Ben slept later than usual the next morning. He was awakened by his neighbor, Mr. Snodgrass, who entered his room, his face glowing with excitement. In his hand he held a morning paper.

“Ben, you’re famous!” he exclaimed.

“Am I?” asked Ben, drowsily.

“Yes; look at this paragraph in the Herald. Or, stay. I’ll read it.”

He read as follows:

“At the People’s Theater last evening a new play was produced, ‘The Belle of the Bowery,’ by the well-known dramatist, Mr. John Wilkins. It is a local play, and was received very favorably. It is well put on the stage, and on the whole was well played. Mr. William Thornton acquitted himself well, as usual, and Jed the Newsboy, was remarkably well played by Ben Bruce. We have seldom seen so young an actor who gave so much promise of future achievements.”

“That is very complimentary,” said Ben, whose face flushed with natural pleasure.

“I should say so. You have achieved fame at one bound. The time may come, and that soon, when your name will be as well known as mine.” Ben was tempted to smile at the harmless vanity of his companion, but he appreciated his friendly feelings, and thanked him for his favorable opinion.

Ben dressed himself and went out to breakfast with Mr. Snodgrass. On the way he bought the Sun and World, both of which spoke well of his acting.

At the end of the first week Ben was notified that his salary was ready. It was handed to him in an envelope. He opened it and to his delight found that it contained five bills of five dollars each. The manager appreciated the hit his young recruit had made.

“Twenty-five dollars!” he exclaimed in astonishment. “Is it possible that I have earned as much as this in a single week!

“Now,” he thought, “I can return Albert Graham the five dollars he lent me.”

He went into the reading-room of an uptown hotel, and sitting down at the table wrote the following letter.

“Dear Albert:

“You will find inclosed a five-dollar bill which is sent in return for your very kind loan. Don’t think I am pinching myself, as I have twenty dollars left in my pocketbook. Just at present I am doing remarkably well, but I have seen some anxious days since I left Wrayburn. I wouldn’t advise any boy to leave home unless he has as good reasons as I, or has a good prospect ahead. I must tell you that before I got steady work I was reduced to thirty-seven cents, and knew that in two days I had to meet a rent bill of two dollars. I fully expected to be turned out into the streets, for my landlady, though kind-hearted is poor, and could not afford to keep me unless I paid my rent regularly.

“You will be interested to hear what I am working at. Well, for a time I sold papers on the Bowery, clearing about seventy-five cents a day. But my first situation was distributing circulars, or rather bills of fare for a cheap restaurant on the same street. I was paid chiefly in meals, and such meals! Often and often I wished myself at my mother’s table, or at yours, where I could get good wholesome food. But I had a chance to change my business. You will hardly believe me when I tell you that I am acting at the People’s Theater. I am taking the part of a newsboy. How well I succeed you can judge from two or three newspaper clippings I send you. I don’t know how long my present employment will last. I hope a good while, for I am much better paid than I could hope to be in any other line of business.

“Now how are things going on in Wrayburn? Do you often see my mother? Please show her this letter and the newspaper clippings. Give her my love, but you needn’t trouble yourself to give any such message to my stepfather, to whom I owe no debt of gratitude.

“How I wish you could walk into my room and have an old-fashioned chat. Have you ridden at any races lately? If you have I hope you were successful. Write soon to

“Your true friend,

“Ben Bruce.”

Albert Graham no sooner received this letter than he went over to see Mrs. Winter. Jacob Winter had gone to a neighboring town on an errand, and Albert was glad to find Ben’s mother at home alone.

“You have heard from Ben,” exclaimed Mrs. Winter, noticing his bright face. “Yes, Mrs. Winter.”

“How is he? Is he getting on comfortably? Last night I dreamed that the poor boy was penniless and suffering for food.”

“Dreams go by contraries, you know. The letter contained five dollars which he sent me in payment for the money I lent him when he went away.”

“Then he must be doing well!” said Mrs. Winter gladly.

“He writes that he has twenty dollars left in his pocketbook.”

“What in the world can he be doing?”

“Read his letter and you will see.”

Mrs. Winter read the letter eagerly. Her face showed the surprise she felt.

“Ben acting in a theater!” she exclaimed. “It hardly seems possible.”

“Read these newspaper clippings and you will see that he is acting well.”

Mrs. Winter read the notices, and her eyes lighted up with gladness and pride.

“I shall feel much happier now,” she said. “I have been worrying about Ben, and fancying that he might be suffering.”

“Ben is smart. He will make his way.”

When Jacob Winter came home he said to his wife, “Have you heard from that boy of yours?”

“Not directly. Albert Graham had a letter.”

“Beggin’ for money as like as not. I wonder he got money enough for postage.”

Mrs. Winter made no reply.

“If you write to him you can tell him I’ll take him back if he’ll promise to obey me in all things and work stiddy.”

“Yes, I’ll tell him, but I don’t think he’ll come.”

“Then he’s a fool. He can’t make his expenses in York.”

“Will you pay his expenses back to Wrayburn, Mr. Winter?”

“No,” answered Jacob cautiously. “I couldn’t do that. Why, it would cost six or seven dollars.”

“Then how is he to come back?”

“He can foot it, and beg his victuals on the way,” suggested Mr. Winter.

“Ben would be too proud to do that,” said his mother promptly.

“That’s what’s the matter with him,” exclaimed Jacob. “He’s too proud. He had a good home here, but he got uppish and must try his luck outside. You mark my words Mrs. W., he’ll see his folly, and that before very long.”

If Mrs. Winter had not read Ben’s letter to Albert Graham she might have felt troubled by these words, but as it was she remained calm and composed.

The fact was that Jacob Winter was beginning to miss Ben. The latter had done a great many chores, and attended to many little duties about the farm, which now devolved upon his stepfather.

Mr. Winter had thought of hiring a boy, but found that none could be induced to work for him at the wages he was willing to pay. In this emergency he thought of Ben, who he was persuaded was in a state of distress, but much as he desired to get him back he was not willing to advance the money for his traveling expenses.

The next morning he chanced to fall in with Albert Graham.

“I hear you’ve had a letter from Ben,” said the farmer, halting his horse.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where did he write from?”

“From New York.”

“Did he say how he was doin’?”

“He didn’t complain any.”

“What is he doin’?”

“He has been selling papers on the Bowery.”

“That’s a mis’rable business. Like as not he doesn’t make over twenty-five cents a day.” “I think he must make more than that.”

“Did he say he was sorry he left a good home?”

“No, he didn’t say so.”

“He’s too proud, I reckon. When you write him tell him that if he’ll come home and apologize for runnin’ away I’ll take him back.”

“I’ll tell him, Mr. Winter.”

“Here he had enough to eat, and likely he don’t get it where he is. Have you got his letter with you?”

“No, sir.”

“I’d like to read it.”

“Ben wouldn’t want me to show it.”

“Sho! are there any secrets in it?”

“You see Ben writes confidentially to me, Mr. Winter.”

“I s’pose he wouldn’t like to have me know what hard times he has had. Well, you write him what I tole you.”

“All right, sir, but suppose he hasn’t got money enough to bring him home?”

“Tell him to foot it. He’s young and strong. He can stop at houses on the way, and ask for somethin’ to eat.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to send him five dollars to bring him back?” “No, Albert Graham, I ain’t such a fool. He would keep the money, and stay where he is.”

“There goes a mean man!” soliloquized Albert, as Jacob whipped up his old gray horse and rode away. “Ben won’t be in any hurry to come back to him.”

But Ben’s smooth waters were not to be of long continuance, as the next chapter will show.