 
 said Sallie, " nor any home." 
 
 " I Ve no home but this," replied Phil, with a 
 
46 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 touch of the melancholy with which he had been 
 investing his fancied hermit life. 
 
 " This den ? " said Sallie. " What a strange place 
 it is ! What a place to hide if a man was hunted ! " 
 
 "So I thought," Phil answered. "But you found 
 me. How did you know I was here? " 
 
 " I heard a noise, and I knew you was n t fur off." 
 
 " How did you know it ? " 
 
 "Why, didn t I see your fish-pole and line on 
 the rocks and your fire smoking? I should have 
 met you if you had gone back down the gorge, so 
 I believed you had gone up." 
 
 " How did you know it was my fire ? " 
 
 " Because you went off without your breakfast ; 
 and I saw the sticks you br iled your trout on and 
 the fish-bones you left, me and you br iled our 
 fish together there once, you know ; so when pa 
 heard you had been seen on the road, but could n t 
 find you, I guessed where you had gone. Don t ye 
 see ? " 
 
 "You re a cute girl, Sallie." 
 
 " Wai, I guess I ain t nobody s fool, when ye 
 come to that," said Sallie, with a little toss of her 
 head. " Come, you re going back home with me, 
 je know it?" 
 
 "I don t know anything of the kind," replied Phil, 
 
SALLIE S ERRAND. 47 
 
 turning cold towards her. " Your father has bought 
 me." And he told the story of the puppies. 
 
 "That s jest pa s nonsense!" laughed Sallie. 
 " You re jest going to stay there till your father 
 sends for you ; that s all there is to it." 
 
 "Till he takes me out of pawn!" said Phil, an 
 angry light coming into his eyes. " I told both 
 him and your father that I would n t stay on any 
 such terms ; and I won t ! " 
 
 They had walked out of the cavern and stood 
 among the saplings. Sallie looked at him saucily. 
 
 " Do you know what pa thinks ? " 
 
 " I don t care what he thinks." 
 
 "Then it won t hurt your feelings if I tell ye," 
 she said, with a laugh. "He thinks it s a game, 
 your father and you have played before." 
 
 " A game ?" he repeated. 
 
 "Yes. He runs in debt, and then, instead of 
 pledging a trunk, or anything that has n t got legs, 
 he leaves his son, that has legs, and will run off on 
 em. Then you go with him to some other place 
 and play the same trick over again." 
 
 Phil flushed resentfully. " You say that ? " 
 
 " No ; that s what pa says, and that s what I m 
 afraid he 11 make everybody in town think, if you 
 don t go back there." 
 
48 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Why is he so anxious to keep me ? " 
 
 "Truth is, I teased him to. Pa 11 do anything 
 for me, ye know. Then, of course, he wants some 
 thing to keep your father in mind of the hundred 
 dollars he owes us. Come, Phil, do go back." 
 
 "And run up a still larger bill by boarding there ? 
 Not I ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Why, you can do a few chores to pay for your 
 board, if that will suit you any better. I 11 fix it any 
 way you like," she promised him. 
 
 "I shouldn t mind a little work; that isn t it," 
 said Phil. 
 
 " I know that. You like to feed the calves and 
 chickens ; you have done it for fun with me many 
 a time. I reminded pa of that ; and you know you 
 like to be about the bosses." 
 
 "All that isn t work ; it s play." 
 
 " So much the better if you like it, for it will count 
 for work, if you want to do it reg lar, to pay for your 
 board." 
 
 Sallie looked in his face and saw that his resolu 
 tion was wavering. She went on artfully, 
 
 " Then, if you should want to pitch into work in 
 earnest, I don t see why you could n t do it and pay 
 off the debt that worries you so. Take yourself out 
 of pawn, as you call it. I would ; and, instead of 
 
V 
 
 " .What did you hide 
 away from me for ? " 
 [p. 44]. 
 
 " Huh ! said the wondering Solomon " [p. 53J. 
 
SALLIE S ERRAND. 49 
 
 being ashamed of what my pa had done, I d jest be 
 proud of what / d done." 
 
 She watched the working of his features and saw 
 the light of new hope and resolution come into them. 
 She continued, 
 
 " That would be my style. You would n t catch 
 me running away. When I got ready to go, I d jest 
 walk away, independent of everybody, so that folks 
 should say, There goes a smart chap, and an honest 
 chap, one that s earned the respect of people, say 
 nothing of a pocketful of money. That s what I d 
 make em say of me, if I was a boy in your place." 
 
 " I believe you would, Sallie. I wish I could." 
 A gloom overspread the brightened face. " But I 
 can t " 
 
 " Too proud ? " said Sallie. 
 
 "That may be it. I couldn t look folks in the 
 face and know they were saying to themselves, 
 That s the boy his father pawned for his board 
 bill. I could n t." 
 
 " You d make em forget that ; or, if they re 
 membered at all, they would say, There s the 
 plucky feller that s "paying his pa s debts ; wish 
 there was more such boys. : 
 
 Phil could not help feeling that it would be a 
 noble and courageous thing thus to redeem the 
 
 4 * 
 
5O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 honor of the family, and that nobody whose good 
 opinion was worth having would despise him for it. 
 
 As he was looking through the poplars at the 
 brook tumbling down the gorge, she resumed her 
 argument : " There s going to be more teaming 
 than ever when the summer boarders come next 
 year ; and if I was you, I should druther drive em 
 about than do anything else. I can coax pa ; I 11 
 see t you have a good chance." 
 
 Phil was still struggling with his pride. " How 
 can I go back, after folks know I Ve started to run 
 off? " he objected. 
 
 " Who knows it ? " said Sallie. " Me an you 11 
 ketch a couple of big strings of trout and lug em 
 home, and folks 11 jest think we ve been a-fishing." 
 
 He hesitated. " I don t object to catching a few 
 trout," he said. 
 
 " Oh, let s ! " 
 
 She ran down to the basin for his rod and line ; 
 while he, half regretting that he had conceded so 
 much, cut another pole in the thicket. Boy-like, she 
 also carried a line in her pocket. It was soon attached 
 to the rod and furnished with a fly, and they began 
 their sport, for sport it was, even to Phil. The day 
 was perfect. The sunshine spotted the boughs above 
 their heads, gilding the limbs and great trunks, and 
 
SALLIES ERRAND. 51 
 
 slanting down here and there to the mossy slopes 
 and bright water ; the woods were green, with the 
 exception of now and then a maple-branch burning 
 with the first flames of autumn ; the sky above was 
 deep blue ; the flies skipped on the foam of the 
 waterfalls ; the trout leaped ; the woods resounded 
 with the music of young voices. 
 
 The fish, as they were taken from the pools, were 
 strung upon a forked stick, which Sallie and Phil 
 took turns in carrying. But soon a second stick had 
 to be cut, and they had each a string. By the time 
 both were well loaded with handsome trout, the res 
 olution with which Phil started out in the morning 
 had grown faint in his heart, and he was ready to go 
 home with Sallie. 
 
 " What ? s there ? " she asked, as he turned aside 
 from the brook and lifted a piece of dry bark from 
 behind a mossy log. 
 
 He took out from that rude hiding place a pair of 
 socks, and the shirt which he had buttoned under his 
 coat before leaving the hotel. 
 
 " I wonder you did n t find them when you fol 
 lowed on my track," he said, laughing rather sheep 
 ishly over this meagre outfit for a journey. 
 
 It was like a dream to him now, that he had started 
 to run off in that fashion. How much more sensible 
 
52 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 it seemed to stay with Bass, for a few days at least, 
 or until some visible fortune beckoned him else 
 where. 
 
 He buttoned his extra shirt under his coat again, 
 watched by the shrewd Sallie, who was not quite 
 certain yet that her persuasions had prevailed. 
 
 " You re going home with me, I know," she said, 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " I suppose I must, if you say so," replied Phil. 
 
 " Of course I say so ! " she cried, gleefully. " Come 
 on, now : we Ve got fish enough." 
 
 They wound up their lines and put them in their 
 pockets, throwing away the poles ; then they started 
 for home with their strings of trout. 
 
 They attracted no little attention as they entered 
 the village, for the report had spread that both father 
 and son had left town. 
 
 " Never mind their staring at you," whispered Sal- 
 lie " Walk as if you was as good as anybody, and 
 a little better. Head high. That s it." 
 
 " I vum ! " said storekeeper Minkins, gazing from 
 his door, " if there ain t little Phil, after all ! Jest 
 been a-fishin with Bass s tomboy ! Hallo ! " he 
 called across the street, "where did you git them?" 
 
 "Up in the gorge under Old Blue," replied Phil, 
 adding, in an undertone, " He always asks where I 
 get my fish." 
 
SALLIES ERRAND. 53 
 
 " Why don t ye give him such an answer as 11 shet 
 him up ? " said Sallie. " I would." 
 
 " Why did n t ye take yer pole along ? " Minkins 
 inquired ; he could n t help mentioning that pole. 
 
 " We don t need a pole where we ve been," said 
 Sallie. 
 
 " Sho ! How du ye ketch em ? " 
 
 " Pick em," she answered, saucily. " We ve found 
 a place where they grow on trees." 
 
 Minkins laughed good-naturedly. " Jes like Bass s 
 tomboy, for all the world," he said, as she and Phil 
 walked quickly on. " Can t nobody git the start o 
 her." 
 
 In the tavern yard they met Solomon Bass, who 
 opened Irs pig-eyes wide at sight of Phil. 
 
 " Wai ! where you been ?" he demanded, gruffly. 
 
 "Don t you see?" cried Sallie, swinging the string 
 of fish up almost into his puffy face. Then she 
 stuck her sharp elbows into his fat ribs as she passed 
 between Phil and him, saying, in a whisper, 
 
 " Sail right! Don t say nothing, or you ll spile 
 it." 
 
 " Huh ! " said the wondering Solomon. 
 
 He made no allusion to the morning s adventure, 
 nor greeted the boy s return with any other sound 
 than that grunt of doubtful satisfaction. 
 
54 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LIFE AT THE TAVERN. 
 
 SO Phil went back and resumed his life there, much 
 as if nothing had happend. 
 
 It must he owned that he missed his father : 
 nobody could help liking that jovial gentleman ; 
 and Phil was sincerely attached to him, with all his 
 faults. 
 
 " What a man he might have been," he said to 
 himself, mourning over those faults and the separa 
 tion they had led to. " If he was only as honest as he 
 is pleasant, and if he made people respect as well as 
 like him ! I suppose it is the best thing for me to 
 be away from him." 
 
 The mother s part in the boy his heart and 
 conscience had often noticed with alarm how 
 easy it was for him to evade the truth and frame 
 false excuses when he was under his father s in 
 fluence. 
 
 " I will be truthful and steady now," he vowed 
 within himself, in the loneliness of his room that 
 
LIFE AT THE TAVERN. 55 
 
 night " And I never will smoke and drink and run 
 in debt like him." 
 
 He had seen enough of the ruin caused by such 
 habits of self-indulgence. 
 
 He did not sleep in the fine large chamber he had 
 occupied with his father, but was given a poor little 
 bed in a garret. He felt the change deeply, but said 
 to himself, with a stout heart, 
 
 " What else could I expect ? Bass does n t believe 
 he will ever get his hundred dollars, and I am only 
 puppies." 
 
 He left Sallie to arrange matters for him with her 
 father, and went on, the next day, cheerfully helping 
 about the lighter chores, as he had often done 
 before. 
 
 Soon Bass began to ask him to do other things. 
 
 " Don t ye think ye can milk a cow, Bub? Guess 
 ye can." 
 
 Phil said he would try ; and from that time milk 
 ing not only one cow, but often two or three 
 became one of his stated tasks. 
 
 He no longer sat at the hotel table with the guests, 
 the guests, indeed, except now and then a tran 
 sient one, were gone, but ate with the family, not 
 greatly pleased with their coarse manners and plain 
 fare. 
 
56 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 By degrees Solomon began to make his requests 
 commands, addressing Phil as he would any other 
 servant. 
 
 "Take some barrels, Bub, and pick up the rest 
 of them apples; and don t be all day about it, 
 nuther ! " 
 
 The last phrase hurt Phil s feelings ; but it was 
 one which whoever worked for Bass had to get used 
 to, soon or late. 
 
 Mrs. Bass also found it convenient to call upon 
 him when she needed help about the house ; and 
 even the ostler ordered him around. 
 
 The more work he had to do, the less fun he found 
 in it. It was not like running out when he liked, 
 with Sallie, to hunt hen s eggs or feed the chickens 
 and pigs. 
 
 But he had the satisfaction of feeling that he was 
 at least paying his way ; nor did Sallie s promises of 
 pleasant pastimes fail him altogether. They gath 
 ered frost grapes and shagbarks in their season, and 
 helped about the cider making ; and he enjoyed the 
 felicity of sucking that liquor in its innocence 
 through a straw. 
 
 Then, as Sallie was going to school in the winter 
 she managed to have him go too. 
 
 His education had been sadly neglected since his 
 
LIFE AT THE TAVERN. 57 
 
 mother died. But he was naturally a bright and 
 ambitious pupil, and, while working nights and morn 
 ings to pay for his board, he went to his studies with 
 a freshness and earnestness which put him rapidly 
 through the lower classes of the district school. Be 
 fore the winter was over he was well up with the 
 average boys of his age, and ahead of some. 
 
 Meanwhile, what had Farlow done to redeem his 
 pledge and take his son out of pawn ? 
 
 About a week after he went away Phil received a 
 letter from him, full of the usual promises. He 
 expected very soon to be able to pay his debt of a 
 hundred dollars, and provide a home for them both. 
 In about a month came another of similar import, 
 containing, along with fresh promises, excuses for 
 not keeping the old ones. 
 
 It was winter before Phil heard from him again. 
 The third letter, badly written on poor paper, was 
 brief and discouraging. 
 
 " I fully expected to strike a streak of luck when 
 I last wrote, and to have you with me before this. 
 I have been disappointed ; but I shall still be able to 
 send for you in a few days. As I shall probably 
 leave this place before a reply from you could reach 
 me, you need not write until you hear from me 
 again." 
 
58 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 That was the last letter from him Phil ever re 
 ceived. It was as if his father had been going far 
 ther and farther from him, and at last had disap 
 peared in the dark. 
 
 There were other things about his hotel life, 
 besides the hard work, which Phil did not like. 
 
 The bar-room was the resort of tipplers and idlers, 
 for whose company he had conceived a strong dis 
 gust. He could not bear their lounging habits, stale 
 tobacco smoke, and dull jokes. His native refine 
 ment held him aloof from them ; and no doubt the 
 sight of his father s dissipations had helped to in 
 spire him with a wholesome hatred of such things. 
 
 Besides, he wished to give his leisure hours that 
 winter to his books. 
 
 But Bass found it convenient at times to leave 
 him in charge of the bar. Even Sallie did not ob 
 ject to setting out bottle and decanter on the coun 
 ter for the patrons of the house, and receiving their 
 change with their jokes, and why should he ? 
 
 But Phil made up his mind early as to one thing, 
 he would not taste strong drink, and he would not 
 sell it. 
 
 This silly notion of his, as Bass called it, angered 
 that worthy man ; and Sallie, to save trouble between 
 them, tried to talk Phil out of it. 
 
LIFE AT THE TAVERN. 59 
 
 " What s the use o your being so awful odd and 
 offish ? " she argued. " A feller can t even get you 
 to play checkers in the evening lately " ; by a 
 "feller" she meant herself, she was always teasing 
 him to play checkers or cards. " What s the use of 
 your running to your books every chance you can 
 get? I should a sight druther tend bar, if I was you." 
 
 " It is n t simply my books I care for," Phil re 
 plied : " your father is getting rich selling liquor, 
 while mine has been ruined by drinking it ; so you 
 and I look at the thing differently. I won t sell it, 
 and all the world can t make me. Now you under 
 stand." 
 
 Fortunately Sallie did understand ; and, seeing 
 that he could not be persuaded to yield to her father, 
 she persuaded her father to yield to him. 
 
6O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A NEW SUIT OF CLOTHES. 
 
 TN spring Phil left school. Then came hard work 
 -*- again. 
 
 Bass was preparing for a busy season. New 
 boarding-houses were building in the village, in 
 expectation of summer visitors. The character of 
 his own house prevented it from competing with 
 others in entertaining the better class of boarders ; 
 and he had found that his chances for profit lay in 
 his bar and his stable ; so, while others enlarged 
 their accommodations for guests, he provided room 
 for more horses by building a new barn. 
 
 He had controlled the livery-stable business in the 
 village hitherto, and he meant to keep at the head of 
 it in future. He bought out his principal competitor 
 and engaged him as a driver. With two others, who 
 could not be bought out, he made an arrangement 
 for keeping up prices, for their mutual advantage. 
 
 "They had to come to t," Phil heard him say to 
 Lorson, his new man. " If they had n t I d have 
 made it perty hot for em, le me tell ye ! Summer 
 
A NEW SUIT OF CLOTHES. 6l 
 
 boarders don t come but once a year, and they don t 
 stay long, and we must make money out on em 
 while we can." 
 
 " That s so ! " said Lorson ; and indeed that 
 seemed to be the opinion of the village people gen 
 erally. 
 
 Bass was a good sort of fellow in a gruff way. He 
 showed a real liking for Phil, and, after the liquor- 
 selling business was settled, treated him with 
 friendly familiarity and indulgence. 
 
 " I like the way you take holt," he said to him one 
 day. " Ain t nothin surly about ye, and ye don t act 
 as if ye was fraid o s ilin yer hands. I did n t know 
 but what ye might work in and be a pardner o mine, 
 runnin the business after a while. Sallie hinted it, 
 and I did n t know." 
 
 Phil colored very red. Sallie had already hinted 
 as much to him. 
 
 " I m afraid it would n t suit me, as a permanent 
 thing," he replied. 
 
 "I m afraid t would n t, sence you re so sot agin 
 sellin at the bar. You made a mistake, Bub ; but I 
 concluded to let ye have your way. You like bosses, 
 though, and I xpect ye won t have no sich silly 
 notion agin drivin team for summer boarders when 
 they come." 
 
62 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Of course, I ve no objection to that," said Phil. 
 
 "Ye shall have the chance, Bub," replied Bass, 
 good-humoredly. 
 
 Phil was now fifteen years old, of good size, and 
 well made. He had outgrown his best suit of 
 clothes, to say nothing of his having worn them 
 out, so that his limbs had a rather ungainly look, 
 and his manners appeared awkward ; but he had a 
 fine, ruddy face, frank and intelligent, if not very 
 handsome, and when he spoke or smiled it lighted 
 up with a bright and engaging expression which won 
 him friends at first sight. 
 
 Summer visitors came early to the village that 
 season, and as a driver and guide he became popular 
 with them at once. 
 
 He not only knew the fords and mountain roads, 
 Cathedral Woods, the Twin Cascades, and other 
 noted places which everybody visited, but there were 
 nooks of ferns, curious rock formations, beautiful 
 little waterfalls and pools, which no other teamster 
 seemed to think worth showing, but which Phil 
 would unexpectedly take his parties to, always to 
 their surprise and delight. He thus proved that an 
 obliging disposition and a love of nature are not bad 
 qualities in a guide. 
 
 He became a favorite with Mrs. Shedrick s board- 
 
A NEW SUIT OF CLOTHES. 63 
 
 ers especially. After they had had him a few, times, 
 they would accept no other driver, preferring to 
 postpone their rides when Phil could not be ob 
 tained. 
 
 He enjoyed this life extremely : there was a 
 flavor of adventure about it. It gratified his passion 
 for wild scenes, for woods and mountain streams. 
 He liked the society which it brought him in contact 
 with ; and he had the satisfaction of feeling that he was 
 earning as much money for Bass as a full-grown man. 
 
 Bass, too, was well pleased. He treated Phil with 
 great friendliness, and said to him one day, " Ain t 
 there suthin I can do for ye, Bub ? I d like to." 
 
 "Yes," Phil answered; "stop calling me Bub, for 
 one thing." 
 
 " Haw ! haw ! Wai, I 11 call ye Phil then." 
 
 Phil said that would suit him better. 
 
 " Wai, Phil ! Sallie thinks you need a new suit of 
 clo es, and I d n know but what you do. What do 
 you think ? " 
 
 " I think as Sallie thinks," said Phil. 
 
 " Wai, come along over to Minkins s store." 
 
 A serviceable ready-made suit was found, of gray 
 stuff, for which Bass paid the not very extravagant 
 sum of eleven dollars. It fitted the boy tolerably 
 well, and was not unbecoming. 
 
64 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Now you re made ! " cried Solomon, slapping 
 him on the shoulder with his fat hand. " Go home 
 and show Sal." 
 
 Sal was delighted. " Pa done that for me," she 
 whispered in Phil s ear. " You re han some as a 
 pictur , and I m proud of you ! " 
 
 Somehow these words and the admiring eyes with 
 which she looked him over much as if she hud 
 become a shareholder in him and was satisfied with 
 her investment made him feel depressed and un 
 comfortable ; yet the thought of appearing before 
 Mrs. Shedrick s boarders in attire that was not actu 
 ally ridiculous cheered him up. 
 
 But one day a change came over Sallie Bass, 
 
 " Who was that girl I saw riding on the front 
 seat with you this afternoon ? " she demanded, spite 
 fully. 
 
 "That was Mrs. Chadbow s daughter," replied the 
 innocent Phil. " They are boarding at Mrs. Shed- 
 rick s. Relatives of hers, I believe." 
 
 " You was laughing and talking with her, so en 
 gaged! You didn t even look my way, when I m 
 sure you could n t help seeing me," said Sallie. 
 
 "I don t remember." Phil regarded her wonder- 
 ingly. "Perhaps I saw you. I don t know why I 
 did n t turn and and lavish my smiles on you," he 
 
A NEW SUIT OF CLOTHES. 65 
 
 added, trying to give a humorous turn to the un 
 pleasant subject. 
 
 "I know why," cried Sallie. "You think she s 
 jest awful sweet and perty, I know you do ; though, 
 I must say, I don t admire your taste. And you did 
 look jest terrible stuck up in your new clo es. I 
 was ashamed of you ! " 
 
 " Why, Sallie ! " said Phil, surprised, amused, pro 
 voked, all at once. 
 
 " Guess you forgot how you come by em ! " she 
 went on, in a blaze of resentment. 
 
 He wisely waited to let it burn out. He had wit 
 nessed more than one such outburst from her against 
 other people, but never against himself. As soon as 
 he saw her ready to hear a word of reason, he said, 
 not without spirit, 
 
 " I supposed I had earned the clothes, or I should 
 never have put them on. You may think you own them. 
 All right! But there s one thing you don t own, 
 that s the boy inside of em. And that boy, if I know 
 him, and I rather think I do, that boy," cried Phil, 
 drawing himself up, "is ready to jump out and leave 
 you the clothes any time you say. Shall it be now ?" 
 
 " No," replied Sallie, beginning to drop water on 
 the fire ; that is to say, beginning to cry. "I didn t 
 mean that." 
 
66 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Then what did you mean ? " Phil demanded " It s 
 my business to take people to ride ; and when they 
 see fit to talk to me, I should be a dolt not to answer. 
 If they say pleasant things, I m bound to be pleased, 
 and say something agreeable in return, if I can. But 
 if you think I was any more engaged, as you call it, 
 or stuck lip, in my new clothes, because it was Clara 
 Chadbow talking to me instead of her mother, or 
 any other woman, or any man, for that matter, if 
 you think that, you re a bigger goose than I took you 
 for. I always thought you were a pretty bright girl." 
 
 It was Phil s turn to show resentment, and with a 
 stern brow he turned away. 
 
 " O Phil ! " she exclaimed, detaining him. " I was 
 a goose. I was mad coz you did n t look at me, and 
 appeared so took up with her. But don t don t 
 take her on the front seat again, will you ? " 
 
 " Well, you are!" he said, laughing contemptuously. 
 " As if it was any affair of yours who sits on the seat 
 with me ; or as if I had anything to say about it ! 
 Suppose they put Clara Chadbow there again? Must 
 I say, No ; Sallie Bass won t like that ? Just fancy ! " 
 
 Sallie laughed ; and so the little thunder-squall 
 passed over. 
 
THE BLUE NECKTIE. 6/ 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BLUE NECKTIE. 
 
 AFTER two or three outbreaks of a similar 
 nature, from the same cause, in the course of 
 the season, Sallie saw Phil come out one Sunday 
 morning in a new and very becoming blue necktie. 
 
 " Where did you get that ? " she sharply asked. 
 
 " Some ladies I have taken to ride a good many 
 times, I mean, a lady," Phil replied, seeing the dan 
 gerous fire in Sallie s eyes. "She said I had been out 
 of my way to show her places no other driver ever 
 thinks of, and to do little errands for her, and she 
 wanted to make me a present." 
 
 " Who was it? " Sallie inquired, looking like a pan 
 ther ready to spring. 
 
 " Mrs. Chadbow," Phil answered. 
 
 " It was n t ! It was that minx, Clary ! I know it 
 was, even if her mother did " 
 
 The violent words ceased. The panther sprang. 
 Before Phil could defend himself, before even he was 
 aware what was happening, the necktie was seized, 
 
68 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 stripped from his neck, and brandished in the air 
 above Sallie s red head. 
 
 " Give that back to me ! " he commanded, spring 
 ing to recover it. 
 
 " No, you don t ! " she cried, holding it behind her. 
 " I won t have that saucy thing giving you presents ! 
 I 11 burn it up ! " 
 
 The encounter took place near the kitchen door. 
 She started for the fire. Phil clutched her arm. She 
 merely changed hands with the necktie, whipping it 
 about her wrist and preparing for a struggle. She 
 was two years older than he, and her tomboy habits 
 had developed a youth s strength in her agile limbs. 
 
 "It s none of your business," he said, "who gives 
 me presents ; and the idea of your calling any girl a 
 saucy thing ! If you don t give it back to me if 
 you burn it up " 
 
 There was a sudden sound of rending calico, as she 
 tore away from him, leaving a good strip of her sleeve 
 in his grasp. The next moment she shook off into 
 the open stove the uncoiling necktie, as if it had 
 been a snake, and turned with a wild laugh to con 
 front him. 
 
