“Come here, you, sir!”

These words were spoken in a stern voice by Jacob Winter, and emphasized by a heavy frown. The speaker was rather an undersized man, with a rugged, weather-beaten face. He had seen but fifty years, though his wrinkles and bowed shoulders indicated ten more.

The boy addressed had a bright, intelligent face and a fearless look. Ben Bruce detected the danger signals in the tone and face of his stepfather, but without a sign of hesitation he walked up to the farmer, and responded, “Here I am, sir.”

The man seemed aching to lay hold of the fearless boy, but something in his steadfast look appeared to deter him. “Ain’t you ashamed of yourself, sir?” exploded Jacob Winters.

“Please let me know what I am to be ashamed of, Mr. Winter.”

“Ez if you didn’t know,” ejaculated Jacob.

“I don’t know.”

“Then I’ll tell you. Yesterday when I was away drivin’ your mother to the sewin’ circle two tramps came to the door, and you took it upon yourself to give ’em a loaf of bread and a pint of milk. Deny it if you dare!”

“I don’t deny it,” answered Ben boldly.

“You don’t!”

“No, why should I?”

“That’s the way my substance is wasted on the shiftless and undeservin’!”

“Mr. Winter, the two tramps, as you call them, were hungry, thin, and miserable. The man looked as if he had just got up from a fit of sickness. The boy was about ten and looked pale and famished. Wouldn’t you have given them something if you had been in my place?”

“No, I wouldn’t,” snarled Jacob.

“Then it seems to me you are the one that ought to feel ashamed.”

“What? what?” gasped Jacob, aghast. “You dare to stand there, Benjamin Bruce, and tell me to my face that I’d ought to be ashamed. You a mere boy, and I your stepfather!”

“I can’t help it if you are my stepfather. I’m sorry enough for it. If my mother had taken my advice she wouldn’t have married you.”

“Wuss and wuss!” ejaculated Jacob. “I didn’t know you was such a bad boy. You’ll come to the gallows some day, see if you don’t!”

“Look here, Mr. Winter; you call yourself a Christian, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’ve been a member of the church for nine and thirty years.”

“And you believe in the Bible, don’t you?”

“I won’t answer your impudent question.”

“Yet,” continued Ben, “you blame me for feeding the hungry.”

“You fed ’em with my provisions,” snarled Jacob.

“Well, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll go without my supper.”

“You’ve a mighty independent way of talkin’, Benjamin Bruce, you that I feed and clothe.”

“I do work enough to pay for my keeping, Mr. Winter. Besides, you forget that you have got my mother’s money, which if she hadn’t married you would have been part mine.” Jacob Winter winced. It was true that Mrs. Bruce had brought him two thousand dollars, which he had coolly deposited to his own account in a savings bank.

“That ain’t any of your business,” he said. “Now go out and feed the cows, and mind you don’t throw away any of my substance agin on beggars.”

Ben left the room without a reply, but his lip curled, for he thoroughly despised his stepfather for his meanness.

On the way to the barn he fell in with his mother, who was returning from the village.

“What’s the matter, Ben?” she said, for she saw signs of disturbance in her son’s face.

“I have had a little conversation with Mr. Winter.”

“Did he—scold you?”

“Yes, because I gave some bread and milk to two poor people who called at the door yesterday. Mother, if there’s a mean man in the world, it is Jacob Winter.”

“Hush, Ben! Don’t speak so of your stepfather.”

“Mother, why did you marry him? Why did you make him my stepfather?”

Mrs. Winter looked troubled. “I—I thought it was for the best, Ben,” she faltered. “We had so little, and he was rich.”

“Then you didn’t marry him from affection?”

“No, no; he understood that.”

“I am glad of that, mother. You made a mistake.”

“It may be so, but I must make the best of it.”

“We could have got along on what money you had and what I could earn, and we should have been far happier by ourselves, mother.”

“Don’t say any more. The past cannot be recalled.”

“You mustn’t blame me if I don’t stay here very long, mother. I can’t stand Mr. Winter and his mean, tyrannical ways.”

“Oh, Ben, you wouldn’t go away and leave me?”

“If I do it will only be that I may get on in the world, and offer you a better home than you have now.”

“But you are only a boy, only fifteen years old. You must stay here till you have got an education. You have graduated from the grammar school, and are now ready for the high school.”

“I don’t think Mr. Winter will allow me to go.”

“Why do you say that?” “Because Albert Graham heard Mr. Winter tell his father that he thought I had education enough, and he was going to keep me at home to work on the farm.”

“Are you sure of that?” asked Mrs. Winter in agitation.

“Yes; I know Albert wouldn’t say so if it wasn’t so.”

“But he promised me when we married that you should have a good education.”

“He doesn’t always keep his promises.”

“If he hadn’t agreed to this I wouldn’t have married him.”

“Then I wish he hadn’t agreed to it. You will see that I am right. Next Monday the high school will begin its term.”

“Why don’t you go and fodder the cows, as I told you?” came in a shrill voice from an open window.

Mother and son looked toward it and saw the frowning face of Jacob Winter peering out.

“I was talking to my mother,” answered Ben.

“You’d better wait till you have more time,” growled the farmer.

Ben did not reply, but went on his way to the barn, while Mrs. Winter entered the house.

“Mrs. Winter,” said her husband fretfully, “that boy of yours is gettin’ very impudent and sassy.”

“I hadn’t observed it,” she answered coldly.

“You’re his mother, and you think he’s an angel.”

“There are no angels in this house, Mr. Winter,” said his wife significantly.

“Is that meant as a personal reflection on me, Mrs. Winter?”

“No more than on myself.”

“Well, well, I am glad you didn’t mean any offense. But I’m serious about Ben. I’ve left him in your hands too long. I’m goin’ to manage him myself now.”

“Then, Mr. Winter, I have one thing to say. Ben is not a bad boy, but he has spirit, and if you undertake to drive him he will be sure to rebel.”

“You needn’t worry about that, Mrs. W. He ain’t nothing but a boy, and if I can’t manage him I’ll give up.”

“He may be nothing but a boy, but he has his rights. You must bear in mind your promise to me before we married.”

“What promise do you refer to, Mrs. W.?”

“That he should have an education.”

“Well, ain’t he been to school ever since, and now he’s gradooated.” “At the grammar school. He is now ready for the high school.”

“He ain’t a-goin’ to the high school.”

“Do you mean that, Mr. Winter?” said his wife with an angry flush upon her cheek.

“Certainly I do. He’s got to work on the farm. He knows all he need to. He’s as well eddicated as I am.”

“I admit that, but——”

“Say no more, Mrs. W. I’ve put my foot down, and the thing is settled. He shan’t go to the high school.”