Jacob Winter came bounding down-stairs angry and bewildered. He sought out his wife in the kitchen.

“What has become of Ben?” he demanded abruptly.

Mrs. Winter turned and surveyed her husband calmly.

“Why do you ask?” she inquired.

“Because I went up to call him just now and found that his bed had not been slept in. Do you think he went over to sleep with Albert Graham?”

“He said nothing to me about going.”

“If he went without leave I will give him a sound thrashing.”

“Threats are cheap, Mr. Winter,” said his wife with something of contempt in her voice.

“What do you think has become of the boy, Mrs. W.?”

“Probably he has gone away.”

“But where?” “He found out yesterday that you had apprenticed him without his permission to Silas Flack.”

“He found out because I told him so.”

“Very well, he has no taste for shoemaking.”

“Or for any other kind of work.”

“That is not true, Mr. Winter, and you know it. Ben is industrious, but he wants to be consulted about his occupation.”

“Why, isn’t shoemaking a good business?”

“It is—for some, but Ben doesn’t like it. What put it into your mind to select that business for Ben?”

“I thought he would make a good living at it.”

“And that was all?”

“Wasn’t that enough?”

“Ben learned that you intended to make money out of him. Mr. Flack was to pay you fifty dollars a year for his services, and this you intended to put into your own pocket. That was your object in making the arrangement.”

“I only did what I had a right to do. But you haven’t told me where the boy is.”

“I don’t know, but he had some idea of going to New York.”

“Did he tell you this?”

“Yes.” “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I thought the boy had enough to contend against without his mother turning against him.”

“It seems to me you have very peculiar ideas of the duties of a wife, Mrs. W.”

“And you have strange notions of your duty to your stepson.”

“Will you tell me when Ben left the house and what route he took?”

“I can’t answer either question.”

“I’ll find out in spite of you and bring him back,” said Jacob angrily. “Did you give him any money to go away with?”

“I am not likely to have much money to give to any one. However I gave him two dollars.”

“So you connived at his escape? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Mrs. W.”

“My conscience is clear. I will only say that had you treated Ben as he had a right to expect, he would not have left the house.”

“Perhaps, Mrs. W., you will favor me with your idea of how he ought to have been treated,” said Mr. Winter, with what he thought to be withering sarcasm.

“I will. You should have let him go to the high school.” “Anything more?”

“And given him better clothes. He does not dress as well as boys of much smaller means.”

“I don’t mean to pamper him, or dress him in purple and fine linen, Mrs. Winter. He has left a good home and will probably repent it in dust and ashes before many weeks are over. Is breakfast ready?”

“It will be ready in five minutes.”

“I want to start in pursuit of Ben as soon as possible. I feel that I have a responsibility about the boy, if you don’t, Mrs. Winter.”

Mrs. Winter smiled. She understood very well why her husband wanted to recover Ben. The fifty dollars a year promised by Mr. Flack he was not willing to surrender if there was any possible chance of securing it.

Mr. Winter harnessed up and drove to the nearest railroad station, five miles away, but he saw nothing of the fugitive. Ben had taken the five o’clock train, having slept with his friend Albert Graham the night before.

On the way home Mr. Winter met Albert, and knowing the intimacy between the two boys, he stopped his horse and inquired: “When did you see Ben last?”

“Early this morning,” answered Albert. “You did, hey? Where did you see him?”

“He slept at my house last night.”

“Is he there now?”

“No, sir.”

“Where is he then?”

“I guess he must be in Boston now.”

“In Boston?” repeated the farmer. “Why, why, how could he get there so quick?”

“He meant to take the five o’clock train from Grafton.”

“He’s a fool! He can’t get any further than Boston. He only had two dollars with him.”

“Is that all?” asked Albert significantly.

“Yes; his mother gave him two dollars, and that wouldn’t much more than get him to Boston.”

Albert did not contradict his statement, but he happened to know that Ben had five dollars more lent by himself.

“Did Ben tell you he was going to run away?” said Jacob, returning to the charge.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why didn’t you come and tell me?”

“What do you take me for?” asked Albert scornfully. “Do you think I would betray my friend?”

“I see you are in league with him,” returned Jacob angrily. “I ain’t sure but I can have you arrested for aidin’ and abettin’ him in his unlawful doin’s.”

“Go ahead and do it if you think best,” said Albert, in no way frightened.

“I’ll see about it. I’ll consult with Lawyer Cole, and you may spend the night in jail.”

Albert took no particular notice of this threat, and did not borrow any trouble on account of it.

Meanwhile the boy who had created such a commotion in the Winter household had reached Boston. He had never before been so far from home, and it must be confessed that, as he stepped from the car and followed the rest of the passengers into the front part of the Boston and Albany station, he felt a sense of loneliness, mingled with apprehension.

Had he done wisely in leaving his country home to seek the crowded city? He could not tell, but just for a moment his heart sank within him, and he almost wished himself back in Wrayburn.

But the feeling soon passed away, and as he stepped out of the depot, and, following the crowd, walked on to Washington Street, he became more cheerful and hopeful.

On the way he passed a small restaurant. There was a bill of fare displayed at the door. The prices seemed reasonable, and he decided to enter.

He had got up very early, walked about five miles to the station, and though he had been provided by Albert with a couple of slices of bread and butter, he felt very hungry.

He went into the restaurant and scanning the bill of fare, called for a plate of baked beans and a cup of coffee. They were brought, and he partook of them with great relish.

The cost was only fifteen cents. He would have liked to order more, but he felt that he must husband his money, as he did not know when he would obtain employment.

He reached Washington Street, and walked down it looking in at the shop windows. There were comparatively few people out, as it was still early, but to Ben’s rural eyes there seemed to be a crowd. He passed the Adams House, and when he reached Winter Street, he glanced up it and saw a vista of green grass and sturdy old trees, that reminded him of the country.

“What is that field over there?” he asked of a young man at his side.

“That is the common,” answered the other with a smile.

Ben hurried and pushed on till he reached the famous square. Passing between some posts he found himself on the mall, and seated himself on a long bench under the trees.

He looked with interest at the passers-by. It was a bright and animated spectacle. It was a glimpse of the world quite unlike any with which Ben had been acquainted hitherto.

“I wish somebody was with me,” he said to himself.

As if in answer to his wish a boy rather older than himself stopped in front of the bench and greeted him in a surprised voice. “Why, Ben, how came you here?”

Looking up he recognized his cousin Adelbert Bruce, who lived, as he remembered, in a town not far from Boston.

“Adelbert!” exclaimed Ben joyfully, rising and grasping his cousin’s hand. “I never thought of seeing you.”

“I have come to Boston to buy some clothes,” said Adelbert, “but what brings you here?”

“I have left home,” answered Ben.

“But why?”

“Wait till you have a stepfather, and then you will know.”

“Are you trying to find a place in Boston?”

“No; I am going to New York.” “You don’t mean it! Do you know any one there?”

“No.”

“Then I should think you would be afraid to go.”

“I have to go somewhere. Mr. Winter would have apprenticed me to a shoemaker if I had stayed in Wrayburn.”

“Did your mother know you were going to leave home?”

“Yes; I wouldn’t go without telling her.”

Adelbert sat down by Ben and the two talked earnestly. All at once they became sensible of a commotion, then of men, women and children running by them in excitement, the more timid uttering cries of alarm.

“What’s the matter?” asked Ben.

“It’s a mad dog,” answered his cousin, turning pale, “and he’s coming our way!”