 He pushed her aside and snatched Mrs. Chadbow s 
 gift flaming from the coals. Too late : it was ruined 
 forever. 
 
1 1 won t have that saucy thing giving yon presents I ll burn it up! " [p. 
 
THE BLUE NECKTIE. 69 
 
 " You may have it now ! " she cried, with vindic 
 tive triumph. 
 
 He gave it a look full of wrath and indignation as 
 he held it up, then flung it on the floor. 
 
 " That s enough, Sallie Bass ! " he exclaimed. " I ve 
 nothing more to do with such a girl as you." 
 
 He walked away without another word, leaving her 
 more scared at his conduct and ashamed of her own 
 than if he had covered her with the bitterest re 
 proaches. 
 
 She could not but see that, whether there was 
 cause for her jealousy or not, she was driving him 
 from her by her revengeful spite. She picked up the 
 necktie, and looked ruefully at the holes which had 
 been burnt in it, wondering whether they could be 
 mended. 
 
 " He did look handsome in it ! " she said to herself. 
 That s what made me so mad. But mabby she 
 did n t give it to him ; Phil s a feller that won t 
 lie." 
 
 Then she reflected that the season was nearly over, 
 and that Clara Chadbow, with the other summer 
 boarders, would soon be gone. 
 
 " And out of my way ! " she said. " I d ought to 
 Ve bit my tongue and kep still. But I 11 make up 
 with him ; t ain t the first time we Ve quarrelled." 
 
70 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 That was true; but Phil meant that it should be 
 the last. The unreasoning rage which resulted in 
 the burning of Mrs. Chadbow s beautiful present was 
 something he could n t forgive. So when Sallie that 
 afternoon came to the barn, where he sat on a pile of 
 straw reading, he did not deign to look up. 
 
 "I know you re awful mad at me," she said ; "and 
 I m sorry I burnt the necktie. I don t know what 
 possessed me to do it ! " 
 
 Phil kept his eyes bent on his book. He had worn 
 no necktie since she snatched that from his throat. 
 
 " If you won t mind," she went on, " I 11 buy you 
 another enough sight pertier n that." 
 
 Then he looked up, and his face was full of scorn 
 as he replied, " Do you think I care so much for a 
 necktie ? I can go without. And I beg you not to 
 take the trouble to buy me one. I would never wear 
 it." 
 
 That was all the consolation she could get from 
 him. He went on with his reading, not even replying 
 when she spoke to him again. Then her anger re 
 kindled. 
 
 " I know now ! " she cried. " You hate me ! That s 
 what you told me once when I was trying hard to be 
 good to you. I did n t want to believe it ; but it has 
 been true all the time. You ve just pretended it 
 
THE BLUE NECKTIE. /I 
 
 wa n t, for the favors you thought you might get 
 out of me. Oh, I detest such meanness ! " And 
 she swept into the house before the astonished 
 Phil could open his lips to repel the unjust taunt 
 It rankled in his heart, for he could not bear that 
 any one should have such an opinion of him as that; 
 then, reflecting on her strange conduct, he was 
 forced to believe that much of the kindness she had 
 shown him had been dictated by a selfish motive, as 
 base as that she attributed to him, and he resolved to 
 go his own way wholly independent of her henceforth. 
 
 " She may show me favors or she may show me 
 spite, purr or scratch," he said to himself, "it s all 
 the same to me." 
 
 When he met her at breakfast the next morning 
 she was red-eyed and silent, and he felt an ominous 
 gloom hanging over the household. Solomon was 
 silent, too ; and Mrs. Bass, a weak and nervous 
 woman, who was always cross when Sallie was, 
 appeared in her worst mood. Phil went about his 
 business in the usual way, and had got his wagon 
 washed, when a young girl came into the yard. 
 
 " O Phil ! " she cried. " I have been inquiring for 
 you at the house. Mother wants you to take us 
 where we found those lovely ferns the other day, as 
 soon as you can get ready. You re not engaged?" 
 
/2 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " No," replied Phil ; " and I will be ready in about 
 five minutes." 
 
 "Then I will wait and ride back with you," said 
 the girl, gayly. 
 
 At that moment a window over the kitchen was 
 shut with a sharp clash, followed by a noise of rat 
 tling glass. The girl looked around surprised : she 
 did not know the meaning of the sound ; but Phil did. 
 
 He was harnessing a horse to the wagon, and she 
 stood a little way off watching him, when Solomon 
 Bass came out of the house. He began to assist 
 about fastening the traces, saying at the same time, 
 
 " Whose order is it ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Chadbow s," Phil replied. 
 
 " Huh ! " grunted Solomon. The pig-eyes gave 
 Clara a glance. " Tell your mother I 11 send the 
 team over right away." 
 
 " I m going to wait and ride," said the smiling 
 Clara. 
 
 " Huh ! " Solomon took the gathered reins from 
 Phil s hands. " Call Lorson." 
 
 " Lorson ! " cried Phil. " Mr. Bass wants you for 
 something." 
 
 " What I want you for," said Bass, as Lorson came 
 out of the stable, " is to drive this team for some 
 of Mis Shedrick s boarders." 
 
THE BLUE NECKTIE. 73 
 
 Phil had felt what was coming. He almost gasped 
 for breath before he could interpose, saying, in as 
 quiet a tone as he could command, 
 
 " I suppose they are expecting me to drive." 
 
 " Yes," spoke up Clara ; " we want him to take us to 
 a spot I don t think anybody else shows to visitors." 
 
 " There s more n one driver in the world," said 
 Bass. " Guess Lorson knows as much about places 
 as anybody. He has druv two years, and Phil has 
 druv two months. Git in, if you want to ride over." 
 He offered to help Clara mount into the wagon ; 
 but she drew back. 
 
 " No, I thank you," she replied, with maidenly 
 dignity. "If Phil can t go, I don t think my mother 
 will want the horse." 
 
 " I ve something else for Phil to do. Phil," said 
 Bass, turning his red-veined face and pig-eyes glow 
 ering on the boy, "you go in and tend bar till you re 
 wanted. Understand ? " 
 
 "No, I don t," said Phil, in a tremor of excitement. 
 " You know I don t tend bar." 
 
 " If you live and I live," Bass replied, " you 11 
 tend bar when I tell ye to. D ye hear ? 
 
74 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE CRISIS. 
 
 FOR a moment the stout man and the slender boy 
 stood and looked at each other. 
 
 Phil heard a derisive giggle in the direction of the 
 broken window. At the same time Clara Chadbow 
 turned upon him a look of fright and sympathy, and 
 went hurriedly away. 
 
 "D ye hear?" Bass repeated, not at all liking the 
 expression of the eyes that met his. The boyish 
 features were quivering, but the eyes were defiant. 
 
 "I hear," Phil replied, and walked towards the 
 house. 
 
 " You better ! " said Bass. " Some folks have got 
 a notion," he continued, talking to Lorson, " t 
 nobody can drive a hoss for em but that boy. I 11 
 let em know!" 
 
 "He ll be monopolizing the business fore long, if 
 he keeps on," replied Lorson. " I ve told ye so fore 
 now." 
 
 He was a great, slouching fellow, "slab-sided," 
 Sallie called him, not much liked by either her or 
 
THE CRISIS. 75 
 
 her father. Bass would have been glad enough to 
 get rid of him after buying him out, and Lorson 
 knew it. 
 
 "Huh ! You was right for once," said Solomon. 
 
 "You said it was my jealousy," Lorson replied. 
 He turned his quid, screwed up one side of his face, 
 and cast a sarcastic glance towards the broken win 
 dow. " Wonder whose jealousy t is now ! " 
 
 " Mind your own business, Lorson ! " muttered 
 Bass. "Hitch the hoss under the shed. Needn t 
 take him out o the shafts. Somebody 11 be wantin 
 him fore long." 
 
 Lorson took care of the horse, while Bass went in 
 to see how Phil was getting on tending bar. 
 
 Phil was not tending bar at all. He had passed 
 quickly through the bar-room, and been last seen 
 mounting with a firm, quick step the back stairs. 
 
 Sallie waylaid her father as he was going up after 
 him. She had goaded him on thus far, and to wit 
 ness Phil s discomfiture in Clara Chadbow s presence 
 had been to her an intoxicating delight. But she 
 was beginning to relent. 
 
 " Pa ! pa ! " she whispered. " He s gone to his room. 
 Don t be too hard on him now, or you ll lose him." 
 
 "Lose him!" muttered Bass. "I ruther guess 
 not ! Hain t I got him in writin ? " 
 
76 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 He found Phil sitting by his garret window, full of 
 trouble. 
 
 " What ye bout here ? " said Solomon. 
 
 " I m thinking what I ought to do," said Phil. 
 
 " Wai, what d ye conclude ? 
 
 Taking a hint from Sal, Bass had deemed it wise 
 to begin in a rather low tone with the boy, and, find 
 ing him so quiet, he anticipated an easy victory. 
 
 "I conclude," replied Phil, " that it s time for me 
 to leave this house." 
 
 " Leave ! " cried Solomon. " But you can t leave 
 without I say so ! What you talkin bout ? " 
 
 " I suppose I know what you mean," said Phil, lift 
 ing his eyes, tearful with passion, to the puffy, red- 
 veined face. " You think you can hold me as secur 
 ity for my father s debt." 
 
 41 Certain I can ! I ve got his signatewer to it. 
 If he did n t pay me and take you away within a 
 month I was to be entitled to your services until he 
 did. That s the way it reads. He hain t done it 
 yet, has he ? And he ain t likely to do it right away, 
 is he ? " 
 
 " No, he is n t," said Phil, his voice steadying and 
 his eyes kindling. " I don t expect him to. I be 
 lieve I have worked out the debt myself, and you ve 
 no longer any claim on him or me." 
 
THE CRISIS. 77 
 
 " Who said you could work out the debt ? " 
 
 " Sallie. She told me she had talked it over with 
 you." 
 
 " I hain t made no agreement," said Solomon, 
 doggedly. 
 
 " You have n t ?" cried Phil. "That shows what 
 I Ve felt all along lately, that I ought to have had 
 some understanding with you, something besides the 
 mere word of a girl that can change about in a min 
 ute and do the most unreasonable things." 
 
 " Sallie has been your best friend. Don t you 
 forgit that." 
 
 Phil laughed bitterly. " Friend ! I went away from 
 here once, and she coaxed me back, when I ought 
 never to have come back. It is the worst place in 
 town for a boy. You don t give me any credit for 
 what I have done. If I had gone somewhere else, as 
 I intended, and worked half as hard as I have here, 
 I should have something to show for it now. Friend ! 
 she has been no friend to me ! " 
 
 "If you had behaved yourself, you don t know 
 what she might have done for you," said Solomon. 
 
 " I don t want to know. She has done enough. 
 But how have I misbehaved ?" 
 
 " You Ve slighted her and cut her up ; and Sallie 
 ain t a girl to stand that." 
 
?3 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " I ve never slighted her," Phil protested. " I ve 
 just gone about my business, earning money for you 
 day after day. She has n t any mortgage on me, even 
 if you think you have. What right had she to tear 
 my necktie and burn it up ? Have n t I a right to 
 take a little present like that from a lady ? If she d 
 been a boy, I d have thrashed her." 
 
 " Guess you d rue the day when you undertook to 
 thrash Sal ! " Bass grinned luridly. " I thought you 
 ruther liked her." 
 
 "I liked her well enough," Phil admitted "As 
 well^as I d have liked any girl in her place, or, rather, 
 any boy ; for she was always more like a boy to me 
 than a girl. We got along well enough till she began 
 to act so like a lunatic, tearing off neckties and 
 almost scratching my eyes out." 
 
 " Huh ! " muttered Solomon. " Sal s kind o quick, 
 I own ; but you go now and do as I tell ye, and 
 treat her well, and there won t be no more trouble." 
 
 " I m willing to work for you, Mr. Bass," said Phil, 
 " if I can have a fair understanding about what I m 
 to do and what I am to earn." 
 
 " Earn ! " echoed Solomon. 
 
 " Yes," Phil insisted ; "this is what it has come to. 
 Give me up that paper of my father s, promise me 
 decent wages in future, and engage that Sal shall let 
 
THE CRISIS. 79 
 
 my eyes and neckties alone, then I 11 drive horse, 
 milk cows, feed pigs, sweep floors, do anything for 
 you, Mr. Bass, except you know well enough what 
 I won t tend bar." 
 
 Solomon had seated himself on the bed and kept a 
 tolerably low tone till now. 
 
 " You won t, hey ? " he cried in a loud, angry voice, 
 jumping up. "You will! And you won t git no 
 wages, not without I see fit to give em to ye. I ve 
 got ye in writin , and I m a-gunter keep ye. I m in 
 your father s place, and I can shet ye up if I choose, 
 or I can whale ye. I 11 do both if ye try to run away." 
 
 Phil did not answer for a moment. He was very 
 pale. He rose to his feet. 
 
 "You don t know what you are saying, Mr. Bass. 
 You can t hinder my running away." 
 
 " You 11 see. I can turn the key on ye. And if 
 you go, I can fetch ye back. Take off them clo es 
 the fust thing," Bass added, standing between Phil 
 and the door. "Them belong to me, any way." 
 
 "I ve at least earned the clothes," said Phil. 
 " But no matter." 
 
 He threw them quickly off and put on his old, out 
 grown suit. The sense of -his wrongs become insup- I 
 portable. He shed tears of rage. 
 
 " Now when you re ready to come to terms, le me 
 
80 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 know," said Solomon, gathering up the clothes in 
 order to carry them away. 
 
 "Look here, Mr. Bass!" said Phil. "I told you I 
 would work for you if you would pay me. I take that 
 back. I never will do another stroke of work of any 
 kind for a man like you, nor stay in your house a 
 minute after I can get out. I told you, and I told my 
 father in the beginning, that I wouldn t stay to be 
 bound by any such bargain as you made with him. 
 I never agreed to it, and I deny that you have any 
 claim on me. So you d better take care what you do." 
 
 "Huh!" said Solomon, taking the key out of the 
 door and putting it into the lock on the outside. "I 
 know what I m about." 
 
 He went out, the door closed, the lock clicked, and 
 Phil was shut up. 
 
TWO OF HIS FRIENDS. 8l 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 TWO OF HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 THE boy was more angry than alarmed. 
 " Stupid !" he exclaimed, listening to the land 
 lord s retreating steps. "To think he can keep me 
 here an hour after I make up my mind to get out ! I 
 can scream and bring help. Or I can climb from the 
 window on the roof and go down the lightning-rod. 
 I m in no hurry." 
 
 He remembered how he ran off a year before. He 
 did not mean to go in any such way now. In courage 
 and self-reliance he felt many years older than he was 
 then. He had a few things which he thought it 
 worth while to take with him. He was rolling them 
 up in a bundle, when somebody rapped lightly at the 
 door. 
 
 " Who s there ? " cried Phil. 
 
 " Me ! Sallie ! " answered the whispered accents of 
 Miss Bass. He made no reply. " Phil ! won t you 
 speak to me ? " 
 
 " Not with the door between us," he answered. 
 " I am locked in." 
 6 
 
82 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " If I 11 unlock the door, won t you try to get away ? " 
 
 He hesitated a moment " Not while you re here," 
 he said, at length. 
 
 The door was partly opened and the freckled nose 
 and mouth valanced with large upper teeth appeared. 
 
 " I heard every word you said about me to pa ; and 
 it was jest awful, Phil ! " The girl seemed ready to 
 cry. " But I 11 forgive you if you 11 forgive me. See 
 what I ve brought ye ! " 
 
 It was the suit of clothes which Bass had taken 
 away. Phil was touched. 
 
 " There s something good about you, after all, 
 Sallie ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I 11 be jest awful good to ye, Phil, if you 11 
 let bygones be bygones, and stay and work for pa 
 jest as you ve been doing. Say ! will ye ? " 
 
 " I can t agree to that," said Phil. " A man who 
 goes back on his word, and still claims to hold me in 
 writing after what he promised you, and orders me 
 to tend bar, and locks me up, and threatens to whale 
 me, I m through with him ! " 
 
 "Don t say that!" Sallie entreated. "I ll make 
 it right between you. We ve all been mad, and said 
 things we had n t oughter." 
 
 " I m not mad now," Phil replied ; " and what I 
 say I mean." 
 
TWO OF HIS FRIENDS. 83 
 
 " Oh, no, Phil ! Think it over ! Shall I go away, 
 so you can put on your good clo es again ? " 
 
 Phil did not intend to put them on at all, being un 
 willing that Bass should have even so small a claim 
 upon him as that; but he thought it discreet to 
 answer, 
 
 " I suppose, if you go, you will turn the key on me 
 again." 
 
 " No, I won t," said Sallie ; " not if you 11 promise 
 not to run away." 
 
 " I m not going to run away," said Phil. " I may 
 go out of the house, but I promise not to leave the 
 village." 
 
 " I know you re a feller of your word, Phil," said 
 Sallie, sweetly, as she retired, leaving the door un 
 locked. 
 
 Returning in a little while, she was startled to find 
 that he had disappeared, but, seeing the good 
 clothes on a chair, she said to herself, 
 
 "He ain t gone fur without them ! He s a feller 
 of his word, Phil is ! " 
 
 As the doctor, who had brought Phil through his 
 fit of sickness the year before, returned home from 
 visiting his patients that morning, he met that young 
 person, with a small bundle under his arm, coming 
 in haste to his door. 
 
84 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "Well," said he, inquiringly, "what s new to-day, 
 Phil ? You look excited. Feverish ? " taking the 
 boy by the hand and feeling his pusle. " Get your 
 breath, and come in and talk." 
 
 " Perhaps I m a little excited," said Phil, as they 
 entered the doctor s office together ; " but I don t 
 need any medicine : I ve come on business." 
 
 " On business ! " the doctor repeated, sitting down 
 and motioning him to a chair. " Well ?" 
 
 " My father went away a year ago," said Phil, 
 " owing you some money for attending on me when 
 I was sick. * 
 
 " A small sum," replied the doctor, with a smile. 
 " Never mind about that." 
 
 " I d rather mind about it, Dr. Mower, if you 
 please." Phil played nervously with the arm of the 
 big chair he had sunk into. " I d like to work out 
 that debt, if you have anything for me to do." 
 
 " You ! Work it out ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir. I ve always meant to pay you in some 
 way, and now I have a chance, provided you have 
 anything for me to do." 
 
 The amused smile with which the doctor regarded 
 him changed to one of interest and sympathy. 
 
 "I thought you were at work for Sol Bass." 
 
 " I have been till to-day ; but I Ve got sick of the 
 
TWO OF HIS FRIENDS. 85 
 
 Bass tribe, and I believe I ve worked out my father s 
 debt to him." 
 
 No careful observer of symptoms, like Dr. Mower, 
 could fail to notice the surge of feeling which the boy 
 was trying to keep down. 
 
 " You re having some trouble. What is it, Phil ? 
 I rather think you d better tell me all about it." 
 
 This was said so kindly that the boy, who had felt 
 himself utterly friendless a few minutes ago, burst 
 into tears. 
 
 " That s right," said the doctor, encouragingly. 
 " Open the safety-valve. There, my boy ! Now 
 you re all right. Let s hear about Sol, or Sallie, 
 which is it ? Sol or Sal ? " 
 
 Phil could not help laughing, even while he stifled 
 his last sob. 
 
 " It s both," he said. " I d like to tell you all 
 about it, if you will let me, and get your advice." 
 
 " Well, begin at the beginning," said Dr. Mower. 
 
 So Phil told all about his being pledged for his 
 father s debt to Bass, how he had worked faithfully 
 for a year in the hope of paying it off, and how he 
 had just now quit that thankless service. He did not 
 get through without more than one sob and gust of 
 tears. 
 
 The doctor leaned back in his chair and nodded 
 
86 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 with half-shut, contemplative eyes ; then he put a 
 few searching questions ; then he said, in answer 
 to one from Phil, 
 
 " No, my boy. I don t think Bass has the slightest 
 claim on you, or ever had, for that matter. The 
 paper he claims to hold you by is n t probably worth 
 that" snapping his fingers. "But Bass is a dull- 
 witted, obstinate blockhead, and he may make you 
 trouble. I think I d better see him." 
 
 " I wish you would," said Phil, overjoyed. "And 
 if you have something for me to do " 
 
 " I m sorry to say," Dr. Mower replied, " I Ve a 
 man engaged to take care of my horse and cow and 
 do all my summer s work. But I Ve an idea for you, 
 Phil. You know Krennidge, of course." 
 
 " Jo Krennidge ? " said Phil. " The teamster ? I 
 see him about every day." 
 
 "Apply to him. But go first to Mrs. Shedrick, 
 and explain to her and her boarders why you could n t 
 drive for them this morning. Say you hope to get 
 another place, and ask if they will order their teams 
 of Krennidge provided he employs you." 
 
 Phil s face brightened. " I see ! " he exclaimed. 
 " I am sure I can carry their custom over to any man 
 who has teams. They Ve been Bass s best patrons." 
 
 " But first, Phil, you really need better clothes for 
 
TWO OF HIS FRIENDS. 8/ 
 
 whatever business you think of trying. Was there 
 anything else to fit you where Bass bought that 
 suit?" 
 
 " Yes ; there was a suit I liked even better, but as 
 it cost a dollar more, he would n t buy it." 
 
 " A dollar more," said the doctor. "That makes 
 twelve dollars." He opened his pocket-book. ""Take 
 this, Phil, and go and get into those clothes as soon 
 as possible." 
 
 " I can t use your money, Dr. Mower," said Phil, 
 with glistening eyes. 
 
 " What s the reason you can t ? You 11 pay me 
 some time, and pay the old debt, too, all the sooner 
 for having a decent suit of every-day clothes to appear 
 in. Don t think 7 m going to get a mortgage on you 
 by the means. It s just a loan. I believe you- are 
 an honest boy, and I trust you." 
 
 " I did n t think you would talk to me in this way. 
 I did n t think anybody would," said Phil, with a 
 gulp of grateful emotion. 
 
 " Now, go," said the doctor ; "and come back here 
 to dinner. But hold on ! Here s the man I was to 
 see. All the better." 
 
 " Shall I go ? " whispered Phil, casting an anxious 
 glance from the window. 
 
 " No, sit down ; we may as well have it out with 
 
88 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 him now. Ah, come in ! Come in ! " cried the doc 
 tor, raising his voice, as the face of Solomon Bass, 
 more purled and empurpled than ever with haste and 
 rage, appeared at the open door. 
 
MR. BASS S ABSURD CLAIM. 89 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MR. BASS S ABSURD CLAIM. 
 
 "TTUH!" said Solomon, giving Phil a lowering 
 
 -tl look. " You here, be you ? " 
 
 " What s wanting, Mr. Bass ? " inquired the doctor. 
 
 " I want that boy," growled Solomon. "Didn t 
 you tell Sal you would n t run away ? " 
 
 " I have n t run away, and I m not going to," re 
 plied Phil. " I told her I would n t leave the village, 
 and I have n t left the village." 
 
 "Come along back with me!" And Solomon 
 advanced to lay hold of him. 
 
 " That s another thing," Phil exclaimed. " I told 
 you I had done with you, and I meant it. Don t take 
 hold of me ! " 
 
 " Hands off, Mr. Bass," said the doctor. "You ve 
 no more right to this boy than the man in the moon." 
 
 " You mean to say " began Bass, fumbling in his 
 breast-pocket. " Look a this paper ! " 
 
 "I ve heard about that. Let me see it." The 
 doctor took it and examined the writing with a 
 
9O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 curious smile. " You re a stupider man than I 
 thought, Solomon Bass, if ever you imagined such a 
 paper as that worth the ink it was written with." 
 
 " What s the reason t ain t ? " cried Bass. 
 
 " In the first place, it is not in proper form, as any 
 lawyer will tell you. In the next place, the terms of 
 it are absurd ; a court would set them aside at once. 
 A man can apprentice his son, or bind him to work 
 for another, under certain legal sanctions ; but he 
 can t sell him in this free country, or pledge him as 
 security for a debt, by giving any such note of hand 
 as that. Farlow knew it, if you did n t. I advise 
 you to burn that up, Solomon," Dr. Mower handed 
 back the paper, "and not expose your ignorance 
 by showing it to people." 
 
 "I am an ignorant man," said Solomon, "and I 
 don t know much about what you call legal sanctums. 
 But that paper is plain enough for a fool to under 
 stand. It was wrote by the boy s own father, and it 
 gives him to me till the hundred dollars is paid. 
 That s all I know, and that s all I care for. Come 
 along, I tell ye ! " 
 
 He grasped Phil s collar. Phil clung to the chair. 
 The doctor advanced and laid his hand firmly on 
 Sol s wrist. 
 
 " If you commit an assault on this boy, Solomon 
 
MR. BASS S ABSURD CLAIM. QI 
 
 Bass, I 11 have you prosecuted. If you think you 
 have a right to him, there s only one way to enforce 
 it, appeal to the law, don t break the law." 
 
 " Think I m going to give up my claim ? " cried 
 Bass. 
 
 He loosened his hold on Phil and turned on the 
 doctor, who answered with cool deliberation. "I 
 rather think you are. You Ve somebody besides 
 a boy to deal with now, you Ve a man, name Dr. 
 Mower, pretty well known in these parts. Phil has 
 placed himself under my protection, and I give you 
 fair warning, that if you lay violent hands on him 
 again I 11 have a warrant out for you so suddenly it 
 will make your head swim." 
 
 " I 11 have my rights, in spite of you ! " roared Sol 
 omon, " if I have to go to law." 
 
 "That s just what I advise you to do," said the 
 doctor. " But the law s a double-edged tool. Try 
 it with him, and I 11 try it with you. I 11 have my 
 self appointed his guardian, and sue you for his wages 
 the past year." 
 
 " Sue me for his wages ? " stuttered Sol, amazed. 
 
 "Precisely. He more than paid his board by 
 working for you during the three months he went to 
 school, and he has done almost a man s labor the rest 
 of the time. He was under no obligation to work 
 
Q2 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 out his father s debt, and you owe him a hundred 
 dollars." 
 
 This view of the case seemed to stagger Mr. Bass. 
 
 oo 
 
 Phil listened with thrills of joy while the doctor 
 went on : 
 
 " Even if that was a legal agreement between you 
 and his father, the court would set it aside, on the 
 ground that yours is no fit place for such a boy. 
 How much money has he actually paid out for you, 
 Phil?" 
 
 " Besides the suit of clothes he gave me and then 
 took away again, he has just bought me this pair of 
 shoes," Phil put out his feet, " that cost three 
 dollars. Everything else I have has been picked up 
 one way or another, given me by boarders, or bought 
 with money given me by people I Ve taken to ride." 
 
 " I see ! And you have n t been able to keep all the 
 neckties that have been given you, either," said the 
 doctor, with a smile. " You see how it is, Bass." 
 
 " I don t know why you should interfere in my busi 
 ness," replied Sol, rolling from one leg to the other 
 excitedly. "Anyhow," shaking his fist at Phil, "you 
 better come with me thout more fuss. You ll be 
 sorry if ye don t. I 11 foller ye up, I 11 dog ye, I 11 have 
 my money s wuth out of ye somehow. Will ye 
 come ? " 
 
MR. BASS S ABSURD CLAIM. 93 
 
 As Phil firmly and respectfully declined this not 
 very tempting invitation, Bass went off mumbling 
 revengefully. 
 
 "We ve a numbskull to deal with," remarked the 
 doctor, " and we must look out for him. Don t go on 
 the street till he is well out of the way. Let him 
 get over his mad fit." 
 
 " I don t know what I should do, if it was n t for 
 you ! " Phil exclaimed, in another outburst of grati 
 tude. " Would you really sue him for my wages ? " 
 
 The doctor laughed. " I don t know. It s well 
 enough for him to think so." 
 
 " If he would only accept my work in payment 
 of my father s debt, that s all I would ask," said 
 Phil. 
 
 " But he does n t accept it. He still has an idea 
 that he owns you, and I don t quite see how we are 
 to beat that out of his head. It might have saved 
 trouble," Dr. Mower continued, with his face in hu 
 morous wrinkles, "if you had been contented to re 
 main Sallie s pet, marry her in four or five years, and 
 go into partnership with her pa. How would that 
 have suited you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! " Phil ejaculated, with a shuddering laugh. 
 " It was ever so long before I would believe that was 
 their plan." 
 
94 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Sallie *s a smart girl, and it seems to be a good 
 business," chuckled the doctor. " Many a boy would 
 have jumped at the chance." 
 
 " I m not that sort of a boy," said Phil, his excite 
 ment passing off in good-humor. "If there was 
 millions in the business, and Sallie was six or seven 
 times as smart and sixty or seventy times as pretty, 
 I should make the same choice. I should say, No, I 
 thank ye ! Not any on my plate, if you please ! " 
 
THAT SUIT OF CLOTHES. 9$ 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THAT SUIT OF CLOTHES. 
 
 HAVING given Bass time to get home and cool 
 off a little, Phil started out to buy the new 
 clothes. 
 
 To his surprise, he saw in the distance Bass going 
 away from Mr. Minkins s store. But Bass did not 
 see Phil. He went off homeward, shaking his 
 head belligerently, watched by the smiling Mr. Min- 
 kins from his porch. 
 
 The worthy man had not ceased to smile when 
 he saw Phil approach. " Hallo ! " he said. " What s 
 the row tween you and Bass ? " 
 
 " Oh, we could n t agree." An idea occurred to 
 Phil, and he proceeded : " I believe I ve worked 
 out my father s debt to him, and when you ve 
 something for me to do, Mr. Minkins, I 11 work 
 out his debt to you." 
 
 " Sho ! " said Minkins, interested. " I sha n t 
 object when I have a job some time. Don t ye 
 want to buy a suit o clo es ? " 
 
96 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 This question and a peculiar quirk about the 
 Minkins mouth piqued Phil s curiosity. Although 
 he had come for the express purpose of buying 
 the twelve-dollar suit, he answered, carelessly, 
 
 " I d n know. Why ? " 
 
 "I ve got just the suit you want. Le me 
 show ye." 
 
 So saying, the storekeeper took from the counter 
 behind him, and held up to view, a coat and pair 
 of trousers, the sight of which astonished Phil 
 very much indeed. 
 
 "Just like the other," he began. " No ! " he 
 exclaimed. " By George, Mr. Minkins ! did Bass 
 just bring them in?" 
 
 " Not ten minutes fore you come," laughed 
 Minkins. " And the maddest man he was, ever 
 you did see. Here ! take these clo es back, says 
 he, and low me what ye can for em. What! 
 don t they suit Phil ? says I. Suit him or not, 
 says he, Phil sha n t have em ; that s all there is 
 bout that. I see he was terrible techy, but I 
 could n t help givin him a little rub about his 
 tomboy, to pay em off for her sass. Better keep 
 em for Sal, says I. Why not ? None o your 
 jokes with me now! says he. I m riled ! Will 
 ye take the clo es ? And what 11 ye low me ? 
 
He answered her smile with one of boy 
 ish pride und good-nature " [p. 99]. 
 
 grasped Phil s collar" [p. 90]. 
 
THAT SUIT OF CLOTHES. 97 
 
 Cost leven dollars on y little while ago. But, 
 they ve been wore, and that makes em nothin 
 more n a secon -hand suit, says I. Can t sell a 
 secon -hand suit, don t care how good, for half price. 
 He haggled a spell ; finally he said, Wai, I don t 
 care ! It s better n seein Phil ever have em on 
 ag in ! 
 
 " Phil never wanted to have em on again ! " said 
 Phil, with a rueful sort of laugh. " I m sick of 
 everything that reminds me of Sallie and her pa." 
 
 " Sho ! " replied the storekeeper. " It 11 be a 
 good joke on Bass, if you re seen a wearin on em, 
 after all. Think of his throwin em right into 
 your face, as t were ! " 
 
 " Besides," laughed Phil, " it s a second-hand 
 suit, as you say, nobody wants to pay much for 
 a second-hand suit." 
 
 " You need n t pay much," said Minkins. " You 
 may have em for jest what I agreed to low ^Bass." 
 
 " How much is that ? " 
 
 " Five dollars, if I can t get more." 
 
 " I 11 take em," said Phil, promptly. 
 
 So he had the pleasure of carrying back to the 
 
 doctor, with the clothes, seven dollars of the doctor s 
 
 money. He was in high glee. " I d rather have had 
 
 a new suit, that Sal and her pa had never had any- 
 
 7 
 
98 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 thing to do with," he said, "but I can t afford to in 
 dulge in luxuries." 
 
 The doctor gave an amused chuckle. "Well," 
 he said, showing Phil into a back room, " get in 
 side the clothes, then outside a slice of corned 
 beef, which is waiting for you, and we 11 see what 
 we can do next." 
 
 After dinner Phil went with great diffidence to 
 show himself at Mrs. Shedrick s boarding-house. 
 He was ashamed to meet Clara, after the scene 
 she had witnessed in the morning, and yet he was 
 anxious to let her know that Bass had not triumphed 
 over him. 
 
 As he was entering the yard, he saw her going 
 with a book to a hammock swung under some 
 trees near the house. He had, like many a sen 
 sitive, timid nature, a great deal of latent courage, 
 which could be drawn upon in an emergency. He 
 now drew upon it, and walked up to her. 
 
 " Oh ! " she exclaimed, with a look of surprise and 
 interest. " How do you do ? " 
 
 " I am still alive," Phil blushingly replied. 
 
 She had a frank, sweet, confiding face, upon 
 which dawned a smile of mingled sympathy and 
 mischief, as she rejoined, 
 
 " Have you got through tending bar ? " 
 
THAT SUIT OF CLOTHES. 99 
 
 Phil grew more and more confident. He answered 
 her smile with one of boyish pride and good-nature, 
 as he said, 
 
 " I have n t tended bar very much. I never sold 
 a glass of liquor yet, and I never will, and Bass 
 knew it." 
 
 " What did he give you such an order for, then ? " 
 
 " It would be a long story, and a funny story, 
 to explain that." 
 
 Phil s face expressed even more than his words. 
 Clara s curiosity was excited. 
 
 " Oh, tell it ! Here s mamma ! O mamma ! " 
 she cried, " Phil did n t tend bar this morning, 
 and he has a funny story to tell about it." 
 
 He turned and met Mrs. Chadbow bringing a 
 camp-stool to the shade of the trees. His first 
 honest impulse was to tell the whole strange history 
 of his present situation ; yet he shrank from expos 
 ing his father s weakness and dishonesty of char 
 acter. He shrank, also, he hardly knew why, from 
 betraying for it seemed to him that it would be 
 betraying the amazing folly of Miss Bass s con 
 duct. 
 
 In seeking the doctor s counsel and assistance, 
 he could talk seriously of Sallie s partiality for him, 
 and of her fearful fits of anger ; but how could he 
 
IOO PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 here and now confess that it was her preposterous 
 jealousy of Clara and her fury at sight of the 
 necktie which had caused a catastrophe in his life 
 and fortunes ? 
 
 That sense of honor which belongs to true manly 
 natures taught Phil at fifteen that a certain loyalty 
 was due even to a selfish and ridiculous passion, 
 which he had never encouraged and could not 
 respect. 
 
 So he answered, after some hesitation, 
 
 " I could n t tell half ! All I Ve come to say now, 
 Mrs. Chadbow, is, that I have left Mr. Bass, and to 
 ask if you would still like to have me drive for 
 you, if I can get another place, which I am thinking 
 of." 
 
 " I don t know why not," Mrs. Chadbow replied, 
 regarding him with a sort of motherly concern. 
 " I m glad you Ve left that man. Where are you 
 going now ? " 
 
 " I have n t decided. I hope Mr. Krennidge will 
 give me a chance to drive, if you will order your 
 teams of him. But I must find a place to live." 
 
 " Why not come here ? " the lady inquired. 
 
 " Oh, I could n t afford that ! " said Phil. " That 
 is, not unless Mrs. Shedrick can give me some 
 thing to do towards paying my board." 
 
THAT SUIT OF 
 
 Thereupon Clara spoke up with enthusiasm, 
 " Why, mamma, how strange ! She has said 
 two or three times lately that she ought to have 
 a young man about the place, and that she would n t 
 begin another season without one." 
 
 "I believe you are just the boy she wants," said 
 the mother, benignantly. " I 11 speak to her about 
 you. Meanwhile, go and see this Krennidge, and 
 if he will hire you, and you can get a horse and 
 two-seated wagon for this afternoon, bring them 
 back with you." 
 
, 1 v : PM, AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 NEW HOPE AND A NEW HOME. 
 
 PHIL started off filled with happiness and hope at 
 the kindness of these friends and his bright 
 ening prospects. 
 
 He found Krennidge at his stable, waiting for 
 cu&tom. 
 
 " How s business ? " he asked. 
 
 " Fair to middlin ," said Krennidge, picking up 
 a water-pail. 
 
 " Don t you want to hire a man ? " Phil inquired. 
 
 " Can t say as I do," replied the teamster, walk 
 ing to a pump in the yard. " Where s the man ? " 
 
 "Well, a boy, then," said Phil. "I am the 
 boy." 
 
 Krennidge had begun to pump, but he stopped 
 and looked at him with fresh interest. 
 
 " I thought you was drivin for Bass." 
 
 "So I was; but I have left him. Some of his 
 customers have left him, too; and they ll order 
 
NEW HOPE AND A NEW HOME. IO3 
 
 their teams of you, if you ll give me a chance to 
 drive for em. They want a horse this afternoon." 
 
 This was touching Krennidge in a tender spot. 
 He had noticed, not without concern, that Phil, 
 boy as he was, seemed to have more constant em 
 ployment than any other driver ; and the idea of 
 obtaining, through him, some of Bass s flourishing 
 business was a great temptation. 
 
 " Season bout over, don know as I want to 
 hire, anyway, can t say for sure. Of course," he 
 concluded, "if you can bring me orders, I can 
 mabby ford to take ye. How much do ye want ? " 
 
 " A dollar a day," said Phil, courageously. 
 
 "A dollar a day, for a boy like you ! " exclaimed 
 Krennidge. " Ruther guess not ! " and he returned 
 to his pumping. 
 
 "Very well," cried Phil, independently. "Then 
 I 11 go and see Scoville." 
 
 As Scoville was the other teamster, doing a small 
 business of his own, Krennidge dropped the pump- 
 handle again with remarkable alertness and called 
 the boy back. 
 
 " Look a-here ! Tell ye what I 11 do ! I 11 give 
 ye a dollar a day as long as there s business. 
 When there ain t none, I won t give ye noth n . 
 How s that?" 
 
IO4 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "That s all right," replied Phil, more delighted 
 than he dared to show. "Now give me that brown 
 horse of yours for this afternoon, and your easiest 
 two-seated wagon." 
 
 The horse was quickly harnessed, and he had 
 the proud pleasure of driving up again to Mrs. 
 Shedrick s piazza steps and waiting for the ladies. 
 
 While he was waiting, Mrs. Shedrick came out 
 and spoke to him. As some of her boarders had 
 gone, she could give him a room ; and would he 
 really like to come there, and get wood and water 
 and do other chores, by way of paying for his board ? 
 
 "It s just what I would like ! " exclaimed Phil. 
 
 She was a kind, elderly lady, with a pale, amiable, 
 care-worn face. Phil had always liked her ; she 
 liked Phil ; and it took but a short time for them 
 to form an agreement to their mutual satisfaction. 
 He was to come back there that night and make 
 his home with her, at least as long as her boarders 
 remained. 
 
 Then came Mrs. Chadbow and her daughter and 
 another lady. Phil stepped into the wagon after 
 them, and drove off, with Clara by his side. 
 
 "Lucky they don t know anything of Sallie s 
 jealousy!" he said to himself. "Like enough they 
 wouldn t let her ride with me, if they did." 
 
NEW HOPE AND A NEW HOME. IO5 
 
 He was very happy. A sense of newly found 
 freedom, the prospect of a home and a better life, 
 added to the charm of the company he was in, 
 filled him with a joy he could hardly contain. 
 
 The weather was fine. He took the ladies to the 
 great woods and their lovely undergrowth of ferns, 
 which he had been the first to show to visitors, 
 stopping by the way at more than one waterfall and 
 pool, or hillside commanding mountain views. Then 
 came another exciting moment of triumph, on the 
 road homeward. 
 
 Having crossed Thunder Brook bridge, he drove 
 through the village, passed Bass s hotel, and was 
 conscious of being seen sitting once more beside 
 the pretty Clara, dressed in the suit which had 
 been taken from him that morning, and driving for 
 Krennidge instead of Bass. 
 
 Yet the sensation was hardly that of triumph : 
 Phil was too good-hearted a boy to wish to make 
 his worst enemy feel as he knew Solomon and 
 Sallie felt then. 
 
 It was with a deep sigh of relief and peace that 
 he entered the comfortable little room Mrs. Shed- 
 rick gave him that evening, and said to himself, 
 " Now I am at home." 
 
 He had plenty to do now besides driving for Kren- 
 
IO6 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 nidge when he had a chance, his willingness, his 
 quick perception, and his experience of hotel work 
 making him a very useful chore-boy at the boarding- 
 house. Besides assisting Mrs. Shedrick, he did er 
 rands for the boarders, and brought from the woods 
 beautiful sheets of birch bark, which he made into 
 baskets for the ferns he had helped the ladies gather. 
 
 " It s too pleasant to last long, I m afraid," he said 
 to the doctor, who asked him one day how he liked 
 his new life. 
 
 Indeed, one part of it was destined to come to an 
 abrupt conclusion. 
 
BASS S REVENGE. IO/ 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 BASS S REVENGE. 
 
 PHIL had noticed for two or three days something 
 not quite open and friendly in the treatment he 
 received from Krennidge, and when on Saturday 
 afternoon he ventured to speak to him of wages due, 
 he got an ominously glum reply. 
 
 " Don know s I owe ye anything ; Bass says I 
 don t." 
 
 "How so?" Phil asked, changing color. "What 
 has he to say about it ? " 
 
 " A good deal, you d fancy, by the way he talks," 
 answered the. teamster. " He says I ve no right to 
 hire ye : you belong to him ; and if you earn wages, 
 the wages belong to him." 
 
 Phil was dumb for a moment with astonishment 
 and indignation. 
 
 " Well," he exclaimed, at length, " are you your 
 own man, or Bass s ? Are you going to do as you 
 said, or as he says ? " 
 
 " T ain t the question," replied Krennidge, 
 
IO8 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "whuther I m Bass s man, but whuther you re 
 Bass s boy." 
 
 " That question s decided fast enough ! " cried 
 Phil. 
 
 " You may think it is, but he claims it ain t. I 
 s pose I shall do as I said, fur as your work this 
 \veek goes. I 11 pay you, even if I have to pay him 
 over again : you ve brought me some business, 
 and I d like to have ye as long as business holds 
 out?; but I can t pay you and Bass too. I ca c late 
 I owe ye four dollars for this week," Krennidge 
 took out his pocket-book, " but I can t continner 
 the arrangement any longer, without you first come 
 to some sort of agreement with Bass." 
 
 "Very "well!" said Phil, firm, but excited, as he 
 took the money. " If you re afraid of Sol Bass, I m 
 sorry ; I thought you were a bigger man." 
 
 " T won t do no good for you to .twit me that 
 way," said Krennidge, as he returned his pocket- 
 book to his pantaloons. " Whuther I m afraid or 
 not, I know my own business, and t won t pay, for 
 the sake of a few dollars at the close of a season, to 
 have a dispute and hard feelin s with Sol Bass." 
 
 "I suppose you are right," Phil rejoined, after a 
 pause, swallowing a lump in his throat ; " but it s 
 hard." 
 
BASS S REVENGE. IOQ 
 
 " Kind o , I allow," said Krennidge ; " but it can t 
 be helped." 
 
 "Then I am through with you ?" Phil asked, turn 
 ing reluctantly away. 
 
 " I guess you be," was the response, " without 
 you re willin to do the work and let Bass draw the 
 wages." 
 
 Phil laughed bitterly as he walked out of the yard. 
 
 " Lucky there s another teamster in town," he 
 said to himself, and proceeded straight to ScovnTe s 
 stable. 
 
 He did not much like the proprietor s manner 
 towards him when he presented himself. He liked 
 still less the reply he received to his offer of services. 
 
 " Perhaps you ve heard," said Scoville, " there s a 
 man in town of the name of Sol Bass." 
 
 " He has been here before me ! " exclaimed Phil. 
 
 " I won t deny but what I Ve seen him one or two 
 times since you Ve been driving for Krennidge. As 
 to hiring you after you Ve left them, it won t do, you 
 see. I can t afford to have any trouble with Sol 
 Bass." So saying, Scoville cut off all chance for further 
 arguing the question by walking into his house. Phil 
 gazed after him a moment, with hot and violent 
 words struggling up from his heart. But he closed 
 his lips against them, and went away. 
 
110 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 He was partly consoled for these disappointments 
 by the thought that the close of the season was at 
 hand, and that the occupation of the drivers would 
 be over very soon. 
 
 Then came the miserable reflection that, with 
 other summer boarders, Clara and her mother would 
 be going away too, perhaps never to return, or be 
 seen by him again. 
 
 His rides with them were not quite over yet, how 
 ever. Even while he was telling his story at the board 
 ing-house, and Mrs. Shedrick and the boarders were 
 exclaiming indignantly against the injustice he had 
 suffered, a two-seated buckboard drawn by one horse 
 drove up to the door. 
 
 It carried three travellers, one of whom Mrs. Shed- 
 rick knew. He had been " buckboarding " with his 
 companions through the mountains. They were now 
 returning from their trip, and he wished to know if 
 she could keep them over Sunday. 
 
 "I can keep you," she said. "Come in, and Phil 
 here will take your horse around to one of the 
 stables." 
 
 Weary with their day s jaunt, they got down and 
 gave the reins to Phil, with some directions about 
 the care of the jaded beast. The boy did not like 
 the idea of patronizing either of the stables, after 
 
BASS S REVENGE. Ill 
 
 all that had happened to disgust him with the pro 
 prietors. 
 
 "I can do better than that," he said. "There s 
 Mr Marshall s barn. He will let me put the horse 
 in that." 
 
 Mr. Marshal] was a neighbor. His barn was near 
 by. The stalls were empty, and there was room for 
 the buckboard. 
 
 "Certainly," said Mrs. Shedrick ; "and there is 
 all that hay you cut in making the new croquet- 
 ground." 
 
 " If there is n t enough, I can get more, and oats, 
 too," said Phil. 
 
 The horse was accordingly put up in the neigh 
 boring barn, Phil acting as ostler. 
 
 " I like the looks of that boy ; who is he ? " said Mr. 
 Ellerton, the owner of the animal. 
 
 So Phil s story had to be told. Then it turned out 
 that the gentlemen were tired of buckboarding, and 
 anxious to return to their homes and business. 
 
 " My two friends will take the stage Monday 
 morning," said Mr. Ellerton, "and I would go with 
 them if I could get rid of my team. Do you think I 
 can sell it, or find somebody here to keep the horse 
 for me till spring ? " 
 
 " We are going to remain a week or two longer," 
 
I 14 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Oh, won t it be fine, if you have a horse of your 
 own ! " cried the sympathetic Clara. 
 
 " If I was rich," said her mother, " I would make 
 you a present of him." 
 
 " I don t want anybody to make me a present of 
 him," replied Phil. "I just want a chance to buy 
 him. See here, Mrs. Shedrick, it s a chance for you 
 to make some money. Help me buy the horse, - 
 you can manage it if you will, and we will share 
 together the profit that can be made out of him next 
 season." 
 
 " Oh, I could n t bear to take the responsibility ! " 
 the kind-hearted but timid landlady replied. " And 
 I advise you not to. What if he should die ? " 
 
 " Every man who buys an animal has to take that 
 risk," said Phil. 
 
 He was so full of the idea that he had to go down 
 and talk with his friend the doctor about it. The 
 doctor listened with half-shut, contemplative eyes 
 and nodded approvingly. 
 
 "It looks like a first-rate chance for you," he said. 
 " I 11 step up and see Mrs. Shedrick and Mr.Ellerton, 
 if you like, and speak a little word in your favor." 
 
 " Oh, if you only will ! It s a splendid horse and 
 the nicest buckboard ! " 
 
 Phil had already, in the new hope that possessed 
 
BROWNIE AND THE BUCKBOARD. I 15 
 
 him, gone to the barn two or three times and looked 
 the animal proudly over, and examined the vehicle 
 admiringly, as if they were already his own. The 
 doctor now went up with him and looked at them, 
 saying encouragingly, " Really, it looks as if it was 
 just the thing for you, Phil." 
 
 Mr. Ellerton had become interested in the boy, 
 and was well prepared to hear what the doctor had 
 to say of him. 
 
 " I think myself," - he replied, " the team in his 
 hands can be made to pay for itself in a little while. 
 The trouble will be in keeping the horse through the 
 winter. If you, doctor, will assume a little responsi 
 bility in the matter, and see that he is well fed, 
 I don t object to leaving him. I paid two hundred 
 and sixty-five dollars for horse, harness, and buck- 
 board when I started with them, and it was consid 
 ered a bargain. They cost the former owner three 
 hundred, and he had used them but a short time. 
 Now, if the boy can pay me two hundred and twenty- 
 dollars in nine or ten months, they shall be his. I 
 only ask that you and Mrs. Shedrick will see that I 
 have my property back again if I don t have the 
 money." 
 
 "I advise," remarked the doctor, "that the prop 
 erty still remain in your or Mrs. Shedrick s name, 
 
Il6 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 and that Phil keep his plans a secret for the present. 
 He understands why. But two hundred and twenty- 
 five dollars, Mr. Ellerton, is a good deal of money for 
 him to raise." 
 
 Both looked at the boy s anxiously hopeful face, 
 as he stood by and awaited what seemed to him a 
 decision of his fate. 
 
 " It is a good deal of money for him" said Mr. 
 Ellerton, with a smile ; "and I don t mind. I ll make 
 it a round two hundred. You can t find any fault 
 with that." 
 
 " No fault at all ; it is very liberal," said the 
 doctor. " I know the boy, and I am confident that, 
 with health and any sort of decent luck, he will pay 
 you, and have the horse and buckboard free of all 
 indebtedness, within a year. I think Mrs. Shedrick 
 made a mistake in not taking a share in the enter 
 prise. But all the better for him." 
 
 So Mr. Ellerton and his two friends went off by 
 the stage-coach on Monday, and the horse antl buck- 
 board were left behind. 
 
 Phil had something now to console him for his mis 
 fortunes. He could even contemplate with serenity 
 the near departure of Clara and her mother with 
 the remaining boarders, for did he not have his 
 "team"? 
 
BROWNIE AND THE BUCKBOARD. 1 1/ 
 
 That was what he called it ; that is what a great 
 many people, who probably know better, call a horse 
 and wagon. Even Clara Chadbow, who was quite well 
 educated for a girl of fourteen, would speak of getting 
 into the team, when she meant getting into the wagon, 
 careless of the fact that it takes more than one 
 animal to make a team, and that the wagon is no 
 part of it. 
 
 Every minute he could spare from his other occu 
 pations Phil now spent with Brownie, for that was 
 the horse s name, suggested by the color of his coat. 
 He delighted to feed and water him, to rub him 
 down in the morning, and to bed him down at night ; 
 then he would look in on him at odd spells, just 
 to gladden his heart by the sight of him. Brownie 
 was the last thing in his thoughts before he went to 
 sleep and always the first thing when he awoke, to 
 say nothing of his excited dreams. 
 
 The team" was useful, too. The ladies went to 
 ride oftener than ever , oftener than they really 
 cared to, I suspect, so desirous were they of helping 
 Phil pay for the hay the horse would eat during the 
 winter. 
 
 I am afraid his head was just a little turned. He 
 believed his future was assured ; and with Brownie s 
 reins in hand, Clara by his side, and the supple buck- 
 
Il8 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 board rocking lightly over the rough roads, he was 
 very nearly the happiest boy in the world. 
 
 He wanted everybody to know it was his team ; 
 yet he was discreet. 
 
 "Whose hoss is that you re a drivin now?" store 
 keeper Minkins asked him one day. " And that 
 springboard ?" 
 
 " It s just a team one of Mrs. Shedrick s old 
 boarders left with her the other day when he had to 
 hurry back to town," Phil replied. "I m taking care 
 of it for the present." 
 
 "I like that kind of a waggin," said Minkins. 
 "No box in the way ; jest a long, teterin board twixt 
 the fore and hind wheels ; wide seats, easy to git in 
 and out of. Seems to me it s jest the sort of thing 
 our teamsters here d ought to have. I bet they d 
 be pop lar." 
 
 "Think so ?" responded Phil, with a sober counte 
 nance and secret glee. 
 
 " I told Sol Bass so," Minkins resumed. " But he 
 made all sorts of fun, in his way, it s a kin of 
 savage way, of you and your borrowed spring 
 board. He hates you, Phil." 
 
 "Does he?" said Phil, coolly. "He ll hate me 
 more yet, maybe, before he gets through. He s 
 welcome ! " 
 
THE NEW PROJECT. IK) 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE NEW PROJECT. 
 
 "TT THEN the boarders were gone, and teaming for 
 * ^ the season was over at last, Phil found that 
 he had saved money enough to buy a load of hay, 
 which was soon safely housed in Mr. Marshall s barn 
 for Brownie during the winter. Brownie was at 
 the same time turned out to get his own living for 
 a while, at a small expense, in Mr. Marshall s pas 
 ture. There had been late summer and early fall 
 rains, and the grass was green. 
 
 Mrs. Shedrick had not much for Phil to do now ; 
 but she had become attached to him. She was 
 lonely in her large, empty house, and she was glad 
 to keep him with her, for future help and present 
 company. 
 
 Winter would have been a dull season for him, if 
 he had been idle, but he was not one of the idle 
 sort. 
 
 From the first of October he had the care of Dr. 
 Mower s horse and cow and wood-pile, at a dollar 
 
I2O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 and a quarter a week, which the doctor insisted on 
 paying in cash, leaving the old debt to the indefinite 
 future. 
 
 Then, besides doing Mrs. Shedrick s errands and 
 attending to her fires, he had his own horse to feed, 
 keep clean, and exercise in fine weather. When the 
 roads were bare, he used the buckboard, often giving 
 good Mrs. Shedrick a ride, or picking up some vil 
 lage boys he knew. When the snow was deep, he 
 went on horseback, using a blanket for a saddle. 
 
 They were happy days. How thankful he was to 
 be away from that dreadful tavern ! He did not 
 often meet the tomboy. When he did, she gave him 
 very spiteful looks, if she looked at him at all, 
 and no words passed between them. 
 
 He did not go to school, but procured books and 
 pursued his studies at home, helped by good Mrs. 
 Shedrick, who had been a school-teacher before a 
 disastrous marriage wrecked her youth and stranded 
 her in a summer boarding-house. 
 
 There was a peculiar tie of sympathy between 
 them : she was a deserted wife, he was a forsaken 
 son : and many a bright hour they passed together 
 over his books or in confidential talk, by the winter 
 fire, while the storms raged without. 
 
 In spring, a new project. Four or five times a 
 
THE NEW PROJECT. 121 
 
 week he would go off, sometimes on foot and some 
 times on his buckboard, and be gone half a day at a 
 time, among the gorges or on the crags of Blue 
 Mountain. 
 
 As he commonly brought home a string of trout, 
 these trips excited little attention. So much the 
 greater, then, was the surprise of people in general, 
 and the wrath of Solomon Bass in particular, when 
 his plan became known. 
 
 Mr. Minkins was one of the first in the village to 
 find it out. 
 
 " That s a cur us boy," said an old farmer from 
 the mountain, named Page, warming his shins in the 
 store one bleak April day. "Cur us feller, that 
 one with the springboard." 
 
 "You mean Phil Farlow ? What s he up to 
 now ? " asked the genial storekeeper. 
 
 "Hanged if I can jest make out. Fust place, he 
 comes to me and wants to git the run o my upper 
 pastur for the summer, and the right to cross my 
 land. T ain t much of a pastur , more rocks than 
 sile, an more stunted briers an huckleberry-bushes, 
 nuff sight, than they is grass ; but I let my sheep 
 nibble there. 
 
 " That s all it s good fer, says I. What do ye 
 want on t ? 
 
122 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " I want to take my hoss there once in a while/ 
 says he. * T won t interfere with your sheep ; only, 
 I don t want ye to low no other hoss there/ says 
 he. An hanged if he did n t agree to pay me five 
 dollars." 
 
 "Funny!" said Minkins. " T ain t no sort of a 
 decent pastur for a hoss, say nothin bout it s bein 
 so fur out of the way. But that boy ain t no fool. 
 He s deep. He s got some notion in his head. 
 What do ye think tis?" 
 
 "Fust, I was jealous twas a gold mine. But I 
 watched him, and I could n t see nary sign of his 
 sarchin fer gold at all. He gener ly goes with his 
 springboard, drivin crost my lots to the pastur , an 
 keepin on to the woods beyend, where there s an 
 old ox-team track. It s an awful hard road, but that 
 boy keeps to work on t, gittin the stuns out o the 
 way and fillin the holes and gullies, till hanged if he 
 hain t got a track he can haul his springboard over 
 slick enough. One wheel s over a rock an out o 
 the way fore t other gits along, an the thing don t 
 git wrenched like a common wagon. But, as you 
 say, what can be the feller s notion ? " 
 
 "Don t you see?" cried Minkins. "Why, it s as 
 plain as day. He s hired your pastur so s he can 
 control the travel, and git pay for the work he s 
 
THE NEW PROJECT. 123 
 
 layin out on the road. Till now, folks have had to 
 walk about a mile n a half to git to the top of 
 Ol Blue, but Phil means to haul em up." 
 
 " I du say ! If I ain t clean beat ! " exclaimed the 
 farmer. 
 
124 PHIL AND H1S FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 PHIL S INVITATION. 
 
 AMONG the earliest summer boarders that 
 season came Mrs. Chadbow and her daughter. 
 Great was the satisfaction of the good landlady in 
 welcoming them to their old rooms again; greater 
 still, if possible, the joy of Phil. 
 
 They had some eager questions to ask about his 
 prospects, and were glad to learn that he had managed 
 to keep Brownie in good condition during the winter. 
 
 " You shall see ! you shall try him to-morrow ! " 
 he gayly promised them. " It s my invitation, under 
 stand. I am going to take you where you Ve never 
 been yet." 
 
 He had grown perceptibly since they last saw him ; 
 and the expression of his eyes, the tones of voice, the 
 frank manliness of his yet boyish manners, every 
 thing about him showed that his life had been pure 
 and his aspirations high. How quickly you can tell, 
 often by a glance even, whether a youth has low 
 
PHIL S INVITATION. 125 
 
 associates and idle ways, or good habits and worthy 
 aims. 
 
 To be sure, he had his faults. An amiable self- 
 conceit was one of them. He had come to have a 
 vast deal of confidence in his own judgment and 
 enterprise, and he sometimes expressed his opinions 
 and told his plans in a way that made his friends 
 smile. Perhaps the possession of a horse and a 
 buck-wagon had not been the best thing for him in 
 that respect. 
 
 But Clara and her mamma could not blame him 
 for appearing somewhat elated when he brought his 
 "team " around to the door the next day. 
 
 Brownie s spirited mien and glossy coat showed 
 the excellent care he had had ; the buckboard fairly 
 shone in its polished cleanliness, and where was 
 there a handsomer young driver ? 
 
 With Mrs. Shedrick and Mrs. Chadbow on the 
 back seat, and Clara by his side, he drove off, pass 
 ing through the village, crossing Thunder Brook 
 bridge and taking the mountain road. 
 
 The month was June, the weather was cool, the 
 air was clear ; and the sight of the leaping brooks, 
 the woods in their early summer foliage, and the 
 beautiful mountains they had been away from so 
 long, filled Clara with girlish delight and her mother 
 
126 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 with a hardly less lively enthusiasm. Of course, their 
 pleasure was a fresh joy for Phil. 
 
 Higher and higher they ascended the rude 
 mountain road, until, on reaching a farm-yard, 
 Brownie, of his own accord, turned in. Evidently 
 he had been there before. Walking up to a gate 
 on the farther side, he stopped, and waited for 
 Phil to alight and open it ; then entered a lane 
 beyond, stopping again for his young master, as if he 
 had done the same thing twenty times before. 
 
 " Where are you taking us ? " cried Clara, as they 
 rode on up the lane, which was long, and bordered by 
 loose stone walls and banks of raspberry-bushes and 
 elders. " Is n t it charming ! " 
 
 " And see what views are opening behind us, * 
 said her mother. " This was a bright idea in you, 
 Phil. " 
 
 " You have n t seen everything yet," the proud 
 young driver replied, touching up his horse. 
 
 At the end of the lane he opened another gate; 
 then came the high, wild, rocky sheep pasture. 
 
 " Why, Phil ! " exclaimed the timid landlady. " You 
 never can get safely over these ledges in this 
 world!" 
 
 "You ll see," he laughed. "Now just watch 
 Brownie : he knows the way." 
 
127 
 
 They were all interested to note how carefully and 
 sagaciously the animal picked out his course, through 
 hollows, around rocks, and over the tops of gran 
 ite-shouldered hills. Occasionally he stopped to 
 breathe, or was it to let the ladies enjoy the 
 mountain views at the most favorable points of their 
 ascent ? 
 
 Phil walked much of the way ; and Clara got down 
 and walked with him where the ledges were steep 
 and rough. At length he said, as they reached the 
 woods on the upper side of the pasture, 
 
 " We 11 stop here, and give Brownie a good rest ; 
 and, if any of you want a bit of an adventure, just 
 come with me." 
 
 Mrs. Shedrick preferred to remain with the wagon ; 
 but Clara and her mother knew too well what Phil s 
 little adventures usually were on such excursions 
 not to accept the offered chance. 
 
 He took them into the woods, but, instead of 
 ascending farther, they soon began to descend into 
 what seemed a chasm choked with thickets below. 
 By the use of spade and hatchet here and there he 
 had cleared a very good path, and shaped necessary 
 footholds among the roots and rocks. 
 
 " Hark ! " he said, suddenly halting and holding 
 up his hand. 
 
128 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Water ! " exclaimed Clara, as the music of a tor 
 rent reached their ears. 
 
 They soon escaped from the thickets and stood 
 upon the margin of what appeared a cataract of 
 stones, which a touch might at any moment set 
 tumbling down into the gorge. These stones ex 
 tended for two or three hundred feet up the moun 
 tain-side, and then disappeared in scattered growths 
 of poplars and birches, which had found footing 
 amongst them. 
 
 Below was a beetling cliff, which, as they found 
 on reaching it, hung dizzily over the gorge. 
 
 "This is a wonderful spot !" said Mrs. Chadbow. 
 " How did you ever find it ? " 
 
 " By following the stream up into the gorge," re 
 plied Phil. " There are pools and cascades all up 
 through here ; and just below where we stand there 
 is a great cavern under the cliff. Will you go down 
 to it ? I Ve got a path through the undergrowth." 
 
 " I 11 stay here," said Mrs. Chadbow. " Clara 
 may go." 
 
 Phil took the girl s hand, stepping carefully down 
 before and showing her where to put her feet. 
 
 " There 11 be a better-worn path here, as well as a 
 better track for the buckboard up there, before the 
 season is over," he said, " or I shall miss my guess." 
 
PHILS INVITATION. 
 
 They disappeared among the saplings and pres 
 ently stood at the mouth of the cave, where he had 
 once stood with Sallie Bass. He looked at Clara as 
 he had looked at Sallie then. What a difference be 
 tween the two girls! And what a difference in his 
 life now ! 
 
 How long ago it seemed since he ate his broiled 
 trout in the woods that morning, and crawled into the 
 cavern to rest ! And yet it was less than two years. 
 
 Clara, too, was much inclined to freckles, but 
 somehow Phil thought freckles pretty enough now. 
 
 "O mam ma!" cried the girl; "it is a wonderful 
 cavern : you must come down and see it." 
 
 Phil scrambled up over the rocks and through the 
 thickets, and presently returned, helping the mother 
 down as he had helped the daughter before. 
 
 " O Mrs. Shedrick ! " said Clara, when at length 
 they went back to the landlady and the buck-wagon, 
 " you don t know what you have missed ! We have 
 seen the wildest gorge, with the brook tumbling 
 through it ; and such a cavern ! I have named it 
 Phil s Cavern, and I am going to tell everybody 
 about it." 
 
 "You are the prince of guides, Phil," said Mrs. 
 Chadbow, mounting to her seat again. " Now do we 
 go home ? " 
 
 9 
 
I3O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Not yet," laughed Phil. " What you have seen 
 is only a side-show. We have come a little out of our 
 way to get at it, but we shall soon be in the main 
 track again." 
 
 He kept an upward course along the edge of the 
 woods, and after a short drive came to an open 
 ing which could not be seen until just before they 
 entered it. 
 
 " Why, here s a regular road ! " exclaimed Clara. 
 
 " It is an old ox-track, used a long while ago for 
 hauling wood. I Ve laid out work on it this spring, 
 I tell you ! " cried Phil with satisfaction. " Brownie 
 has been over it a good many times, but never before 
 with a load." 
 
 " What pleasant woods ! " said Mrs. Chaldbow. 
 "This must be taking us near the summit." 
 
 " It is to the summit we are going," replied Phil. 
 
 " To the summit of Blue Mountain ! O mamma ! " 
 And Clara clapped her hands. 
 
 " Phil, this is almost too much happiness for one 
 day," said her mother; while Mrs. Shedrick, who 
 alone had known what a surprise he had prepared for 
 them, smiled upon him as if he had been her own son. 
 
 Up, up went the road, the buckboard undulating 
 over the inequalities and roots like a boat pitching 
 on the waves of a swelling sea. Sometimes a wheel 
 
PHILS INVITATION. 131 
 
 almost grazed one of the slender stems of birch or 
 maple, and now the heavy boughs of a pine-tree 
 swept low just above their heads. Partridges flew 
 up from the path, and squirrels chattered from the 
 limbs. It was all a secondary growth of timber; 
 but even this dwindled as they advanced, until only 
 stunted firs, their dwarfish trunks hoary with lichens 
 and moss, clung to the rocky slope. Through these 
 Phil had found or made a way after the old ox-track 
 had disappeared ; but a broken terrace of ledges had 
 stopped him at last. 
 
 " Now we Ve a quarter of a mile to climb : the 
 team can go no farther this year," he said, when they 
 reached that spot. " It is easy for the feet, though 
 it would be too hard for wheels." 
 
 Clara was the first to emerge from amidst the last 
 straggling firs and utter cries of rapture at the won 
 derful, blue, billowy world outspread around. 
 
 " Phil ! " exclaimed Mrs. Chadbow, as he helped 
 her up over the rocks after Clara, " this is almost 
 equal to Mount Washington. And to think you are 
 the first of all the drivers and guides to bring a party 
 here on wheels ! " 
 
 "That s because they are such stupid fellows," 
 replied Phil, with his little air of pleasant self-conceit, 
 which implied "all except me." 
 
132 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PHIL S CAVERN AND THE SUMMIT. 
 
 T)HIL did not miss his guess at all about the 
 -* track to the Summit becoming well worn before 
 the season was over. This first excursion was much 
 talked of, and it was not three days before he had 
 another party to conduct to Phil s Cavern and the 
 top of old Blue. 
 
 Clara, who had named the cave, also named the 
 vehicle. She was helping Phil one evening write 
 some notices to be pinned up at the post-office and 
 all the boarding-houses, except Bass s hotel, when 
 she asked, 
 
 " What are you going to call it ? You ought to 
 get a taking name. Oh, I have it ! The Blue 
 Mountain Buckboard!" And she wrote, putting 
 some of his own phrases in a new form : 
 
 "TRY THE BLUE MOUNTAIN BUCKBOARD. 
 
 " The easiest riding wagon in town. To all places of popular 
 resort, especially to the new points of interest, Phil s Cavern and 
 Blue Mountain Summit. Prices reasonable. 
 
 " Ajiply to PHIL FARLOW, 
 
 "AT MRS. SHEDRICK S." 
 
PHILS CAVERN AND THE SUMMIT. 133 
 
 " How s that ?" she said, triumphantly. "How 
 am I for a man of business ? " 
 
 " Capital ! " replied Phil, laughing and blushing. 
 "But I never can post up my own name in that 
 way, Phil s Cavern!" 
 
 "But you must!" Clara insisted. "That s the 
 name of it, and that s what you must call it in the 
 notices. You must n t be too modest." 
 
 "I? Too modest?" he queried. "I thought I 
 heard a girl about your size hint something quite the 
 reverse the other day." 
 
 " Did I ? Well, you are really modest, Phil, I 
 think," she replied, laughing ; " although you are 
 rather conceited. What do you say ? " dipping her 
 pen again. 
 
 "All right, if you think so," replied Phil, whose 
 vanity was really tickled by the proposal, and who did 
 not care how prominent his name was in the notices, 
 if she would approve and write them. So copies were 
 made and posted ; and soon the Blue Mountain Buck- 
 board and the Blue Mountain Driver it is not cer 
 tain who first gave the name to him were the most 
 popular vehicle and teamster in town. 
 
 The drive to the Summit and Phil s Cavern be 
 came fashionable. As he had also his share of the 
 driving in other directions, Phil within a month 
 
134 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 found himself in the enjoyment of all the busi 
 ness he and his buckboard could do, or, rather, 
 all that he was willing that Brownie should do. 
 He might often have made a dollar a day more 
 than he did if he had been less merciful to his 
 horse. 
 
 "I could stand it," he would say, "but Brownie 
 has done enough. I won t overwork him." 
 
 The manner in which Bass and the other team 
 sters had combined to keep up the prices proved a 
 good thing for the young competitor. Where he 
 thought them too high, he did not mind carrying pas 
 sengers for less than the old rates, making terms to 
 suit occasions. For instance, the fare to the Twin 
 Cascades and back had hitherto been seventy-five 
 cents ; and it made no difference whether the wagon 
 conveyed two persons or ten. If Phil took but two 
 persons, he would charge them full fare. But if he 
 took five or six, which his buckboard could carry 
 comfortably over good roads, he would charge only 
 three dollars or three dollars and a half for the whole 
 party. As he would sometimes make two or three 
 such trips a day, he felt that he was doing well 
 enough with one horse. 
 
 He would never take more than two or three at a 
 time, however, to the Summit ; and for those he inva- 
 
PHIL S CAVERN AND THE SUMMIT. 135 
 
 riably charged a dollar and a half apiece. " It s so 
 hard on the horse," he would say. 
 
 He could not help bragging a little. " You 11 see 
 prices lower still," he indiscreetly said to some 
 body, " when I ve got my team paid for, and am able 
 to put one or two more teams on the road." 
 
 That somebody repeated the remark to somebody 
 else, who told Scoville, who told Krennidge, who 
 told Lorson, who told Bass. 
 
 Great was the indignation of those worthies. Bass, 
 particularly, who had been as angry all along at Phil s 
 success as an unreasoning, brutal sort of man could 
 well be, was now more infuriated then ever against 
 him, and he used Phil s foolish remark like a fire 
 brand held at the noses of the rest. 
 
 "Think of his comin in and cuttin under us in 
 this way ! The boy that by good rights belongs to 
 me, with all his work and wages ! Who put him into 
 the way o drivin ? Who but Sol Bass, I d like to 
 know ? And now see the airs he puts on, with his 
 confounded buckboard ! It s only a few years sence 
 nobody but some old farmer, too poor to own any 
 sort of wagon, would be seen ridin into town on a 
 springboard, that s what we called em then, and 
 now, bless your heart ! it s all the rage ! T won t do, 
 boys : if he keeps on gittin our business away and 
 
136 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 cuttin down prices, he ll ruin us, or, ruther, he ll 
 ruin you, for I Ve got my tavern to fall back on to. 
 He hain t sot up no tavern, not quite yit ! " 
 
 Thus Sol Bass thrust the firebrand at the said 
 noses until he had succeeded in stirring up in the 
 owners a passion almost as furious as his own. 
 At the same time, much as he hated the sight of 
 a buckboard (with smart young Phil driving it), he 
 made up his mind to try one himself. 
 
 For four or five weeks Phil found no trouble at all 
 in monopolizing the Blue Mountain travel. He had 
 not only secured an exclusive right to the pasture, 
 which everybody must pass through who drove or 
 rode to the Summit, but he knew very well that 
 none of the old wagons in use could stand the 
 journey. 
 
 Some horseback parties went up by his route, and 
 he did not object to them ; but one day, descending 
 the Summit with a party, he met Lorson driving up 
 with another party on a buckboard. 
 
 " Ye can t have everything your own way, Sonny," 
 said that slab-sided individual, with a malicious grin, 
 as he crowded by. 
 
 Phil, who had turned out in the woods at great in 
 convenience to let him pass, answered with spirit, - 
 
 "I ve hired the pasture you ve just passed 
 
How n that ? phe paid triumphantly. How am I for a man of business ? " fp. 133]. 
 2. "Parts of the skeleton of a wagon fallen to pieces" [p. 143J. 
 
PHIL S CAVERN AND THE SUMMIT. 137 
 
 through, and I ve done a good many days work 
 making this track passable for one team, let alone 
 my being the first to think of hauling a party up. 
 Still I don t object to you or anybody s driving here 
 if you will pay a share of the expense, and make the 
 road wide enough so that two teams can meet. 
 That s all I ask." 
 
 u He asks a heap," muttered Bas, when Lorson 
 told him of the encounter. "Don t he and all he s 
 got belong to me ? If we 11 make the road wider, 
 for two teams to meet ! Huh ! He better be careful, 
 or t won t be long fore there won t be no buckboard 
 o hisn to meet, there or anywhere ! " 
 
 About the middle of July Phil handed Dr. Mower 
 fifty dollars, to be sent to Mr. Ellerton. He had an 
 excellent run of business for the next ten days, at 
 the end of which time he one evening carried the 
 doctor fifty dollars more. 
 
 "This isn t all that s owing to me," he cried, 
 exultantly. " At this rate, I shall have my team all 
 paid for before the middle of August, with a chance 
 of making a hundred or a hundred and fifty more for 
 myself before the season is over." 
 
 " First rate ! But keep your head cool, my boy," 
 said the doctor. " Don t crow till you re out of the 
 woods. How about our friend Bass ? " 
 
138 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " His blackboard has been to the Summit again this 
 week," replied Phil. " As Lorson really takes pains 
 to crowd me out of the track, and they won t do a 
 thing towards improving it, I went to Mr. Page yester 
 day and told him I should expect him to keep his 
 agreement ; he must n t let any other team cross his 
 pasture." 
 
 "That s right, that s fair," said the doctor, who 
 had been consulted with regard to the Blue Mountain 
 enterprise from the beginning. " What did he say?" 
 
 " He said he would stop the first team ; and I hear 
 he did stop Lorson to-day. He had to turn around 
 with his party, without taking them to the top." 
 
 " That s capital!" the doctor chuckled; " but it 
 will make Bass rearing and pitching mad ! " 
 
 "I suppose so," said Phil ; " but what can he do ?" 
 
WHAT BASS COULD DO. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 WHAT BASS COULD DO. 
 
 T}HIL went home from the doctor s in high spirits. 
 * His confidence in himself had been justified. 
 His plan of reaching the Summit and securing con 
 trol of the pasture had proved him a youth of ideas 
 and strategic resources. That he now had Brownie 
 and the buckboard half paid for, with money still 
 owing him from patrons who would be sure to pay 
 him and not Bass, was a fact that seemed to give 
 solid foundation to his triumph. 
 
 "What can the man do ?" he repeated to himself 
 as he walked home, palpitating with joy and hope, 
 under the midsummer stars. 
 
 He took a last look at Brownie in his stall, pad 
 locked the barn door, extinguished his lantern in 
 Mrs. Shedrick s kitchen, and went to bed. 
 
 His hardy out-door life made him a ready and 
 sound sleeper, and his mind usually passed from the 
 world of thought to the realm of dreams almost as 
 soon as his head touched the pillow. Often he slept 
 without waking until morning. But that night, very 
 
I4O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 strangely, he was awakened twice. First, by some 
 indefinable noise that reached him through his open 
 window. He lay and listened for a few minutes, 
 when, hearing nothing more, he got up and looked 
 out. Silence and starlight, the dim earth, and the 
 distant murmur of Thunder Brook ; no other sight 
 or sound ; so he went back to bed again. 
 
 He could not have slept long when he was awa 
 kened a second time, not by any noise, apparently. 
 What then could have roused him ? Was it his own 
 prophetic spirit ? for it could hardly have been the 
 faintly flickering light on his chamber wall, a curi 
 ous wavering glow, like the reflection of flames not 
 far off. He could not see any fire from where he 
 lay, and yet it seemed to him that there was also 
 a soft gleam on the trees bordering the village 
 street. 
 
 Again he went to the window, and quickly satisfied 
 himself with regard to the origin of the light. Away 
 on a hillside, where he remembered that some brush- 
 heaps had been piled near a grove belonging to Mr. 
 Marshall, there was a lively blaze. 
 
 "It seems to me a strange time of the night to be 
 burning brush-heaps," he said, and went to bed again. 
 
 He was up early the next morning, full of pleasant 
 anticipations of his work and the gains it promised. 
 
WHAT BASS COULD DO. 14! 
 
 He was to take a party of three to Phil s Cavern and 
 the Summit, and Brownie must have a good breakfast. 
 After doing some light tasks about the boarding- 
 house, he started for the barn, whistling with happy 
 thoughts. As he drew near, Brownie answered with 
 welcoming whinny and pawing feet from within. 
 
 Then Phil stopped whistling with remarkable sud 
 denness : he had noticed something wrong about 
 the door-fastenings, a staple had been drawn, the 
 hasp hung down, the padlock lay on the ground. 
 
 With a start of alarm he sprang forward and threw 
 open the door, forgetting for an instant that he had 
 already heard the horse stamp and whinny, and 
 looking to see if he was still there. 
 
 Brownie was in his stall ; apparently nothing had 
 happened to him. What then was the meaning of 
 the forced lock ? Phil glanced anxiously around. 
 The harness hung on its hooks. But the buckboard! 
 Where was the buckboard ? 
 
 He ran out wildly, uttering a despairing cry. He 
 looked all around the yard, then hastened to Mr. 
 Marshall s house. 
 
 Mr. Marshall came to the door half-dressed, and 
 heard with surprise the boy s first breathless ques 
 tion, 
 
 " Have you been to the barn this morning ? " 
 
142 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "No, I ve only just got out of bed," he replied. 
 "What s the trouble?" 
 
 "The barn has been broken into, .and my buck- 
 board has been stolen ! " 
 
 " Your buckboard ! And the horse ? " 
 
 "The horse is there." 
 
 " Then the buckboard can t be far away," said Mr. 
 Marshall, reassuringly : "nobody would want that 
 without a horse. It must be a foolish joke some 
 fellows are trying to play off on you." 
 
 "It s no joke," said Phil, full of the worst fore 
 bodings. " Who burnt your brush-heaps up on the 
 side-hill last night?" 
 
 " Nobody, to my knowledge. Are they burnt ? " 
 
 " I saw the blaze. I know what it means now." 
 
 Phil hurried away to the scene of last night s fire. 
 Mr. Marshall, following immediately, knew by his 
 frantic gestures before he came up with him what 
 had happened to the buckboard. 
 
 There was a desolate, smouldering heap of brands 
 and ashes, before which Phil had paused, convulsed 
 with grief and rage. 
 
 It was a broad, spreading heap, with a pretty well- 
 defined boundary, beyond the circle of which lay the 
 still smoking ends of scattered branches which the 
 fire had not quite consumed. Among these pro- 
 
WHAT BASS COULD DO. 143 
 
 jected the fragments the fragments only of a 
 pair of shafts. 
 
 Within the circle, near opposite sides of the heap, 
 were parts of the skeleton of a wagon fallen to 
 pieces : just two pairs of half-buried tires, the spokes 
 and fellies mostly destroyed, one axle sticking out, 
 with a charred piece of the iron-bound hub, and 
 a mound of cinders where the connecting board and 
 seats should have been. 
 
 "It s the most monstrous outrage ever I heard 
 of ! " Mr. Marshall exclaimed. " Who could have 
 done such a thing ? " 
 
 " I know who did it, or had it done," replied Phil. 
 " Oh, won t he get his pay for this ! Fire is a play 
 thing more than one can handle ! " 
 
 He scarcely knew what he said, for the anger he 
 was in. Yet anger is hardly the word to describe 
 his violent emotions, bitter grief and disappoint 
 ment, a burning sense of wrong, and a maddening 
 desire for revenge 
 
 " I thought I heard somebody at the barn about 
 twelve or one o clock last night," said Mr. Marshall ; 
 " but I had no idea what was going on." 
 
 Phil was trying to get his passion under some 
 control. 
 
 " I heard a noise. I wish I had come out and 
 
144 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 caught the villains at it. There must have been 
 more than one. They hauled the buckboard up here, 
 tumbled it over on the brush-heap, then set the fire 
 and ran away. I 11 find them out," he added, with 
 fierce determination, "I 11 find them out and 
 punish them, if I live." 
 
MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY. 145 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY. 
 
 HPHE news of the outrage spread quickly, causing 
 * no little excitement in the village. Not only 
 among Phil s many friends, it was to be expected 
 that their indignation and sympathy would be roused. 
 But strangers, who knew him, if at all, only by sight 
 or name, and who cared nothing hitherto for his 
 troubles with the other teamsters, were inspired with 
 a sudden interest in his fortunes when they heard of 
 the barbarous wrong. 
 
 Then if Phil had had half a dozen buckboards he 
 could have found employment for them all ; but he 
 had not even one, nor did he know where one 
 could be had. 
 
 " The best way," said the doctor, whom he con 
 sulted, " will be to order one directly from the 
 makers. I 11 do it for you ; and I 11 hold on mean 
 while to the fifty dollars I was going to send to Mr. 
 Ellerton to-day. Collect what money is owing you ; 
 then, if you have n t enough to pay for the new 
 wagon, I suppose I must let you have some." 
 
 10 
 
146 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Mrs. Chadbow has already told me she would 
 lend me what I need," said Phil. " I Ve got some 
 good friends in that house," his eyes glistening 
 with grateful tears. 
 
 " That s good. But you d better borrow the 
 money of me. You won t need a very large sum. 
 Now for a description of the sort of wagon you want," 
 continued the doctor, taking up a pencil, "for we 
 must get off the order the first thing." 
 
 " I am going to sleep in the barn after this," said 
 Phil, before going away, " so as to be sure nothing 
 happens to the horse without my knowing it. I only 
 wish I had done it before. I offered to, so that Mrs. 
 Shedrick could let my room ; but she preferred to 
 have me sleep in the house." 
 
 "It s a good idea for you to sleep in the barn," 
 said the doctor, "but keep still about it. Govern 
 that lively tongue of yours, Phil, on all occasions ; 
 don t brag, don t talk of your plans, and, above all, 
 don t threaten. "Just mind your own business, keep 
 your eyes peeled, and very likely the rascals who 
 burnt your buckboard will betray themselves. You 
 think you know who they are, and no doubt Bass is 
 at the bottom of the villany ; but what you want is 
 proof." 
 
 Phil went away comforted and encouraged. He 
 
MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY. 
 
 spent two days trying to hire a wagon to fill the 
 place of the buckboad temporarily, but met with 
 poor success. Then came a telegram to the doctor, 
 sent by the Buckboard Company to inform him that 
 they had no such wagon on hand, and asking if they 
 should make one. 
 
 " Make one ? " exclaimed Phil, despairingly, when 
 the doctor read the message to him on the street. 
 " What s the use of that ? The season is slipping 
 away, and it will be over before ever I see a 
 buckboard again !" 
 
 " It s a hard case," said the doctor, " but I rather 
 think it s the best thing you can do ; or, you can 
 take a ride up through the mountains, and see if 
 you can pick up another second-hand buckboard. 
 Think of it over night, and let me know in the 
 morning." 
 
 " I 11 think of it," said Phil. But how could he 
 decide ? 
 
 " If I wait for a wagon to be made for me," he ex 
 plained to Clara that evening, " I shall lose time, 
 anyway. If I spend two or three days hunting for a 
 second-hand one, and don t find it, I shall be losing 
 so much more time. I don t know what to do." 
 
 "The more I think of it," said Clara, "the more 
 angry I am at those mean men who burnt your buck- 
 
148 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 board. But don t be worried, Phil ; you 11 come 
 out ahead of them all, I m sure." 
 
 Her sympathy was precious to him. Nevertheless, 
 he was full of the torment of doubt and impatience 
 when he left her and went to the barn, thinking he 
 would come to some decision while giving Brownie 
 his bed. 
 
 He was spreading the litter in the dusky stall with 
 a rustling noise, which prevented him from hearing 
 any other sound, when, on looking up suddenly, he 
 saw, standing beside him at the horse s heels, the 
 figure of a man. 
 
 He was startled by the apparition, coming upon 
 him so mysteriously. It was not so dark but he 
 could see that his visitor had some at least of the 
 characteristics of a tramp, shabby garments, a 
 battered hat, and a bristling, uncleanly beard. 
 
 " Hallo ! " said the boy, sharply, with a step 
 backward. " What do you want ? " 
 
 " Phil, my boy," answered the man, doubtfully, 
 "is it you?" 
 
 If he had given him a blow, Phil could not have 
 been more hopelessly stunned and dizzied for a 
 moment. He stood gasping and trembling, unable 
 to take in the magnitude of this new calamity which 
 had rushed upon the heels of his other troubles, 
 when the visitor went on, 
 
MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY. 149 
 
 " It is you, I see ! But how you have grown ! They 
 told me I would find you here. Well, T am changed, 
 too, my boy. You hardly know me yet." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I know you," faltered Phil, utterly 
 miserable, when he felt that he ought to be glad. 
 " Who told you I was here ? " 
 
 " The folks at the boarding-house, a lady and a 
 girl on the piazza. How are you prospering, my boy ? " 
 
 Phil did not answer. He had a feeling of deathly 
 cold and faintness at his heart. It was an aguish 
 hand which the shabby visitor had somehow got 
 hold of and was pressing affectionately. 
 
 " This is n t a very cordial welcome you are giving 
 your father," he said, sadly, as he dropped the 
 unresponsive palm. 
 
 "I can t help it," said Phil. "I didn t expect 
 you. I don t see why you have come." 
 
 " Do you think I have no affection for my own 
 flesh and blood ? " replied Farlow, in a pathetic voice. 
 
 There was only the ghost of his old pleasant, airy 
 manner left. He appeared very weary. Phil had 
 never dreamt of seeing him again, so dingy and so 
 broken. He was touched ; yet he could not help 
 answering, coldly, 
 
 " I have n t had much reason to think you cared 
 for me." 
 
I5O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " I know you have n t," Farlow admitted, with 
 something like his old engaging frankness. " I have 
 been coming for you, or sending for you, any time 
 these past two years ; but somehow I never could 
 strike a genuine streak of luck." 
 
 "I never expected you would," said Phil; "but 
 I never expected this." 
 
 He looked with undiminished dismay at his father, 
 who seemed to him to have grown shorter by half a 
 head while deteriorating in other ways. It is certain 
 that Farlow did not bear himself so jauntily upright 
 as formerly. But the difference was chiefly in Phil, 
 who had grown tall. 
 
 " Of course you did n t," said the elder. " The 
 world has been rather rough on the old fellow, my 
 boy. But I m coming out all right. I did n t know 
 whether I should be able to hunt you up or not ; but 
 luck was with me for once." 
 
 The unfilial words came to the son s quivering lips, 
 " The luck was not with me ! " but he did not utter 
 them audibly. He said aloud, 
 
 " I don t see what I can do for you." 
 
 " I don t expect you to do much," said the father. 
 " But it is a satisfaction to see you again, and know 
 you are prospering." 
 
 " I am not prospering ! " Phil exclaimed, passion- 
 
MISFORTUNES NEVER COME SINGLY. I 5 I 
 
 ately, the recollection of his other woes crowding 
 upon him. "I have n t anything I can call my own. I 
 can t even call myself my own, since you went away." 
 
 "Why, how s that, Phil?" 
 
 " Did n t you pawn me, pledge me as security, for 
 your debt to Bass ? " 
 
 " But that did n t amount to anything," said 
 Farlow, as much surprised as if that little trans 
 action had altogether escaped his mind. 
 
 " It has amounted to this," returned Phil, his voice 
 agitated almost to sobs, " that Bass held me and had 
 my services for a year, and has dogged me, as he 
 threatened to do when I left him, dogged and 
 persecuted and ruined me at last. Oh ! " he exclaimed 
 in anguish ; " and now to have you come back in this 
 way, and say your pawning me did n t amount to 
 anything ! " 
 
 " Gracious heaven, my boy ! " said Farlow, greatly 
 disturbed, "I never for a moment supposed it would. 
 But I see my coming is ill-timed. I won t trouble 
 you. I 11 go." 
 
 " No, father ! " said Phil, chokingly. He could 
 not speak the name before ; he had not thought he 
 could ever speak it again. " I can t tell you to stay, 
 for there s nothing under heaven I can do for you, 
 as I see ; and you can bring nothing but trouble to 
 me, when I have enough already. But don t go so." 
 
I $2 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 FATHER AND SON ONCE MORE. 
 
 rySHEARTENING as such an invitation must 
 *^ have been, Farlow did not wait to have it 
 repeated. He had looked around him in a tired 
 fashion two or three times, and now, seeing a 
 peck-measure by the door, he turned it up and 
 sat down on it. 
 
 " Where have you been, and where are you 
 going?" Phil said, watching him with mingled feel 
 ings of pity and dread, and almost sorry he had 
 a^ked him to stay. 
 
 "I ve just been knocking about, here, there, and 
 anywhere, for the most of the time," said Farlow, 
 taking out a pipe and half filling it with pinches of 
 crumbled tobacco from his pocket. " Where I m 
 going, the Lord only knows." 
 
 He struck a match on the sole of his shoe, and 
 began to puff. 
 
 "Why can t you ever settle down somewhere in 
 some sort of business ? " Phil inquired, impatiently, 
 setting his foot on the match his father had dropped. 
 
FATHER AND SON ONCE MORE. 1 53 
 
 11 1 Ve tried it," said Farlow. " But that s easier 
 said than done. A gentlemanly occupation is n t easy 
 to be had ; and I can t adapt myself to any other." 
 
 " A gentlemanly occupation ! " Phil exclaimed, 
 with something like angry contempt. " I d black 
 boots, or do any honest work, and consider it a good 
 deal more gentlemanly than living as you do." 
 
 His father had sat down to his smoke in so con 
 tented a manner, so much as if he had left his cares 
 behind and come to take his ease there with his boy 
 in the dusky barn, that Phil could not help uttering 
 this reproach. 
 
 "You always were inclined to be hard on your 
 father," said the wanderer, peevishly. " I don t say 
 but what I deserve it ; but you might at least put off 
 your preaching till morning." 
 
 "Till morning!" The implication that his father 
 had really come to stay with him was appalling to 
 poor Phil. 
 
 " Why not ? " said the smoker, between puffs. 
 
 "I can t keep you till morning," Phil answered. 
 " I have n t a bed even for myself." 
 
 " Not a bed ? But you must have some place to 
 sleep." Farlow looked up from his pipe. 
 
 " I sleep on the straw here in the barn," said Phil. 
 
 "That will do," Farlow replied, complacently. 
 
154 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " It won t be the first time for me, if I sleep on the 
 straw, too. And a bite of some sort ? I have n t had 
 any supper, nor any dinner, for that matter." 
 
 He fell to smoking again, while Phil remained 
 silent, full of conflicting thoughts. 
 
 " What ! No supper ? " said Farlow, at length, as 
 the boy made no sign. 
 
 " I d be glad to give you my supper," replied Phil, 
 with wretched hesitancy. " I d be willing never to 
 eat another if if But that isn t it." 
 
 " What is the hitch then ? I see ! You are not 
 willing to take me into the house and introduce me 
 to your friends, and say, This is my father ! 
 You re wondering how you can do it." 
 
 Phil could not deny that this very thing was in his 
 thoughts. He stood silent, his head down, his eyes 
 on the gloomy floor, while Farlow went on, 
 
 "Well, I don t wonder. I m not dressed as a gen 
 tleman of my quality should be, that s a fact ; and 
 you have a right to be ashamed of my shabbiness." 
 
 " Oh, that s not it ! " Phil spoke up, quickly. " I 
 should n t be ashamed of anything about you your 
 clothes, or anything if " 
 
 "Out with it, my boy! " said Farlow, putting more 
 refuse tobacco into his pipe. 
 
 " If you were not what you are ; that s what I am 
 
FATHER AND SON ONCE MORE. 155 
 
 ashamed of," Phil burst forth, vehemently. " If you 
 had come honestly by your shabbiness, as you call it, 
 I I think I could be proud of it." 
 
 Farlow shrugged, and struck another match as he 
 said, 
 
 " Then I m to have no supper." 
 
 " I can t take you into the house," said Phil, hav 
 ing made up his mind on that point. " But I have n t 
 had my supper yet. I 11 get it and bring it out to 
 you." 
 
 Farlow took a puff or two, and said, over his pipe, 
 while he waved the match to extinguish it before 
 throwing it down, 
 
 " And have none yourself ? " 
 
 " Does he think I can eat anything to-night ? " 
 thought the wretched boy, as, without answering, he 
 moved towards the door. 
 
 Phil waited to see the match put out to the last 
 spark, for the man he left sitting there on the 
 upturned measure was so little like his father, so 
 much like a nightmare vision of him rather, and he 
 handled his matches so recklessly over the littered 
 floor, that he had no more confidence in his avoiding 
 to set the straw afire than if he had been any com 
 mon tramp. 
 
 He did not wish to be seen as he entered the 
 
156 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 house, but Clara started out from under the trees 
 with a book her mother had sent her to bring from 
 the hammock. 
 
 " O Phil ! " she cried ; "did you see that man who 
 was asking for you ? Mother thought it so strange ; 
 she said he looked so like a vagabond ! " 
 
 How could the boy be true in his terrible humili 
 ation and distress, and say, "That man is my 
 father! " It was impossible. So he gave the evasive 
 answer he had already prepared for such questions. 
 
 " Yes, I saw him. He s a man I used to see 
 around town some time ago." 
 
 "What did he want?" 
 
 " Something to eat, I suppose. I am going to give 
 him something and send him away." 
 
 " Is he waiting there in the barn ? I should think 
 you would be afraid," said Clara. 
 
 " What is there to be afraid of ? " replied Phil, with 
 as careless an air as he could assume. 
 
 It was a common thing for him to come in late to 
 his supper, and he found it set aside, waiting for him 
 on the kitchen table. He pretended to eat, but 
 slipped meat and bread and a piece of pie into a 
 napkin on his knees, and soon returned to the barn, 
 half expecting to find that another lighted match 
 had in the mean while been dropped in the straw. 
 
FATHER AND SON ONCE MORE. 157 
 
 He found Farlow sitting where he had left him, 
 musing in the gloom over his burnt-out pipe. He 
 quickly knocked out the ashes at sight of Phil, re 
 turned the pipe to his pocket, and looked-at the well- 
 filled napkin with a gleam of something like avidity. 
 
 " Don t you want to wash yourself first ? Here 
 is a pail of water," said Phil. 
 
 "Thank you, my son, I ll eat first, if it s the same 
 thing to you," replied Farlow, extending his hand 
 for the napkin. 
 
 He opened it and began to devour its contents in 
 a way which made Phil glad indeed he had not taken 
 him into the house. To witness the uncleanly habits 
 into which he had fallen, and to see him eat so like 
 one who had not for days tasted wholesome food, 
 was a heart-sickening trial to the boy. How could 
 he bear that anybody else should see and know that 
 this was his father ! 
 
 He was glad of an excuse to leave him again, 
 when Farlow asked for drink. It was a relief to 
 breathe the free air alone once more, for only a few 
 minutes. To return to the barn was like going back 
 to a prison. 
 
 " You could n t get a drop of brandy to put into it, 
 could you, Phil ? " said Farlow, with an insinuating 
 smile, as he took the dipper in which the water was 
 
158 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 brought from the pump. "Or anything warming, 
 you know, to raise a man s spirits a trifle? Then I 
 can talk with you." 
 
 "No, I couldn t, to save my lite," replied Phil. 
 
 Farlow shrugged, took a sip of the water, and set 
 the dipper down, saying he felt ill. He could eat no 
 more ; the napkin, with what was left of the victuals, 
 was falling from his lap. Phil took it away, alarmed 
 and distressed, but saying to himself, 
 
 " I can t get him liquor, even if he dies ; perhaps 
 he had better die ! " 
 
 " I m a used-up man; that s just the fact about 
 it," said Farlow, sliding down and stretching himself 
 out on the floor. " I ve had such a tramp, coming to 
 find you." 
 
 That was a dreadful suggestion. He had come so 
 far, the hopelessly broken man, no- doubt relying on 
 Phil for help. How he was to help him, or even 
 to get rid of him again, was an awful problem to the 
 anxious son. He brought straw for his father to 
 lie on and a bundle for his head. Farlow murmured 
 something, and almost immediately went off in a 
 stupor, which Phil perceived to be sleep. 
 
 " No matter what his troubles were, he could 
 always sleep and leave somebody else to bear them," 
 the boy said to himself, bitterly. He remembered 
 
FATHER AND SON ONCE MORE. 159 
 
 the last night they passed together at Bass s tavern, 
 and said to himself again, as he said then, " How can 
 he sleep so ! " 
 
 But he was thankful for a chance to think over the 
 situation and try to solve that frightful problem. In 
 the mean time, he prepared his own bed of straw, 
 shut the barn, leaving the windows open for air, and 
 lay down in a corner. 
 
l6O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE NIGHT IN THE BARN : THE MORNING. 
 
 GOOD sleeper as he was when free from care and 
 happy, Phil knew there was not much rest in store 
 for him that night. He lay listening to his father s 
 heavy breathing, and asking himself over and over 
 again what he ought to do, it seemed to him, for 
 hours ; and when at last he sank into a feverish 
 slumber, from sheer weariness of body and soul, he 
 could not have slept many minutes before he was 
 startled by a sound. 
 
 He had lost himself, and for a brief, blessed in 
 terval forgotten where he was. He sat up, staring 
 with fright. A small, bluish-green, sputtering flame 
 was the only object visible in the darkness. It was 
 not much larger than a pea, and it shed scarcely a 
 halo around, a flame without light, but it blazed up 
 presently, increasing in brightness, and by degrees a 
 hand holding a match became visible ; then a stub of 
 a pipe, held by another hand, started out of the black 
 shadows, with a rough-bearded mouth and a haggard 
 
THE NIGHT IN THE BARN. l6l 
 
 face, half illumined. A strange and terrible picture 
 in the surrounding gloom, terrible, indeed, to poor 
 Phil, called back thus suddenly to the reality of his 
 situation. 
 
 He believed the litter on which his father lay must 
 surely get a spark, and he was going to shriek out, 
 but was restrained by the thought that any sudden 
 disturbance might as soon precipitate as prevent the 
 catastrophe. So he waited, spellbound with fear, 
 and saw a part of the thin bright coal at the burnt 
 end of the match actually fall into his father s lap. 
 Then all was dark again, except for a fitful glow in 
 the pipe-bowl as the puffs were drawn. 
 
 Still the boy did not speak. He could only wait 
 in anxious horror to see the pipe smoked out and 
 extinguished, wondering, meanwhile, that any man 
 could be so criminally careless, and inwardly vowing 
 that he would never endure another such night. 
 
 " Even if I did n t think of myself and the horse," 
 he reflected, " I have no right to expose anybody s 
 barn to such a risk." 
 
 After his smoke, which was luckily attended by no 
 dangerous consequences, Farlow slept again. As for 
 Phil, he no longer dared to sleep. He lay awake in 
 tortures of anxiety, tossing in his straw until the 
 morning light shone in at the windows of the barn. 
 
l62 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Then Farlow stirred again. Phil waited to observe 
 what he would do ; but when, in that early twilight, 
 he saw his father scraping the bottom of his pocket 
 for tobacco dust enough for another pipe, he could 
 restrain himself no longer. 
 
 " I can t have you smoking here ! " he said, spring 
 ing up. " I ve stood it as long as I can. If you 
 want to smoke, you must go out of this barn." 
 
 " Hallo, Phil ! " said Farlow, turning the pocket- 
 lining out into his palm. " Is it your barn ? " 
 
 " No ; but I am in charge ; I am trusted to take 
 care of it. You can t light your pipe on the straw 
 many times, as you have been doing, without 
 burning us up." 
 
 "No danger." Farlow blew the dust out of his 
 hand and put up his pipe again. " I can t smoke if I 
 try ; I m out of tobacco. Can t you get me some ? " 
 
 Phil was too much exasperated by this question to 
 make any reply to it. He threw open the barn door, 
 and then went for relief to the whinnying horse. 
 After a while, with his heart almost too full for 
 words, he turned to his father, who sat on his bed 
 feeling his beard and running his fingers through his 
 hair. 
 
 " I ain t so clean shaved as I used to be," Farlow 
 was saying. " It would improve the old fellow s ap- 
 
THE MORNING. 163 
 
 pearance, Phil, if you could give him a little money 
 for the barber." 
 
 " How much do you want ? " said Phil, putting his 
 hand promptly into his pocket. 
 
 Farlow read his thoughts, and answered with a 
 dismal sort of laugh, 
 
 " You seem ready to do anything to get rid of me 
 in a hurry. Don t be anxious ; I m not going to 
 trouble you long." 
 
 " Father," said Phil, after a struggle with his ris 
 ing heart, " I. ve thought of a good many things over 
 night, while you were asleep. I want to do my duty 
 by you, and say only what I ought to say." 
 
 " Oh ! The sermon is coming, is it ? " said Farlow, 
 showing his teeth like a beast in his lair. 
 
 "Call it what you please," replied Phil; "it is 
 time for us to come to an understanding. I can t 
 stand another such night." 
 
 " Who has asked you to ? " cried Farlow, snap 
 pishly." 
 
 " Nobody asked me to endure what I did last 
 night," answered the boy ; " but I had to. And I 
 can t tell what may happen, now you have once 
 come back. I have n t any home to offer you ; and I 
 should be afraid if I had, while you are so careless 
 with your pipe and matches. If you could only 
 
164 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 change your habits and go to work I would stick 
 by you, and help you every way I could." 
 
 Farlow shrugged. " It s too late for that. If I 
 only had a little money to give me a fresh start," 
 looking wistfully at the pocket-book in Phil s hands, 
 " I could make my way." 
 
 Phil knew well enough that giving him money 
 would be useless for any permanent practical good ; 
 but what else could he do ? 
 
 " I 11 give you all I have. Here s nine dollars." 
 
 Farlow looked somewhat disappointed ; having 
 heard that Phil was prospering, he undoubtedly ex 
 pected more. Yet he took the money, saying, as he 
 got upon his feet, 
 
 "Nine dollars is a small sum to freshen up a 
 man in my condition and set him on his legs again, 
 but it will do for a beginning. I shall strike a streak 
 of luck." And he smilingly stuffed the bank-notes 
 into his tobacco-soiled pocket. 
 
 "Don t go to Bass s bar-room with it," pleaded 
 Phil. 
 
 " Think they would know me there ? I don t. 
 Not a soul in the village recognized me last evening, 
 and I spoke to two or three." 
 
 The son could see thirsty anticipations of the 
 tavern in the father s brightening face. He deter- 
 
THE MORNING. 165 
 
 mined to get him past that danger, and also, if 
 possible, prevent his presence in the village from 
 being discovered. 
 
 " I 11 harness up and take you a few miles over the 
 road," he said. 
 
 " All right/ said Farlow. " I 11 walk along, and 
 you can overtake me and pick me up." 
 
 " No ! " Phil insisted, knowing too well what that 
 meant. " Wait, and start with me." 
 
 " You would send me off at this hour of the morn 
 ing without any refreshment ? " 
 
 "You can stand it, if you ride. I 11 take you to a 
 place where you can get a good breakfast. Besides, 
 there s a part of the supper you left last night." 
 
 Seeing that the boy was determined, Farlow 
 yielded. Brownie was soon harnessed to the rather 
 shabby borrowed wagon which had taken the place 
 of the burnt buckboard for a day or two, and, with 
 his father safe on the seat beside him, Phil drove 
 off. It was still early ; few people were astir. 
 Avoiding the main street, he took a by-way and got 
 out of the village, as he hoped, without being seen. 
 
 In about two hours he returned, alone, and feeling 
 as if he had been guilty of a dreadful sin. While his 
 reason told him that it was impossible to keep his 
 father with him, something in his heart would whisper, 
 
166 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Ought I to have let him go ? How could I let him 
 go?" Yet he could not wish him back. On the 
 contrary, since their parting, he had cast more than 
 one look of shuddering fear behind, and in his heart 
 was an ever-growing dread that his father might re 
 appear at any time and blast his life. 
 
MRS. CHADBOW MAKES A DISCOVERY. l6/ 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 MRS. CHADBOW MAKES A DISCOVERY. 
 
 T7ORTUNATELY, no questions were asked at the 
 boarding-house regarding Phil s morning ride, 
 and no mention was made of his strange visitor of 
 the night before. 
 
 To only one confidential friend and adviser could 
 he unburden his heart. To the doctor, when he 
 went to talk with him about the buckboard, he 
 told all. 
 
 "You did just right," the doctor said, in reply ot 
 the boy .s miserable self-accusations, " except, per 
 haps, in one thing, you ought not to have given 
 him any money." 
 
 "How could I help it?" said Phil. "If he had 
 been any strange tramp needing help, I should have 
 wanted to do something for him, and he is my 
 own father ! " 
 
 " Of course, of course. Nobody blames you. But, 
 having got money of you," continued the doctor, " he 
 will be all the more certain to come back. He will 
 
1 68 PHIT. AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 keep coming as long as he can get something out of 
 you." 
 
 " I suppose so," murmured Phil. 
 
 "Give him a little, if you must, but don t give him 
 much at a time. It would be better if you could have 
 nothing whatever to do with him You can t do him 
 any good, and it is n t right that he should drag you 
 down in his ruin. He 11 do it, if you let him. You 
 could ill afford that nine dollars, Phil." 
 
 " I know it. I don t suppose I can order a buck- 
 board now, anyway," said Phil, discouraged. 
 
 "On the whole," replied the doctor, "considering 
 that the season will be nearly over before you could 
 probably get one, perhaps it will be as well for you to 
 worry through with the wagon you have, or a better 
 one if you can procure it ; then in the fall or winter 
 you can no doubt pick up a second-hand buckboard 
 somewhere, at a low price, and be prepared for 
 another year. Ellerton will be easy with you, under 
 the circumstances." 
 
 " I was going to pay him up, and have something 
 left for myself in the fall," said Phil, recalling his 
 baffled hopes. " It seems as if everything was 
 against me all at once." 
 
 " Oh, not quite everything," said the doctor, cheer- 
 ingly. "But you are meeting with obstacles, just as 
 
MRS. CHADBOW MAKES A DISCOVERY. 169 
 
 everybody must expect to in this world. The way 
 to fortune is not so smooth as you were beginning to 
 believe. And I m not sure but it s a good thing for 
 you to have found it out thus early. Sudden, un 
 interrupted success is never the best thing for a boy 
 like you, Phil ; did you know it ? " 
 
 " It seemed to me a pretty good thing," replied 
 Phil, with a smile of rather gloomy humor. " I did n t 
 find any fault with it." 
 
 " But you will be a broader, wiser, larger-hearted 
 man for these very troubles you have to grapple 
 with if you meet them in the right way and triumph 
 over them, or at least deserve to triumph, which is 
 better still. Your character will be developed and 
 strengthened by them ; and, after all, character, and 
 not success, is the main thing to be thought of in this 
 life. On the whole," the doctor added, with a pleas 
 ant half-smile, " it won t do you any hurt, my boy, 
 to have a little of the conceit knocked out of you." 
 
 " But the meanness of people ! " Phil declared ; 
 " such an outrageous thing, for instance, as burning 
 my buckboard ! That rouses something in me which 
 I don t believe does anybody any good. It makes 
 we want to kill the men who did it ! " 
 
 " That s a natural feeling ; but you must over 
 come it. You must learn to expect selfishness and 
 
I/O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 injustice from the majority of mankind. They act 
 according to their nature, just as bears and wolves 
 do. Can you really blame the bear and wolf for 
 being as they are ? " 
 
 " Maybe not ; but I want to kill them all the 
 same." 
 
 The doctor gave his amused chuckle. 
 
 " If only for your own sake," he said, growing 
 serious again, " you must n t do the killing with 
 revengeful feelings. I hope Bass, or whoever did 
 that thing, will get properly punished for it, for I 
 believe in justice. But as for you and me, Phil, we 
 must learn to have charity, even for our enemies, and 
 practise a little the old-fashioned doctrine of return 
 ing good for evil." 
 
 Phil went off feeling better after this talk. For 
 tunately he had occupation to distract his mind. 
 The wagon he had was a poor affair ; yet his friends 
 continued for some time to employ him, partly, per 
 haps, to show their sympathy for the wrong he had 
 suffered. Then, as the days went by and he heard 
 no more of his father, his hope that he would keep 
 away grew strong, and his dread of him became less. 
 
 But the misfortunes of our friends soon get to be 
 an old story with us, and sympathy with the driver 
 will not long ease the discomfort of a hard-riding 
 
MRS. CHADBOW MAKES A DISCOVERY. I/ 1 
 
 wagon. Phil s patronage .gradually fell off ; so that, 
 by the time he had hoped to have his horse and 
 blackboard paid for, and money of his own in pocket, 
 he found himself still seventy dollars in debt, with 
 only a wretched vehicle he was paying two dollars a 
 week for, and a failing business. 
 
 Then, to his wrath and amazement, he learned that 
 Bass had got a new, three-seated, two-horse buckboard 
 on the road. 
 
 " I set the fashion of buckboards here," he said to 
 Minkins, who told him that interesting fact. " And 
 now he has burnt mine and got two of his own ! " 
 
 " Did you know," Minkins continued, " he J s been 
 haulin parties to the Summit and the Cavern your 
 cavern for the past week or more ? " 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed Phil, at first incredulous, then 
 stung to fresh fury by this added wrong. " Page 
 promised me he would stop that." 
 
 " He did stop it. But he says Bass claimed t you 
 was bound to him, and had n t no right to make an 
 independent bargain. I guess he tickled Page s 
 fingers with a little money, too ; an that opened the 
 gates to his teams. So, ye see, all you ve been doin 
 up there s been jest for Bass." 
 
 This was more than Phil could bear. 
 
 "Talk of having charity for our enemies after this," 
 
1/2 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 he muttered to himself, as he hurried from the store, 
 " and returning good for evil ! I can t, and I won t ! " 
 
 If a feather was wanted to break the back of Phil s 
 patience at this time, it came when Mrs. Chadbow, 
 wishing to make another trip to the summit of Blue 
 Mountain with some lately arrived friends, made it 
 on Bass s new buckboard. 
 
 It was more than a feather. He could not very 
 well blame her ; for there were seven in her party, 
 and his own hired wagon, besides being too weak to 
 stand the wrenches it would get on the rocky slopes, 
 would carry with comfort not more than three or 
 four; nevertheless, when he saw Clara and her mother 
 ride away behind the slab-sided Lorson on that fine, 
 three-seated buck-wagon, and heard their laughing 
 voices, he felt that they had quite forgotten him and 
 his wrongs, and gone over to the enemy. 
 
 He had no orders that day, and little to do, there 
 fore, but to brood over his woes, which is not a 
 healthy thing for any boy. He avoided speaking 
 with Clara and her mother on their return at night, 
 but retired early to his bed in the barn, and shut 
 himself up to consider desperately what he should 
 do. 
 
 " Phil really feels hurt ; I am so sorry ! " Clara said 
 to her mother, as they entered their room together. 
 
MRS. CHADBOW MAKES A DISCOVERY. 1/3 
 
 " I know he does," Mrs. Chadbow replied. " I am 
 sorry, too ; but I don t see how we could help it. We 
 had to go with our friends ; and, as he could n t take 
 us, he has really no cause to complain." 
 
 "Of course not," said Clara; "but it must have 
 cut him. I didn t think of it much at the time, or I 
 would have stayed at home." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " exclaimed her mother. " The truth 
 is, we have made too much of Phil. He is a bright, 
 honest fellow, and I would do anything to help him. 
 He has been shockingly ill-used. But he must n t 
 think, because we have befriended him all along, that 
 we are always going to sacrifice our own convenience 
 and the wishes of our friends, in order to champion 
 him." 
 
 " That is true, mamma." Clara sighed as she sat 
 down by the window. " But I pity him, alone over 
 there in the barn." She looked across the moonlit 
 street at the silent, gloomy building farther up, and 
 listened to the crickets lonesome notes. "The same 
 men who burnt his buckboard may come for his horse 
 any night. I should think he would be afraid." 
 
 "Yes, he is young to go through with such 
 things," said Mrs. Chadbow, taking down her hair 
 before the glass. "He is a brave boy, certainly. I 
 shouldn t want to be in place of the men, if he 
 
174 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 catches them. But come, my dear, you must go to 
 bed." 
 
 Despite her sympathy for Phil, Clara was soon 
 sleeping soundly. Nor was she awakened when, an 
 hour later, her mother got up, having been startled 
 from a light slumber by sounds which seemed to 
 come from the direction of Mr. Marshall s barn. 
 
 " Can those men be trying to get in again ? " Mrs. 
 Chadbow said to herself, after listening a few moments 
 at the window. " Or did I dream that I heard low 
 voices and something like the rattling of a door ? " 
 
 Whether the sound was real or imaginary, it had 
 ceased. There was a cloud over the moon, but it 
 was not dark ; and now, gazing intently, she was 
 sure she could see a figure gliding away from the 
 barn. 
 
 " Can it be Phil going out at this time of the 
 night ? Poor fellow ! I suppose he could n t sleep." 
 
 The figure (she was certain it was Phil) disap 
 peared in the shadows of the street ; and having 
 waited a few minutes to assure herself that there was 
 to be no more disturbance, she went back to bed. 
 
 She was once more asleep, and it must have been 
 near midnight when not only she, but Clara also, and 
 all the inmates of the house, were roused by wild 
 cries. 
 
THE FIRE. 175 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE FIRE. 
 
 r I A HEY were cries of fire ! Somebody ran by 
 -* the house, shouting the alarm in those wild 
 accents which have so terrible a sound, breaking 
 upon the silence of the night. At the same time a 
 bell raised its iron clamor ; and in a few minutes the 
 whole village seemed to be running and shouting. 
 
 The overcast sky was lurid with a fiery glow when 
 Mrs. Chadbow looked from the window. She feared 
 first that Mr. Marshall s barn had been fired, but a 
 glance showed her that that was safe. The fire was 
 much farther off than that, notwithstanding the light 
 it gave, shedding a ruddy tint over the whole street. 
 
 " Where is it ? " cried Clara, coming to her moth 
 er s side ; and that was the question every one in the 
 house appeared to be asking. 
 
 " It s in the direction of Bass s hotel," somebody 
 called down from the skylight. " It s a tremendous 
 blaze ! " 
 
PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Some of the boarders had dressed and were going 
 out. 
 
 "Oh, let s go, too!" Clara exclaimed; and, car 
 ried away by the general excitement, her mother 
 consented. 
 
 "Where s Phil ? If he was only here to go with 
 us ! " she said. 
 
 "You may be sure he s at the fire before this," 
 Mrs. Chadbow replied ; and so indeed they found. 
 
 They had joined a group of spectators at a safe 
 distance from the burning building, which proved 
 to be a barn belonging to the hotel, when Clara 
 saw, farther down the lighted street, the face she 
 sought. 
 
 Phil must also have seen his friends ; but perhaps 
 his recent resentment made him still wish to avoid 
 them, even at a time like that. He was retiring 
 behind the crowd, when she ran towards him, call 
 ing, " Phil ! O Phil ! Mamma is looking for you." 
 
 At that he came towards her, not at all in his 
 usual frank and cordial way, but with an agitation and 
 embarrassment which he tried in vain to conceal. 
 
 " We wanted you to come with us," she said, 
 returning with him to her mother. " We went over 
 to the barn to find you, but it was all dark and still." 
 
 " I heard the alarm, and it did n t take me long to 
 
" It may have been set by the 
 other teamsters, jealous of hia 
 buckboarda, you know " [p,177J. 
 
 A figure gliding away " [p. 174]. 
 
THE FIRE. I// 
 
 run out," he replied. " I did n t think any of the 
 ladies would want to come to the fire." 
 
 " How did it take ? " Mrs. Chadbow asked. 
 
 " How should I know ? " returned Phil. 
 
 " Perhaps the same way the brush-heap took that 
 burnt up your buckboard," said Clara. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Phil, giving her a 
 quick glance. 
 
 " It may have been set by the other teamsters, 
 jealous of his buckboards, you know"; and Clara 
 laughed. 
 
 " I should n t wonder," he replied, with a ghastly 
 sort of smile. " I believe they re bad enough." 
 
 " I wonder if the buckboards were in the barn ? " 
 she continued ; " or if they took the trouble to put 
 them in before they set it afire ? " 
 
 " Hush, Clara ! " said her mother, severely. 
 
 " I was only joking, mamma." 
 
 " You mustn t say such things, even in joke." 
 
 " If the buckboards had been in the barn," said 
 Drigson the tailor, his shining face gleaming ex 
 citedly over Phil s shoulder, " I guess they d have 
 tried to git em out ; but they hain t got nothin out." 
 
 " I trust there were no horses in it ! " Mrs. Chad- 
 bow exclaimed. 
 
 " Probably not," said Phil : " Bass keeps his horses 
 
178 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 in the new barn. The old barn was n t of much 
 account any way." 
 
 " It makes fire enough to have been of some ac 
 count," said Mrs. Chadbow. 
 
 " And I guess the insurance company will think it 
 was of some account when they come to pay for t," 
 said the sallow tailor. " It s burnin hay that makes 
 that awful smudge. Too bad ! Too bad ! Must a 
 been sot ; for there couldn t a been no honest fire 
 in the barn this time o night ; and I don t believe in 
 your spontaneous combustion." 
 
 " What are they trying to put it out for ? " said 
 Mrs. Chadbow. " They had better look out for the 
 other buildings." 
 
 A small hand-pumping fire-engine was on the spot, 
 but the stream it threw had no perceptible effect, ex 
 cept to add a small cloud of steam to the huge 
 volume of smoke. 
 
 Though not so large as Bass s new barn, it was a 
 building of good size ; and the heat it radiated, as 
 the part of the frame on the side of the hotel melted 
 away in the roaring gulf, was something terrific. 
 There had not been much wind at first, but now a 
 strong breeze sprung up, carrying the flames, with a 
 spouting torrent of burning cinder and straw-flakes, 
 over towards the house. 
 
THE FIRE. 179 
 
 There were men on the house-roof with buckets ; 
 but they were soon driven before the fire. Then the 
 engine turned its stream upon the most exposed por 
 tions of the hotel. That was hardly done, however, 
 when the well from which it had been drawing was 
 exhausted. 
 
 " No more water ! " said Phil, with pallid face and 
 rigid lips. " The hotel will go ! " 
 
 " Oh, that is too bad ! " exclaimed Clara, who, re 
 membering Phil s wrongs/had not been so very sorry 
 to see the barn in flames. " I always hate to think 
 of families burnt out." 
 
 " T was the foolishest thing in creation ! " cried 
 the tailor, " wastin water on that old buildin ; 
 might V knowed twa n t no use. Now look a 1 
 there ! " 
 
 The roof of the kitchen part of the hotel was be 
 ginning to blaze. Then followed scenes of wild con 
 fusion and excitement. The firemen, having run their 
 hose to a neighboring well, and found insufficient 
 water, hauled it on with shouts to the next ; the few 
 guests of the house dragging out their own hurriedly 
 packed trunks and piling them, with shawls, bags, 
 and loose clothing, in the street ; a crowd of men 
 and boys helping to remove what furniture could be 
 most conveniently saved ; Sallie working bravely 
 
I SO PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 with the rest, while her mother ran to and fro, 
 shrieking frantically, and Bass roared out his orders. 
 
 Phil did not join the volunteers in tumbling out 
 chairs and mattresses and pulling up carpets, but 
 hastened to fetch his horse and wagon, and have 
 them in readiness for transporting the guests to 
 other houses. He had enough to do, which was per 
 haps fortunate, action being a relief to his agitated 
 mind. 
 
 Nothing could save the hotel, and, when he re 
 turned for a second load of luggage, he found the new 
 barn also in flames. 
 
 The horses had been led out with blankets flung 
 over their heads, and the best of the wagons were 
 rescued, with the buckboards, as Phil did not fail 
 to observe. With what feelings he viewed the scene 
 of desolation, after the fire had made a clean sweep 
 of the buildings, and the Basses were left homeless, 
 with their heaped household goods lighted by the 
 dying flames under a lurid sky, never can be known. 
 
ACCUSATIONS. l8l 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 ACCUSATIONS. 
 
 TV f RS. CHADBOW and Clara had gone home 
 
 ^ while the hotel was burning, and they did 
 not see Phil again until the next day. Even then 
 he gave them no opportunity to speak with him, but 
 remained solitary, absorbed, and silent, at a time 
 when the general excitement brought people together 
 and impelled the most unsocial to open their hearts. 
 
 " I want to ask him just one question," Mrs. Chad- 
 bow said, with quiet significance ; but she would not 
 tell Clara what it was, and she was too discreet to 
 mention to anybody but Phil himself what she had 
 observed that night from her window an hour before 
 the alarm. 
 
 The origin of the fire was a mystery. Bass de 
 clared that he himself shut the barn at nine o clock, 
 leaving everything safe ; and nobody belonging to the 
 hotel was believed to have entered it afterwards. 
 
 " I know who sot it ! " he loudly declared to every 
 body. " I ain t a gunter say who t is ; but it s some- 
 
1 82 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 body t thinks I had a hand in burnin his prope ty, 
 which I had n t. I ain t a gunter call no names." And 
 he rolled over from one leg to the other in a very 
 excited manner. 
 
 With Mr. Minkins, who was the local agent of the 
 company that had insured Bass s property, he was 
 more explicit. He not only called names, but in 
 sisted that Phil should be arrested. 
 
 " We 11 have him arrested," said Minkins, " soon 
 as ever we get evidence that 11 justify makin out a 
 complaint." 
 
 " But don t your own common-sense show ye that 
 he done it ? " cried Bass. " Ain t that evidence ? " 
 
 " Wai, not precisely. We may think he had a 
 motive for doin it, jest as some other folks sides 
 him s pected you had a motive for deprivin him of 
 his buckboard. But re ly, Sol," Minkins added, con 
 fidentially, "I don t see s there s any more proof, 
 I mean the genooine article that 11 hold water, 
 not a whit more actooal proof t he destroyed your 
 property than that you destroyed hisn." 
 
 " That s a strange way o lookin at it ! T ain t 
 common-sense ! " said Bass. 
 
 " I ruther guess you 11 find it is," replied Minkins ; 
 "an t most people 11 look at it in jest that strange 
 sort o way. An my advice to you is, if you re re ly 
 
ACCUSATIONS. 183 
 
 as much in earnest to find out who done it as I be, 
 and as the comp ny 11 be, my advice is, to jest 
 keep quiet till ye have some proof, and not go up 
 an down accusin folks without no evidence." 
 
 It was hard for Bass to accept any such advice as 
 that. He was starting to go, but turned back. 
 
 "I s pose they won t be no trouble bout gittin 
 my insurance ? " he suggested. 
 
 " I don t know why they should be," Minkins 
 answered, promptly. " Your policy is all right, and 
 you are burnt out. The only question will be about 
 the amount of damages. As it s a ruther important 
 case, I Ve notified the comp ny t they d better send 
 up a special agent, an I hope he 11 be here in a day 
 or two." 
 
 Bass looked disappointed. " I hoped me an you d 
 be able to settle damages without no special agent, 
 neighbors so," he said. 
 
 "That s jest the reason why I think the agent 
 better come up," Minkins replied. " If you make 
 out a perty big claim and I low it, it 11 likely be 
 said I done it coz we was neighbors. If the agent 
 don t come, then we 11 see." 
 
 A determination to claim excessive damages, which 
 Bass had already betrayed, and the necessity every 
 neighbor felt of keeping on good terms with such a 
 
184 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 man, were the chief reasons why Minkins had not 
 only sent for the agent but strongly urged his 
 coming. 
 
 Solomon had hardly gone out of the store when 
 Drigson the tailor walked over from the shop with 
 out his hat, and put his shining bald head and skinny 
 face in at the door. 
 
 " All alone ? " he said to Minkins, after looking 
 cautiously around. 
 
 " All alone," replied the good-natured storekeeper. 
 " Come in ; but I would n t shet the door." 
 
 "Yes, le me shet it," said Drigson, nervously. 
 " I Ve been waitin to find ye alone. I ve got suthin 
 on my mind. I Ve got suthin on my mind, Neighbor 
 Minkins ! " 
 
 " Have ye, Jonathan ? " Minkins smiled indul 
 gently, knowing the tailor to be a nervous sort of 
 man, and stepped to open the door again, it being a 
 warm afternoon. "Nothin that concerns me though, 
 I s pose." 
 
 " I guess you 11 say it concerns you," Drigson re 
 plied, pale and scant of breath. " You can open the 
 door ag in if you wanter, for it s your premises and 
 not mine ; but one word fust." 
 
 "All right," said Minkins, with his hand on the 
 latch. 
 
ACCUSATIONS. 185 
 
 Drigson looked around again, then, laying hold of 
 Minkins s arm with his bony ringers, and putting his 
 thin lips to his ear, said in a hoarse whisper, 
 
 " I know who sot the fire ! " 
 
 " You know ! " ejaculated Minkins. 
 
 "I know; I wish I didn t. I don t wanter git 
 mixed up in the thing ; but I felt I oughter tell ye. 
 I seen him do it ; or not exactly do it, but I seen 
 him go for to do it." 
 
 " When ? Who ? " 
 
 " That night, a little while fore the fire broke out, 
 I seen him sly into the barn. Somebody else seen 
 him, too. If you won t open the door, I 11 tell ye." 
 
 This, then, is the story which Drigson the tailor 
 told. 
 
 " Ye see, I ve been kin o lonesome sence my 
 wife died, and I don t mind tellin ye in confi 
 dence, Neighbor Minkins, I ve been keepin my 
 eyes open for another companion, and latterly I ve 
 ruther got my feelin s concentrated on to Betsy 
 Doane." 
 
 " Ye might a made a wus choice," said the store 
 keeper, encouragingly, as the tailor hesitated. "I 
 hope she recipercates." 
 
 " Wai, she doos in a measure," replied Drigson ; 
 " but there s an obstacle." 
 
1 86 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 As he at the same time passed his bony fingers 
 over his bald scalp, Minkins inferred that the trouble 
 lay perhaps in what may be called his lack of 
 capillary attraction. 
 
 " Baldness ?" he suggested. 
 
 " Oh, no," said, Drigson, looking up with a sallow 
 smile ; " not baldness, but Bass." 
 
 " Bass ! How so ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, Neighbor Minkins. I ain t so young as I 
 once was, but neither is Betsy a girl in her teens. 
 She don t make any great objection either to my 
 humble person or little bit of property, but the 
 obstacle, as I tell ye, is Solomon Bass. She has 
 worked for him so long, he s re ly got to feel t he 
 sort o owns her, and I don t know but he d break 
 my head if he knew I was goin to take her away." 
 
 "I see," said Minkins; "but come to the p int," 
 impatiently. 
 
 " The result has been," Drigson went on, " t I Ve 
 courted Betsy a little on the sly, and that s how it 
 happened. I walked home with her that night, and 
 was standin in the kitchen door with her for some 
 time after leven o clock. We thought everybody in 
 the house was abed and asleep, and we was havin our 
 little last words when we heard somebody comin , kin 
 o creepin along, from the side door o the hotel." 
 
ACCUSATIONS. l8/ 
 
 " Was it dark ? " Minkins asked. 
 
 " Not so dark but what I knew, almost without 
 lookin , who t was. There was clouds overhead, ye 
 know, but there was a moon above the clouds. I 
 was scaret, I confess, and I slunk further into the 
 doorway with Betsy, so s not to be seen." 
 
 " What was ye scaret at ? If t was the boy I sup 
 pose, I don t see what there was about him to scare 
 even a more fidgety man than you be, Jonathan." 
 
 " Boy ! " cried Jonathan. " T wa n t no boy, le me 
 tell ye ! Twas a man. Sol Bass." 
 
 Minkins leaned back against the counter and 
 stared at the lean tailor. 
 
 "Sol himself," Drigson avowed. " I waited till he 
 got past ; then I peeped out, and seen him go softly 
 and open the little door of the old barn and go in. 
 There was such a mystery about his movements, and 
 it seemed to me so strange t he should be stealin* 
 into his own barn at that time o night, I was more 
 stirred up in my mind than ever ; for I declare, if I 
 did n t think for a second he was after a hosswhip to 
 stripe my coat with." 
 
 " Did you see him come out ag in ? " Minkins in 
 quired. 
 
 " Course not. I run and cut behind the house, and 
 took to my heels acrost the orchard double-quick ! 
 
1 88 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS, 
 
 I had n t more n got home, and quiet in bed, when 
 the fire broke out." 
 
 " This s a very extraordinary story! said the 
 astonished and puzzled storekeeper. " You done 
 right to come and tell me, for it 11 prevent suspicion 
 from fallin on to the wrong person. I never did 
 take much stock in Sol Bass ; but I did n t think 
 he was a man to burn up his buildin s to git the 
 insurance." 
 
 " Nor I," said Jonathan Drigson. " And I might 
 think there was some mistake about it if he had n t 
 told everybody he did n t go to his barn after nine 
 o clock. Why should he say that ? And t was so 
 short a time after he went in that the fire broke out, 
 I could n t help thinkin he sot it." 
 
 " It certain looks like it," said Minkins ; " but say 
 nothin to nobody till the insurance comp ny s agent 
 comes. Then we 11 look after Sol Bass." 
 
 " But don t lug me and Betsy in," pleaded the 
 timid tailor. 
 
 "Of course not, without we re obliged to," replied 
 Minkins. 
 
 A week passed, during which time the tavern- 
 keeper who had now no tavern to keep heard 
 nothing of the special agent. Again and again he 
 urged Minkins, in a most anxious and persistent way, 
 
ACCUSATIONS. 189 
 
 " Le s settle it twixt ourselves, like neighbors." But 
 Minkins had as constantly put him off. 
 
 " I ve got a letter, savin the agent 11 be here jest 
 as soon as he can get around," was his final excuse. 
 " So I don t see but what we shall have to wait." 
 
PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE MAN WITH THE GRAY WHISKERS. 
 
 MEANWHILE a new-comer at one of the board 
 ing-houses patronized all the drivers in turn, 
 from slab-sided Lorson down to little Phil. He was 
 a middle-aged man, with iron-gray whiskers, pleasant 
 manners, and a lively curiosity regarding everything 
 and everybody in and about the village. 
 
 He got acquainted with Bass while waiting for 
 Lorson to " hook on to the one-hoss buckboard" at 
 the old farm-house where Solomon had got partial 
 shelter for his family and his teams. He got still 
 better acquainted with Lorson during their long ride 
 to the Summit. The drivers all found him delight 
 fully sociable and familiar, and talked freely with him 
 about the late exciting occurrences in the village. 
 
 Phil had not for a long time had a passenger he 
 liked so well. Before he knew it, he found himself 
 telling the story of his troubles with Bass and the 
 burning of his buckboard, not without passionate 
 
THE MAN WITH THE GRAY WHISKERS. IQI 
 
 swellings of the heart and tremors of the voice, 
 excited by the stranger s sympathy. 
 
 Then one day this aimable gentleman dropped into 
 Mr. Minkins s store, and they walked over together 
 to the house where Bass was staying. 
 
 They found Bass sitting on a wagon-neap, looking 
 glum at the prospect of things ; but he brightened at 
 sight of the stranger, who was known to employ 
 teams. 
 
 " Mr. Bass," said the smiling Minkins, " I wanter 
 interdooce you to Mr. Crosby. Mr. Crosby, Mr. 
 Bass." 
 
 "I believe we have met before," said Mr. Crosby, 
 extending his hand. 
 
 Bass rolled off from the wagon-pole upon his feet 
 and reached out his fat hand, with, " Yaas, I Ve had 
 the pleasure." 
 
 " I want you to be better acquainted," said Min- 
 kms. "Mr. Crosby" smiling very sweetly on 
 Bass " is the special agent of the Insurance 
 Comp ny." 
 
 Bass s hand dropped to his side, and he changed 
 countenance perceptibly as he stammered, 
 . " I don t I did n t know I had n t the least 
 idee ! Why did n t you tell me that before ? " 
 
 " It s a pleasant place, and I thought I would look 
 
IQ2 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 around a little before settling down to business," the 
 agent replied. " Besides, I thought I could learn as 
 much of what it s my business to find out in that 
 way as in any other." 
 
 Lorson, who had come out of the barn in time to 
 overhear the conversation, recalled his perhaps too 
 familiar talk with this man, and gave him an anxious 
 glance. Mr. Crosby did not appear to notice him, 
 but went on, 
 
 "You ve met with a serious loss, Mr. Bass, and 
 some preliminary investigation, under the circum 
 stances, appeared necessary. Don t leave your seat ; 
 we can sit and talk just as well here as anywhere." 
 
 The wagon-tongue being supported at the end, he 
 sat down on it in a familiar sort of way, and, taking 
 out his knife, began to split a straw. 
 
 Bass sat down to it looking very uneasy ; and they 
 began to talk of the fire, while Minkins smilingly 
 withdrew. 
 
 The agent heard all Bass had to say with quiet 
 assent ; and having cut up one straw, began on 
 another. Solomon had gained confidence as he went 
 on, no doubt relieved to find that the agent, whom 
 he had dreaded to see, was after all so reasonable a 
 man. 
 
 Mr. Crosby then asked a few mildly searching 
 
THE MAN WITH THE GRAY WHISKERS. 193 
 
 questions, especiaHy with regard to the origin of the 
 fire. Having answered them with some excitement 
 of manner, Solomon said, 
 
 " I Ve told you all I know, and what I think. Now 
 tell me what you think." 
 
 " About " the agent reached for a fragment of 
 straw that had fallen upon the ground " the origin 
 of the fire ? " 
 
 " Yaas," said Bass, with trembling interest. "Who 
 sot it ? " 
 
 " Well, Mr. Bass, since you ask my opinion," the 
 agent was dividing the fragment very carefully, 
 "I suppose I must tell you." 
 
 " You think the boy sot it ? " said Bass, almost too 
 eagerly. 
 
 "No, Mr. Bass." The agent turned and looked 
 him quietly in the face. "I think you set it." 
 
 He did not raise his voice in the least, but spoke 
 very much as if he had been disagreeing with Bass 
 about the weather they might expect to-morrow. 
 
 This calmness of tone made the effect on Bass 
 appear all the more surprising to Lorson, peeping 
 from the barn. Usually so violent and overbearing 
 when crossed in his plans or opposed in his opinions, 
 that rotund, puffy-cheeked man seemed for a moment 
 struck dumb. He opened his mouth, but it gave no 
 
 13 
 
194 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 more sound than if h^ had been a fish ; and he turned 
 his pig eyes on the agent in helpless fright and 
 bewi derment. 
 
 At length he stuttered out, " Wh-what do ye think 
 I should want to burn up my own prope ty 
 for ? " 
 
 The agent brushed away the pieces of straw from 
 his knees, and shutting his knife with a decided 
 click, returned it to his pocket; he had finished 
 splitting straws. 
 
 " I suppose I can answer that question, too, since 
 you ask me. In the first place, I don t think you in 
 tended to burn quite so much property. You had 
 reason to expect that the house and the new barn 
 would be saved. But the old barn was in your way, 
 as you have more than once been heard to declare. 
 It was insured for more than it was worth, no repairs 
 having been made on it since you took out your first 
 policy. It did not contain more than half as much 
 hay as you claim. The wagons that were burnt in it 
 might have been got out ; but you left them to burn. 
 They were insured, too, for double their value, con 
 sidering that you were anxious to get rid of them, as 
 you have many times said, in order to get buckboards, 
 or more attractive and stylish modern vehicles." 
 
 Bass had by this time got up from the -neap, and 
 
THE MAN WITH THE GRAY WHISKERS. 1 95 
 
 was rolling from one leg to the other, as if he had 
 been standing with bare feet on hot bricks. 
 
 " It s all a lie ! " he burst forth, with fierce ges 
 tures ; " invented for to ruin me. I tell ye the boy 
 sot it ! " 
 
 The agent also rose, though his voice did not. He 
 stood facing the excited man, and went on calmly, 
 
 " I Ve no doubt one of your motives in setting the 
 fire was to have suspicion rest on the boy you hate 
 so and have tried to ruin. I wish, Mr. Bass, I could 
 be as sure you did n t fire your barn as I am that he 
 did n t burn his buckboard. But my conviction is 
 that the same man who was at the bottom of that 
 business had a hand in this." 
 
 The poor, stupid, scared, half-maddened creature 
 thereupon injured his own cause by swearing that he 
 had nothing to do with the burning of Phil s buck- 
 board, and defying any one to prove the contrary. 
 
 " Unluckily for the boy, proof is wanting in that 
 case," said the agent; "luckily for us, however, it 
 is not wanting in this. The fact that the accident 
 occurred near the close of your busy season at a 
 time when well-insured summer-hotel property is so 
 extremely apt to burn is, of course, only a corrobo 
 rative circumstance ; but the fact that you were seen 
 by two witnesses to steal into the old barn that night 
 
196 - PKIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 just before the fire broke out, after eleven o clock, 
 while you say you did not visit it after you shut 
 it up at nine, that," said the agent, clapping the 
 palm of one hand with three fingers of the other 
 very positively, " that we consider proof." 
 
 " Seen ? Me ? Seen stealin into the barn after 
 leven ? It s all a lie, I tell ye, and a conspiracy to 
 ruin me!" said Bass, in terrible agitation. "Now 
 don t, I beg of ye ! " he pleaded. " Have mercy on a 
 poor man ! " 
 
 " I don t intend to be any harder on you than I am 
 obliged to be in my position," Mr. Crosby replied, 
 watching him closely. " I have no personal interest 
 in the matter one way or the other. It s my busi 
 ness to do justice to you as well as to the company." 
 
 " Look here ! " said Bass. " It s a terrible thing ! 
 I can t stand it. What you say shows me I may be 
 in your power, though I am an innocent man ; you 
 may beat me out of my insurance money, and make 
 paupers of us all, sides givin me a repetation no 
 man wants to have. Now don t. I 11 do the hancl_ 
 some thing by ye if you ll be easy with me; I will." 
 
 Innocent or guilty, Solomon was injuring his cause 
 still more by holding out the offer of a bribe to a 
 man like Crosby. He made no reply, but seemed 
 about to go. 
 
" You won t go to prosecutin me ? " f p. 197]. 
 
THE MAN WITH THE GRAY WHISKERS. IQ/ 
 
 " What ye go n to do ? " Bass entreated to know. 
 " You won t go to prosecutin me ? " 
 
 " I don t know about that ; it depends," answered 
 the agent, coldly. 
 
 " What do you want me to do ? " cried Bass. 
 
 "I want you to give me up your policies," said 
 the agent. 
 
 " My insurance policies, without gitt n my insur 
 ance, nor any part on t ? You can t mean that ! " 
 exclaimed Bass. 
 
 "Yes, that s just what I mean. Your claim is 
 exorbitant, anyway; and if you fired the barn, as I 
 firmly believe you did, you are not entitled to a cent. 
 More than that, you deserve to be made an example 
 of." 
 
 "But I tell ye I didn t!" said Bass, in abject ter 
 ror. " My claim may be too much for the hay ; and 
 I won t say a word about the old wagons if you think 
 I could a saved em and did n t. Have it your own 
 way, squire, about them ; but don t hold back what s 
 payable on the buildin s, nor accuse me of firm on 
 em. Who says I went into the barn after leven 
 o clock that night ? I d jest like to know who ever 
 started that story ! " 
 
 " I can t tell you just now," said the agent," but you 
 will be confronted with those witnesses in due time." 
 
198 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 He was going. Bass followed him into the street. 
 
 " Don t do anything in a hurry. Give me time to 
 think it over, time to consult a lawyer." 
 
 " I shall be very glad to have you consult a lawyer, 
 Mr Bass ; for, if he is honest, and you tell him the 
 whole story, I m sure he will advise you that the 
 easiest way out of this business is for you to hand 
 me over those policies. I 11 see you again to-morrow." 
 
 Saying this in a kind, but decided manner, the special 
 agent took leave, while Bass hurried back to Lorson. 
 
 " What you been tellin him, you traitor ? " 
 
 " Nothin pa tic ler," said the teamster. " I d no idee 
 he was the agent or I would n t a said anything." 
 
 " T was you that told him about the hay," cried 
 Solomon, " and the wagons. What if I did say 
 leave em be, when there was other things to be 
 looked after ? Why must you go and blab ? You Ve 
 ruined me, you scoundrel ! " 
 
 " Don t call me a scoundrel ! " replied the slab- 
 sided one, resentfully. "I hain t ruined you; t ain t 
 me, I d have ye know, but I can do my share 
 towards it if you provoke me ! " 
 
 He threw down a horse collar he held in his hand, 
 with an angry gesture, as if about to strike work and 
 set up the ruining business at once ; whereupon poor 
 Bass humbled himself even to him, begging him to 
 stay and be his friend. 
 
PHILS SECRET. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 PHIL S SECRET. 
 
 IF Phil had not revenge enough already, his cup 
 should have been pretty well filled, one would 
 think, when he heard of this new calamity which 
 threatened to overwhelm his enemy. For hear of it he 
 did very soon. Everybody heard of it. Yet when the 
 startling rumor spread, that Bass would not only lose 
 his insurance, but that he might also be convicted 
 of firing his own buildings, there was nobody so 
 astonished as Phil. 
 
 It really troubled him at first far more than it 
 delighted him. Even when it became the village talk, 
 and the wary Minkins confirmed it, the mind and 
 conscience of the boy were in such a dizzy whirl 
 that he could hardly have told whether he was more 
 rejoiced or alarmed. There seemed to be every rea 
 son why he should feel relieved, even though he had 
 had no hate to gratify ; for he must have known that 
 he himself had been an object of suspicion. 
 
 He tried to harden his heart, and said many times 
 
2OO PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 to himself, with angry vehemence, " Good enough for 
 him : he deserves it anyway ! " At the same time he 
 carried his head high, and met the eyes of people 
 with resolute defiance ; but all the while secret re 
 morse and anxiety filled his soul. 
 
 There was one person, however, who experienced 
 a pure and profound satisfaction upon hearing that it 
 was Bass himself who set the fire. That person was 
 Mrs. Chadbow. 
 
 " Now I 11 tell you the truth about it," she said to 
 Clara, who had known all along that her mother 
 cherished some dark thoughts regarding Phil. " I 
 have suspected him, I have more than suspected 
 him, I am sorry to say. I have done him a great 
 wrong." 
 
 " How could you ? " said Clara, reproachfully. " You 
 might have known Phil could n t do such a thing as 
 that." 
 
 "I wasn t willing to believe he could; but we 
 don t know to what extremes of desperate conduct 
 even a good-hearted boy may be drive ~ I saw him 
 capable of showing resentment even to us. Then 
 we all noticed how strangely he acted just after the 
 fire. He had something on his mind, and he has n t 
 got quite free from it yet ; but I am glad to know it 
 was n t what I thought." 
 
PHIL S SECRET. 20 1 
 
 " You said you wanted to ask him a question ; 
 what was it?" 
 
 " I am very sure," replied the mother, " that I saw 
 him go out of Mr. Marshall s barn in the direction of 
 Bass s tavern that night, not long before the fire 
 broke out. I wanted to ask him where he went, but 
 I never did. I had no chance for a day or two, 
 and then I dreaded to have my worst fears confirmed. 
 Of course, I never mentioned the circumstance to 
 anybody else ; and yet I feel now that I owe the boy 
 a great deal for having done him such injustice. I 
 must make him a present." 
 
 " He wants a watch more than anything. I have 
 heard him say so," said Clara. 
 
 "That s just what I have been thinking of," 
 replied her mother. " I believe I will send for one 
 this very day." 
 
 Since the time when they had so offended Phil by 
 making the trip to the Summit on Bass s buckboard, 
 they had not ridden at all ; but not long after this 
 they re-engaged Phil for an afternoon. Having 
 keenly felt Mrs. Chadbow s coldness towards him, 
 and his separation from Clara, the boy was all the 
 more deeply touched by their extreme kindness to 
 him that day. And when, standing amid the great 
 trunks of Cathedral Woods, to which they drove, the 
 
2O2 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 mother slipped something into his vest-pocket, while 
 the daughter held her hands over his eyes, and 
 it turned out to be a watch, he was completely 
 overcome. 
 
 " The case is nothing but silver, as you see," said 
 Mrs. Chadbow, as he held it out before his surprised 
 and tearful eyes ; " but the works are as good as if 
 it was gold. What you need, Phil, is a good time 
 piece, rather than anything showy; that s what 
 Clara and I both thought." 
 
 " It is handsome, too handsome ! " exclaimed 
 Phil. " I don t know what you should give it to me 
 for. I don t deserve it ! " 
 
 " Don t say that, Phil : you have been very kind 
 to us in many ways ; and I have not always been so 
 kind to you as I might have been " ; and, as if to 
 avoid further thanks on his part, or explanations on 
 hers, Mrs. Chadbow fell to gathering ferns in the 
 great woods. 
 
 "What does she mean by that"? Phil said to 
 Clara, as he stood trying to reconcile his conscience 
 to the watch. " She has always been kind to me. 
 It s I who have appeared cold and ungrateful." 
 
 "That has been because you were so full of 
 trouble, which made you too sensitive, perhaps," 
 replied Clara. " We understand that." 
 
PHIL S SECRET. 203 
 
 Phil felt strangely impelled then and there to cry 
 out, " No, no ! you don t understand ! " and to tell her 
 his dreadful secret. It might have saved him some 
 agonies of soul if he had done so. He looked at her, 
 so innocent and trustful, then at the bright new 
 watch he held in his hand, and compressed his quiv 
 ering lips. 
 
 " We were so glad to know," she went on, " that 
 it was Bass himself who set the fire. You must have 
 been glad. Mother says it is always a great satisfac 
 tion to have the real authors of such wickedness 
 known, so that innocent persons may not be sus 
 pected. That is a terrible thing ! " 
 
 " Terrible ! " Phil echoed, faintly, after a pause, 
 during which his trembling fingers fumbled with the 
 simple watch-guard. Then, perceiving her eyes 
 fixed on him with an emotion which he mistook, 
 he rallied and said, " I thought I imagined your 
 mother suspected me." 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Clara, with generous feeling. 
 " She never really believed you could do such a thing. 
 But I don t know but she would box my ears for 
 telling you this," lowering her voice, while her 
 eyes followed her mother stooping among the shady 
 undergrowth s not far off. 
 
 " What ? " Phil demanded, anxiously, as she hesi 
 tated. 
 
2O4 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " She saw you go out of Mr. Marshall s barn that 
 night just before the fire." 
 
 Phil turned pale. " Me ? " he faltered, with a sickly 
 attempt to appear surprised. 
 
 " She was quite sure it was you ; but she was 
 careful not to mention it, even to me, until it became 
 known that Bass burnt his own buildings, and there 
 was no danger of any one else being suspected." 
 
 Phil made no reply, but abruptly hid his face by 
 
 * 
 
 stooping to pick a fern. He did not quite recover 
 from his agitation while they remained in the woods ; 
 and, though his spirits rallied on the homeward 
 drive, he had frequent fits of abstraction, which, he 
 knew, must appear strange to his friends. 
 
 To mask his disturbing thoughts, and perhaps 
 drive them from his mind, he took out the watch and 
 praised it, and said, with a laugh, 
 
 " I hope no such accident will happen to this 
 present, Mrs. Chadbow, as happened to the one 
 you gave me last year. You remember the blue 
 necktie?" 
 
 Of course she remembered it ; and of course she 
 and Clara had wondered not a little that they never 
 saw him wear it. He now for the first time told 
 them the story of the misadventure by which he lost 
 it, passing over Miss Sallie Bass s particular jealousy 
 
PHIL S SECRET. 205 
 
 of Clara, however, while vividly portraying that 
 
 young lady s capriciousness of temper. 
 
 His amusing description was just finished as they 
 
 reached Mrs. Shedrick s door, when Clara said, 
 
 laughingly, 
 
 " Don t let Miss Bass get hold of the watch." 
 
 " No danger of that ; I never see her nowadays," 
 
 he replied, little dreaming how near the tomboy was 
 
 then. 
 
2O6 PHIL. AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 MISS BASS ONCE MORE. 
 
 T)HIL stepped from his wagon at the barn, and 
 -*> was startled at seeing a figure rise up and ad 
 vance from a corner within. His first thought was 
 of his father, whose reappearance he constantly 
 feared. But a glance showed him that the figure 
 was not that of a man at all, but a woman, or, rather, 
 a tall girl, with red hair and a mouth curtained with 
 large upper teeth. 
 
 " Don t be scaret, Phil," she said, seeing him start 
 back. " T ain t nobody but me." 
 
 " What do you want here ? " he demanded, harshly, 
 thinking no person of the name of Bass could come 
 there with friendly intent. " To see if I have any 
 more buckboards to burn ? " 
 
 "Don t speak to me that way," she replied, in a 
 pleading voice. " Just remember we was friends 
 once." 
 
 " That s not pleasant for me, after all that has 
 happened," said Phil. 
 
MISS BASS ONCE MORE. 2O/ 
 
 " I know pa and I have been to blame," Sallie 
 admitted. " You don t know how I have felt about 
 it sometimes ; if you did, you would n t look so cross 
 at me ; you d stop untackling your hoss and hear 
 what I Ve to say." 
 
 " You can say nothing that will interest me 
 much," replied Phil, with tight lips, " unless you tell 
 me who burnt up my buckboard." 
 
 " You think pa done that," said Sallie, with strong 
 feeling ; " but he did n t. He did n t know anything 
 about it." 
 
 Phil gave a scoffing laugh as he stripped the har 
 ness from Brownie s back and sent him into the 
 stall. 
 
 " It s too bad there should have been all this 
 trouble," she went on. " If /ever treated you mean, 
 it was coz I thought too much of ye. I can say it, 
 now it s all over with." 
 
 " I should hope it was over with, if that s the way 
 you show your partiality ! " replied Phil, bitterly ; 
 yet he was touched by the tomboy s humble con 
 fession. 
 
 " You did n t always think me so awful bad," she 
 continued, after waiting for him to come out of the 
 stall. " Think of the good times we used to have 
 together, fishing, sassafrasing, nutting, and getting 
 
2O8 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 spruce gum and wild grapes ! And the day when 
 you run off first, and I coaxed you back, was n t I 
 a friend to you then ? Anyway, I meant to be. I 
 always meant to be." 
 
 " I thought you did," said Phil, remembering her 
 many good qualities, notwithstanding all she had 
 made him suffer. " But if you were really my 
 friend, why didn t you make your father keep his 
 promise to pay me wages ? Why have you let him 
 follow me up the way he has done, claiming the 
 wages I was earning of Krennidge, keeping me out 
 of a place, and doing everything to injure me ? " 
 
 " I could n t help that ; he was so mad coz you left 
 us. But now, Phil, you won t be too hard on us, 
 will you ? " 
 
 " Hard on you ? I don t know what you mean ; 
 I ve nothing more to do with you ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I guess you 11 conclude you have, Phil," 
 said Sallie, wiping away a tear. " You d be sorry 
 for pa, if you could see him now. He meant well 
 by you, too ; though I own he hain t done the right 
 thing." 
 
 " I should think not," said Phil, starting to pull his 
 wagon into the barn. 
 
 She went behind to help him by pushing, much 
 as they used to work together in old times. After 
 
MISS BASS ONCE MORE. 2CX) 
 
 he had dropped the shafts, she stepped forward and 
 met him face to face as he turned, looking earn 
 estly into his eyes and saying pathetically, 
 
 " You d pity him, I know, Phil ! They re trying 
 to beggar us. You don t want that, do you ? " 
 
 " I don t see why I should n t want it," Phil an 
 swered, with revengeful hardness. " If any man 
 ever got his deserts, it s your father ! " 
 
 " He may have deserved something, but not all," 
 said Sal. " Think of his losing everything at his age, 
 even his good name, for they mean to take that 
 away too." 
 
 " His good name ? as if he ever had one ! " sneered 
 Phil. 
 
 " I see you are awfully down on him ; and I don t 
 know as it was any use for me to come and see you," 
 Sallie replied, despondingly. 
 
 " I don t see what use it could be, anyway," said 
 Phil. 
 
 " Oh, yes, you do ! " she cried, giving him a keen 
 glance through her tears. " You could save our 
 property and his good name, if you chose." 
 
 " I ? How ? " he demanded. 
 
 " There s just one person in the world who knows 
 pa did n t set his own barn afire," she answered? 
 touching him lightly on the arm, and giving him a 
 
21O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 steady, penetrating look. " And that s you, Phil 
 Farlow ! " 
 
 Phil did not speak ; he could only stand and stare 
 at her. 
 
 " Folks thought he was getting rich ; but he 
 wa n t. He put everything he had into the new 
 barn, and borrowed money besides. Now, if he 
 loses his insurance, he won t have enough left to pay 
 his debts. The company owes him leven thousand 
 dollars on his policies ; they re trying to beat him 
 out of it ; and I don t see but what they will, if you 
 don t come forward and say jest one word." 
 
 "What are you talking about ?" cried Phil. " As 
 if I knew anything about the fire ! " 
 
 " Oh, you know ! " she exclaimed, shaking her 
 finger at him. It seemed an effort for her to keep 
 down her rising passion ; but she succeeded, and 
 went on, in a tone of entreaty, " Come, Phil ! It s 
 no use your trying to deny it to me ; I know you set 
 the fire as well as if I seen you do it ! " 
 
 "You think me such a villain as that!" he ex 
 claimed, in a low voice, looking anxiously to see if 
 any one was coming. 
 
 " I don t think you was a very great villain, even 
 if you did," said Sal. " You only meant to burn the 
 old barn, with the buckboards, if they had hap- 
 
MISS BASS ONCE MORE. 211 
 
 pened to be in it. T wa n t no worse than what you 
 believed pa had done to you. I m sure you never 
 was so black hearted as to mean to burn us out of 
 house and home ; I never believed that of you, Phil ! " 
 
 " Very considerate in you indeed ! " he replied. 
 " Much obliged for your good opinion. I 11 come 
 to you when I want written character." 
 
 " You need n t be so sarcastic," she said, still reso 
 lutely keeping down something that sparkled in her 
 eyes and almost choked her voice. " I m in dead 
 earnest. Nobody 11 blame you very much. If 
 you re afraid they will, if you re afraid of getting 
 yourself into trouble by owning up, if that s what 
 you think of, you can manage to tell some friends and 
 then get out of the way. Do it, Phil !" she implored. 
 " You sha n t lose anything by it. I 11 give you all the 
 money you ask, or send it to you, soon as pa gets his 
 insurance. Be good to me, Phil ! Now do ! " 
 
 Phil was in a tremor of nervous agitation ; but he 
 answered promptly, 
 
 " Either you are a fool, Sallie Bass, or you take me 
 for one ! To imagine that, if I was bad enough to 
 do such a thing, I would be good enough to own up 
 to it ! Or do you mean to bribe me to confess a 
 crime I am innocent of by offering me some of the 
 profits ? You re crazy, Sallie Bass ! " 
 
212 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " You won t ? " she demanded, in a changed voice. 
 
 " Of course I won t ! " 
 
 "Then take care!" she cried, again shaking her 
 finger in his face. "You think you ve had a fine 
 revenge ; but it will cost you dear. You won t 
 enjoy it long; your own conscience won t let you. 
 I know you too well, Phil Farlow. It s an awful 
 thing to leave the wrong person to be suspected of 
 what you know he did n t do ! " 
 
 Her voice suddenly broke into sobs. Phil stood 
 gazing at her as if almost tempted to speak what he 
 knew would thrill her with joy and gratitude. 
 
 " There ! " she exclaimed, resolutely wiping her 
 eyes and throwing back her hair. " Ma told me I 
 would get mad if I come to talk with you ; but I 
 hain t ! I m going to part friends with you, Phil, if 
 you ll let me. If you see us go to the poor-house, 
 just remember that I know who sent us there, and 
 that I forgive you." So saying she hurried away, as 
 if afraid the fiend of temper she had kept down would 
 rise and rend them both at last. 
 
THE NEW BUCKBOARD. 213 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE NEW BUCKBOARD. 
 
 T)HIL finished taking care of his horse, and then 
 -*- walked to and fro in the barn, thinking with no 
 little trepidation of this strange interview. One 
 phrase of Sallie s, especially, kept ringing in his ears ; 
 it was so much like what Clara Chadbow had said to 
 him in the woods that afternoon: "It s an awful 
 thing to leave the wrong person to be suspected ! " 
 He took out his watch and looked at it ; but that 
 could not divert his mind from his agitating thoughts. 
 It quickened his conscience, rather. 
 
 " What if they knew what I am keeping back ? " he 
 said to himself. " Why should I get into such a 
 tangle ? How shall I ever get out of it ? " 
 
 Hearing the clanking wheels of the evening stage 
 coach roll by, Phil looked out and saw a bright new 
 buckboard fastened to it by the shafts and drawn 
 behind. He was saying to himself bitterly that there 
 were plenty of buckboards for other people, but not 
 one for himself, when the driver reined up his four 
 horses and stopped in front of the barn. 
 
214 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Hallo, Phil ! " he cried, familiarly, stepping down 
 over the wheels. " It s come. Where 11 you have 
 it ? " 
 
 " What has come ? " said Phil. 
 
 " Your new buckboard ; don t you understand ? " 
 
 Phil did not understand in the least. Was he in a 
 dream ? 
 
 " It was sent to the doctor s order, and I took it to 
 his house ; but he said bring it over to you. He 
 can tell you all about it, if there s anything you want 
 to know. I s pose, meanwhile, you won t have any 
 very great objection to my leaving it here." 
 
 Before the boy had begun to recover from his 
 amazement, the driver loosed the fastenings and 
 dropped the shafts. Then, mounting to his seat 
 again, and measuring out his whip, he drove away, 
 his half-dozen passengers, who witnessed Phil s be 
 wilderment, no doubt thinking him a very stupid 
 fellow indeed. 
 
 He drew the light, strong vehicle into the yard, 
 and there looked it all over in the greatest surprise 
 and excitement. It was just such a wagon as he 
 had talked with the doctor about ; and it was un 
 doubtedly fresh from the shop, though coated with 
 the dust of the stage road. But whose was it, and 
 how did it ever get there ? 
 
THE NEW BUCKBOARD. 215 
 
 He ran in haste to the house, and was waylaid by 
 Clara, who asked him eagerly about the new vehicle. 
 
 " I know no more about it than if it had dropped 
 out of the sky! I am going to ask the doctor; 
 though I dread to leave it," he cried, excitedly, "for 
 fear it won t be here when I come back." 
 
 The doctor smiled in his quiet, humorous way 
 when Fhil came rushing into his office with the 
 breathless inquiry, 
 
 " Where did that buckboard come from ? Whose 
 is it?" 
 
 The doctor s answer was very cool and deliberate. 
 
 " It came from the manufacturers ; and it is yours." 
 
 " How mine? I thought we concluded not to 
 order it." 
 
 " Sit down, Phil, and don t be excited. We did 
 conclude not to order it on your account. In 
 fact, the most I wanted to get from you was an idea 
 of the sort of vehicle you fancied. You had so many 
 friends, and they all seemed to feel so strongly that 
 not only you but the whole community had suffered 
 outrage and loss in the burning of your buckboard, 
 that I thought they would be glad to make it up to 
 you ; so I .headed a subscription paper, and soon 
 had money enough pledged to justify me in sending 
 the order." 
 
2l6 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " O Dr. Mower ! I never dreamed of it ! " 
 
 " Of course you did n t, and I never meant you 
 should. That s why I kept away from Mrs. Shed- 
 rick s with my paper, thinking I would go there the 
 last thing, if it was necessary ; but it has n t been 
 necessary. Here s a list of the names, if you wish 
 to see it." 
 
 Phil took the paper in his unsteady hand, but he 
 could not read a word ; he just sat there and cried, 
 like the child he was. 
 
 "What is there to feel bad about?" said the doc 
 tor, winking hard at a tear or two in his own eyes. 
 " Hem ! " clearing his throat. " I think I should 
 laugh, if I was you. Summer boarders and old 
 residents united, you see, in giving you this token 
 of their sympathy and respect." 
 
 Phil managed to read a few names, then tears 
 rushed into his eyes again. 
 
 "I thought my friends were forgetting me; and 
 they were doing this for me all the time," he ex 
 claimed. " Oh, I wish I had known ! " 
 
 " Maybe you* would n t have felt quite so hard 
 towards Bass," said Dr. Mower. " He s as badly off 
 now as his worst enemy could wish ; and I guess 
 even you, Phil, can afford to have a little pity on 
 him. Though, to be sure, he brought his misfortunes 
 on himself." 
 
THE NEW BUCKBOARD. 
 
 Phil was trying to read the paper again. Suddenly 
 he jumped up and walked quickly to the window, 
 where he appeared to be struggling with some power 
 ful emotion. Then he turned with a cry of distress. 
 
 " I can t stand it ! I can t stand it ! " 
 
 "What is it you can t stand, my boy? " 
 
 "Something I have kept from you, something I 
 must tell or my heart will burst ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " breathed the doctor, finding there was 
 more in the boy s betrayal of feeling than he had 
 supposed. "Tell me all about it; don t be afraid." 
 As Phil did not speak, he added, cautiously, after a 
 pause, " It s about the fire ? " 
 
 Phil covered his face and gave a convulsive sort of 
 nod. It was some time before he could speak cohe 
 rently, but as soon as he got command of his voice 
 he poured out his story. 
 
 The doctor listened much as if he had been hear 
 ing the confessions of a patient who had come to 
 him for counsel and cure ; and when at last Phil 
 exclaimed, "Tell me what to do!" he answered, em 
 phatically, 
 
 "There is only one thing to do, of course. This 
 is all a very great surprise to me, but I know just 
 how you have felt, and why you have acted as you 
 have." He looked up at the clock. " There is 
 
2l8 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 one man who must know the facts in the case 
 at once." 
 
 " You mean Bass ? " said Phil, with a look of pain 
 and dread. 
 
 " I mean Crosby/ Dr. Mower replied, " the insur 
 ance agent. I hear he is in town again, trying to 
 force Sol Bass to a settlement, a settlement that 
 will leave him without a penny in the world. Come ! 
 the sooner you get this bad business off your mind 
 the better. I 11 go with you." 
 
 Poor Phil felt stronger already after his confession. 
 The doctor s cheerful manner and promises of help 
 and sympathy encouraged him, and after a little 
 further talk they set off together to find the special 
 agent. 
 
IN THE LAWYERS OFFICE. 2IQ 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 IN THE LAWYER S OFFICE. 
 
 HP HE experienced Crosby had scarcely any doubt 
 -^ that Bass had fairly forfeited his insurance by 
 firing his own barn, yet he saw the uncertainty of 
 proving the company s case before a jury. 
 
 " Our timid tailor," he wrote to the home office, 
 "will be a poor witnesss for us, I am afraid. If I 
 was a lawyer on the other side, I believe I could so 
 tangle him up in a cross-examination that he would 
 hardly know what he was swearing to ; and make it 
 appear that he saw nobody going into the barn that 
 night but a spectre his own terrors conjured up." 
 
 As time elapsed, Drigson was beginning himself 
 to suspect that his fears might have caused him to 
 take some other person for Bass. As for Betsy 
 Doane, she never once pretended to have recognized 
 the landlord, but, standing farther within the door 
 way, she had merely had glimpses of a figure, and 
 heard footsteps, and taken Drigson s word that it 
 was Solomon. 
 
22O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 The corroborating circumstances were indeed 
 strong, Bass s exorbitant claims, his neglect to 
 save the old wagons, his often-expressed wish to 
 replace them with new ones, and the occurrence of 
 the fire so near the close of the season. But these 
 proved nothing. Nor were his miserable fears and 
 entreaties, when confronted by the accusing agent, 
 his readiness to abate his claims, and his offer of 
 a bribe, inconsistent with his innocence of the main 
 charge. 
 
 "The best course for us," wrote the agent, "is to 
 press him hard, and rely upon his consciousness of 
 guilt and his fear of punishment to make him yield 
 his policies." 
 
 It was with this intention that he had returned 
 from a brief tour of the mountains, and was this very 
 afternoon having an interview with Bass at the office 
 of Bass s lawyer. The conference had been long, 
 heated, and unsatisfactory. It was getting late. 
 More than once Mr. Crosby had risen to depart with 
 the threat on his lips, " The law, then, must settle 
 it ! " but each time he had sat down again as Bass 
 begged him not to go and showed signs of yielding. 
 Then the door was opened and Dr. Mower looked in. 
 "We have been to your boarding-house, Mr. 
 Crosby," he said, " and have followed you here. 
 
IN I HE LAWYERS OFFICE. 221 
 
 We ve a little business with you, this young person 
 and I. As it concerns Mr. Bass, perhaps you won t 
 object to hearing it in his presence." 
 
 The agent made no objection ; while Bass, seeing 
 Phil s pale and anxious face in the entry, rolled up on 
 his feet and shook at him his fat, clinched hand. 
 
 " There s the feller that can settle this dispute, if 
 he will," he exclaimed, with apoplectic passion. 
 
 "And like as not he will, Solomon," replied. the 
 doctor, " if you will sit down again, be quiet, and 
 give him a chance. Phil has come to tell what he 
 knows, and he knows a good deal." 
 
 " About the fire ? " said Bass s lawyer. 
 
 "About the fire," replied the doctor, calmly. "Sit 
 down, Phil," pushing along a chair the lawyer offered 
 him. 
 
 Phil remained standing, his face pale but deter 
 mined, his lips compressed, his chest heaving with 
 quick breaths. The lawyer got Bass into his seat 
 again, where he glowered upon the boy with his 
 bloated face and pig-eyes peering out, a picture of 
 mingled hate and hope and fear, which would have 
 been comic if it had not been so brutal. He hardly 
 knew yet whether Phil had come to speak the truth 
 or to add another link to the chain of evidence 
 against him. 
 
222 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " He has come of his own accord," the doctor 
 added, "and I bespeak for him the consideration 
 such an act deserves ; for he might not have come 
 at all ; he might have left our friend Bass here in the 
 trouble which some are so unkind as to think just 
 good enough for him." 
 
 Mr. Crosby sat with one leg over the other and 
 one arm resting on the lawyer s table. He eyed Phil 
 keenly. 
 
 " Is this true," he said, at length, " that you know 
 about the origin of Bass s fire ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied Phil, unfalteringly. 
 
 " Then how happens it that you have kept it so 
 long to yourself ? Did n t you know Mr. Bass was 
 suspected, and in difficulty in consequence ? " 
 
 " I did," said Phil ; " and I was willing he should 
 suffer a little, after what he has done to me. 
 Besides, I did n t want to tell what I knew." 
 
 Here his voice broke a little, and his features 
 writhed. Mr. Crosby, watching him closely, in 
 quired, 
 
 " Then why do you come forward now ? " 
 
 "I can t help it; I feel that I must," Phil an 
 swered. " Mr. Bass has been no friend to me ; he 
 has made me hate him. But for all that I can t 
 stand off any longer." 
 
IN THE LAWYERS OFFICE. 223 
 
 Bass could not keep his seat. He started up as if 
 to clutch the boy, and roared out impatiently, while 
 the doctor interposed, and the lawyer held him 
 back, 
 
 " Say it right out, why don t ye, if ye sot the fire, 
 as I know ye did ? " 
 
 " I did not set it," said Phil, addressing his reply 
 to the agent. 
 
 " Did not ? " Mr. Crosby repeated. " Tell us, then, 
 who did." 
 
 Phil drew a deep breath, while a look of anguish 
 crossed his face, and answered, 
 
 " It was my father." 
 
224 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE BOY S STORY. 
 
 FARLOW ! " Bass exclaimed. " He hain t been 
 round ! " 
 
 The agent waved him back. " Tell* us all about 
 it," he said to Phil. 
 
 " He has been to see me twice this summer," 
 Phil resumed, in a forced and hollow voice. "The 
 first time, he stayed with me all night in Mr. Mar 
 shall s barn, and came so near dropping sparks in the 
 straw from his pipe and matches that I determined 
 never to let him in again. The next time he came 
 was that night." 
 
 Phil s throat was dry, his voice husky and faint; 
 it seemed impossible for him to go on. The doctor 
 gave him a glass of water from the lawyer s pitcher, 
 and, after a painful pause, he continued, 
 
 " I don t know what time it was when he woke me 
 up by rattling the barn-door. I was frightened. I 
 did n t know whether he had come again, or whether 
 the men who had burnt my buckboard were after my 
 
THE BOY S STORY. 225 
 
 horse, and I couldn t have told at first which I 
 dreaded the most, but as soon as I was well awake, 
 I hoped it was the men : I should have known what 
 to do with them." 
 
 "And you didn t know what to do with your own 
 father ? " the agent inquired. 
 
 " I did not. That s the terrible thing about it. 
 He was once a bright, fine-looking, agreeable man ! 
 if I do say it ! " Phil exclaimed, with deep feeling; 
 " but bad habits and carelessness in money matter s 
 ruined him. It s awful to say so, but it s the truth, 
 
 he is now just a miserable vagabond I knew his 
 voice, but I was afraid to let him into the barn. I 
 handed him money through the window, and sent 
 him away. I can never tell how I felt when I did it, 
 
 twas horrible ! " And the poor boy s voice broke 
 into a sob. 
 
 Bass observed him with astonishment, while the 
 insurance agent forgot the injury to his case in 
 manly compassion for the son who was forced by his 
 conscience to make this distressing disclosure. 
 
 " Well, my boy," he said, with kindly encourage 
 ment, "tell us the rest." 
 
 " I could n t stay in the barn after he was gone. 
 I wanted to know what he would do ; so I went out 
 and followed him at a distance. He went straight 
 
226 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 to Bass s tavern, as I was afraid he would. I had 
 given him only a little money, so I thought I 
 would n t stop him ; but it was later than I sup 
 posed. The lights were all out, and he couldn t get 
 in He tried the bar-room door, and then went off 
 toward the old barn." 
 
 " Passing by the kitchen part of the hotel ? " said 
 the agent, with a curious smile, as he thought of the 
 tailor. 
 
 " Yes, a little way off from it, perhaps three or 
 four rods. It was n t so dark but that I could see 
 him go to the small barn-door and get in. He knew 
 the fastenings. There was a slide you could move 
 and reach your hand in and turn the bar, if you knew 
 just how it worked." 
 
 " That was so me and my help would n t alluz be 
 botherin bout the key," spoke up the excited Bass. 
 "The boy is right : his dad knew the barn ; used to 
 hide in t one time from his creditors." 
 
 "I remembered his pipe," Phil resumed, "and I 
 suppose I am to blame for not following him in and 
 seeing that he did no mischief. But I thought it 
 likely he might be out of matches and tobacco ; I 
 hoped he was. And it was Bass s barn ; I did n t feel 
 like setting foot inside the premises of a man who 
 had used me so. I went far enough, though, to hear 
 
THE BOY S STORY. 22/ 
 
 a movement by the kitchen door, and see somebody 
 hurry out. I thought it might be Bass." 
 
 The agent smiled again, remembering the tailor s 
 ridiculous story. 
 
 " I waited awhile to see if anything happened," 
 continued Phil, " then went off towards home. I 
 walked slowly, and kept listening and looking back. 
 By and by a light blazed up in a window, through 
 some trees in the direction of the barn. I started 
 towards it across the field, but soon met somebody 
 coming towards me running and stumbling. I knew 
 who it was, and when he fell in a little hollow, I 
 hurried down to him. It was my father. 
 
 " You ve set the barn afire ! I said. 
 
 " It s afire, that s a fact/ he said; but I don t 
 know how I could have set it. I thought I was care 
 ful as usual. 
 
 " Careful as usual ! I said. * Did you light your 
 pipe ? 
 
 " I did/ he said, and fell asleep with it in my 
 mouth. When I woke up, everything was in a blaze. 
 I had hardly time to get out. 
 
 " He was frightened, and so was I," proceeded 
 Phil. " I gave him all the money I had about me, 
 and told him he must get out of the way as soon as 
 possible. I was so excited I hardly knew what I was 
 
228 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 about, but as somebody at the hotel had given the 
 alarm, I hurried to the street and ran up and down, 
 screaming fire." 
 
 " And what became of your father ? " the agent 
 inquired. 
 
 " I don t know," said Phil ; " I have never seen 
 him since." 
 
 This, then, was the secret which had preyed upon 
 the boy s conscience and made his life miserable. 
 His story was so manifestly true that Mr. Crosby, 
 after putting to him a few questions, which were 
 promptly answered, accepted it frankly, and begged 
 Bass s pardon for having unjustly accused him. 
 
 " And I am to have my insurance ? " cried Bass. 
 
 "Certainly, every cent that is justly your due/ 
 the agent replied. " We 11 have the damages ap 
 prized at once." 
 
 "Glory!" said Bass, rolling from one leg to the 
 other and floundering about in a clumsy bear-dance 
 of exultation. 
 
 N 
 
 It had hardly got into his dull brain yet that he 
 owed anything to Phil ; nor was Phil at all anxious 
 to receive from him any expressions of gratitude. 
 The satisfaction of having at last done a duty which 
 he had so long dreaded was enough for him. 
 
 "Folks 11 be tickled, I tell ye! It ll make Sal 
 screech ! " 
 
THE BOY S STORY. 22Q 
 
 Bass was rushing out without his hat ; he went 
 back for it, and was crushing it on his head as he 
 plunged again through the doorway, when he ap 
 peared suddenly to remember something else. 
 
 " Your dad s a scamp," he said, turning to Phil ; 
 " but you ve done me a good turn, and you sha n t 
 be sorry for t, as I promised Sal when she went to 
 talk with ye." 
 
 He was going again, when the doctor stopped 
 him. 
 
 " Is n t it about time, Bass, for you to give up that 
 absurd claim on him, and destroy the writing his 
 father gave you ? " 
 
 Bass hesitated a moment, then pulled out his 
 pocket-book and produced from it the paper, now 
 worn and soiled, by which the wretched Farlow had 
 pawned his son. 
 
 " Blast the thing ! " he said, tearing it, and stamp 
 ing on the pieces. " It has been more trouble, nuff 
 sight, than it s been wuth. Phil done well by me, 
 and we might have been good friends yit, if I had n t 
 been too hard on him." 
 
 " How about burning his buckboard ? " urged the 
 doctor. 
 
 " I had nothing to do with that, as I Ve alluz 
 said," Bass protested ; " but I suppose I can guess 
 
23O PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 who done it, and soon as ever I git my insurance I 11 
 give the boy a hundred dollars." 
 
 " You d better give him an order on the insurance 
 company for that amount now," the doctor shrewdly 
 suggested. " The agent here will help you put it into 
 shape." 
 
 Sol hesitated. The doctor insisted. 
 
 " Yes, I will," said Bass. 
 
 " To be sure, you Ve got a new buckboard," the 
 doctor whispered aside to Phil, while Bass was getting 
 pen and paper. " But the loss of the old one has 
 given you a great deal of trouble, and caused more 
 actual damage to your business than his hundred 
 dollars will make good." 
 
 "All right!" said Phil, with rising spirits. "I ll 
 take it, then I can pay my debts." 
 
CONCLUSION. 231 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 TT AVING signed the order which the agent wrote 
 *-*> for him, Bass went off shouting his good news 
 to every person he met. It spread rapidly, and act 
 ually reached Mrs. Shedrick s boarding-house before 
 Phil did ; so that when he came around, after walk 
 ing home with Dr. Mower, he was almost smothered 
 with questions and congratulations. 
 
 Congratulations yes ; that was what astonished 
 him more than anything else. He had thought he 
 could never look Clara and her mother in the face 
 after confessing all the truth about his father. But 
 he found that they suspected already who the vaga 
 bond was who inquired for him that evening when 
 he carried his supper to the barp, and they now 
 thought only of his noble conduct in sacrificing his 
 own pride and revenge for the sake of justice even 
 to his enemy. 
 
 As soon as Bass had got a settlement with the 
 insurance company, which proved satisfactory to 
 both parties, he made haste to discharge Lorson. 
 
232 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Then the whole history of the buckboard burning 
 came out. 
 
 "You ve used me a good deal better n Bass 
 has, though I ve stood his friend and not yotirn," 
 the slab-sided one said to Phil, meeting him one 
 evening on the street. " I m goin off, to-morrow, 
 but I m bound to tell ye all about that scrape fust. 
 Bass did n t do it, and I did n t do it. He said he 
 would be the fust one s pected, and he must n t know 
 nothin about it. So he give me twenty dollars to 
 git it done. I felt I must n t know nothin about 
 it nuther; so I jest passed the money on to Scoville 
 and Krennidge, or at least a part on t, and left them 
 the job, which Bass s stories about you and your 
 cuttin under made em only too glad to do. Now 
 don t you go to layin it up ag in me." 
 
 "I won t lay it up against you," Phil replied, "if 
 you will go to Dr. Mower with me, and say again in 
 his presence what you have said to me here." 
 
 " Of course I 11 do that," said Lorson. 
 
 The next day he disappeared, and it was not long 
 before both Scoville and Krennidge followed him, so 
 strong was the feeling excited against them in the 
 community by Lorson s revelations. 
 
 For the same reason, or others equally good, 
 Bass himself concluded not to rebuild his hotel and 
 
CONCLUSION. 233 
 
 stables, but to sell his teams, and invest his money 
 in a public house in Connecticut, where his wife s 
 relations lived. The lively Sallie went with her 
 parents, and Phil was to see her no more. 
 
 He did not grieve, although he regarded her with 
 only kindly feelings now, remembering all her admi 
 rable qualities, and forgiving the faults which were 
 attributable to her unfortunate temper and to the 
 bad influences which had surrounded her all her life. 
 When he heard afterwards that she had married a 
 worthy man, he was sincerely glad. 
 
 " I Ve no doubt she will make him a good wife," 
 he said, " if she keeps away from the old folks, and 
 if she is n t too particular about the matter of his 
 neckties." 
 
 Even towards Bass the boy s heart was strangely 
 softened. This was not for anything Bass had done 
 for Phil, but because Phil had himself been just and 
 generous to Bass. If you would learn to forgive 
 your enemy, go and do him a service. 
 
 Phil s father came back upon him two or three 
 times ; and during the following summer, when Phil 
 was running two buckboards and a "sunshade," 
 
 a vehicle so called from its cover and open sides, 
 
 he made a faithful attempt to reform the vaga 
 bond and set him to work. But Farlow could not 
 
234 PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 stand that long, especially since the tavern had dis 
 appeared and Thunder Brook had become a temper 
 ance village. 
 
 He was soon off again, and the next Phil heard 
 of him was through a letter which he received in the 
 winter from the authorities of a town on the Hudson, 
 where Farlow, having nearly perished from exposure 
 in a storm, had been received into a poor-house. 
 
 Phil hastened to him, and spent his earnings freely, 
 like the dutiful son he was, in having him cared for to 
 the last. Farlow s once fine constitution was broken ; 
 it never rallied, and within a month he had paid the 
 one solemn debt which no man can evade. 
 
 The death of a father is to most children an irrep 
 arable loss and grief. It was a grief to Phil also ; 
 the more bitter because he had hoped all along that 
 he might still reclaim the wretched man : the 
 older he grew, the more earnestly he had resolved to 
 devote the best energies of his life to that task. 
 But how could he help one who would not help him. 
 self ? Not even an angel from heaven might do that. 
 
 "What are you going at now ?" said his good 
 friend the doctor, when he returned and told his 
 story. " Your teaming is prosperous, but it occu 
 pies you only about three months in the year." 
 
 "I know it," said Phil; "and even if it took the 
 
CONCLUSION. 235 
 
 whole of my time, I don t feel that it is just what I 
 want to do all my life. I want to know more than 
 I, could ever learn in that business." 
 
 He might have added that he wished to become a 
 noble and cultivated man for the sake of somebody 
 else he meant to live for now that his father was 
 gone. But he had not yet dared to breathe the 
 thought even to that somebody else. 
 
 " That s good," said Dr. Mower, with his wise 
 smile. " How would you like to come and study 
 with me, and learn to be a doctor ? " 
 
 "I ve been thinking," replied Phil, "that is just 
 what I should like to do." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
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 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 D 21-100m-9, 48(B399sl6)476 
 
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 956 
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