How to foil Ezra Winter in his fraudulent schemes Ben could not tell. Though he had more experience than most boys of his age he was not so familiar with villainy as some boys who have been brought up amid different surroundings.

“I must consult some one older and wiser than myself,” he reflected.

Arrived in Boston he grew impatient to start for Wrayburn. It was more than a year—about fifteen months—since he had left the quiet town, and he felt a strong desire to see his mother. He could have gone a considerably longer time without seeing Mr. Winter—indeed he would not have mourned much if he knew he should never see him again.

But no boy who has a heart does not feel it throb quicker at the thought of his mother. Ben’s mother had always been kind, loving and indulgent, and his recent good fortune he valued the more because it would enable him to provide for her more liberally than ever before, and save her from all future anxiety and hard work.

It was not over seventy miles from Boston to Wrayburn. It had seemed to him when he first made the journey a long one, but he had been such a traveler in the fifteen months that had elapsed since that it seemed to him a very short one.

He looked about him eagerly to see if he could see any familiar form. But no Wrayburn man seemed to be returning from Boston. When he was fifteen miles from Wrayburn, his heart leaped with pleasure as a passenger with a familiar face entered the car.

It was Mr. John Bentham, an elderly lawyer who lived only about half a mile from Jacob Winter’s farmhouse, and did what law business was required by the people in Wrayburn and the adjoining towns.

Ben rose and went over to the lawyer’s seat.

“How do you do, Mr. Bentham?” he said.

The lawyer lifted his glasses and surveyed Ben at first with a puzzled expression.

“Don’t you know me, Mr. Bentham? I am Ben Bruce.”

“Why, so you are! Bless my soul how you have grown! And where have you been this long time?” “Chiefly in New York and Europe.”

“In Europe? How on earth came you to go there?”

“My expenses were paid by a lady who took an interest in me.”

“You seem to have been born under a lucky star. And now you are coming back to Wrayburn?”

“Yes, but not to stay. Only to see my mother.”

“Then you don’t think you would enjoy working on the farm again?”

“I am sure I wouldn’t.”

“I hope you are sure of making a living elsewhere. It is better to live comfortably on a farm than to live from hand to mouth in a large city.”

“That is true, but I am no longer a green country boy. I am able to make my way in New York.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Have you seen my mother lately, Mr. Bentham? Is she well?”

“Your mother is not sick, but I can’t say she is looking altogether well. She seems rather thin and careworn. Have you heard from her lately?”

“Yes, and her letter made me anxious. She says that Mr. Winter is getting very irritable and hard to get along with. Of course, that wears upon her.”

“I suspect the old man has met with losses, and that has a bad effect on his temper.”

“I know he has, Mr. Bentham, and I want to consult you professionally on the subject.”

“I am quite at your service, Ben,” said the lawyer, looking rather surprised.

Ben proceeded to tell what he had heard on the Fall River boat.

Mr. Bentham listened with interest.

“It is evident,” he said, “that your stepfather’s unprincipled relative intends to plunder him, and spread the proceeds of the robbery abroad.”

“Is there any way in which he can be stopped?” asked Ben anxiously.

“Yes, he can be arrested on Mr. Winter’s affidavit that he believes he intends to go abroad with property not rightfully his own. Have you any idea how much of your stepfather’s money he has secured?”

“Mr. Winter, besides his farm, had about five thousand dollars in cash. I think he has managed to get nearly all this into his hands.”

“The loss of this money would nearly kill Jacob Winter.” “My mother writes that he has very much aged of late.”

“I have noticed that, but of course I did not know the reason.”

“Then you did not know of his speculations?”

“No; he has been very secret about them.”

“Have you seen this young Ezra Winter?”

“If you describe him I will tell you.”

Ben described the man on the boat as well as he could.

“Yes, I have seen him on two or three occasions on his way to Mr. Winter’s house. I have not been particularly impressed in his favor.”

“Nor has any one else, I believe.”

They were now approaching Wrayburn, and Ben began to look out of the windows eagerly, as the well-remembered localities came in sight.

As Mr. Bentham rose to leave the car he said, “If your stepfather wants my assistance,” he said, “you can notify me.”

Ben got out on the platform of the small depot, with his gripsack in his hand. He had no sooner set foot on the platform, when a glad voice greeted him.

“Why, Ben, is it you come back?”

Turning he saw Albert Graham.

“Yes, Albert, your friend has got back.” “And you are looking fine.”

“I was never better.”

“You have grown taller. I have tried to, but I don’t think nature intended me for a six-footer.”

“How is my mother?”

“She is so as to be about, but I don’t think she is looking as well as when you went away.”

“How have you been getting on, Albert?”

“I haven’t made a fortune, but last week I made ten dollars by riding at the county fair.”

“Good! I don’t think I shall ever make any money that way.”

“You will make more money in other ways.”

“Yes, Albert, I have been very fortunate.”

“I suppose you have brought home a thousand dollars,” said Albert joking.

“A good deal more than that, Albert.”

“Honest Indian?”

“Yes, Albert, it is a sober fact. I’ll tell you all about it later. Now I am anxious to get home as soon as I can.”

When Ben reached the Winter farmhouse his mother and his stepfather had sat down to dinner. It was a plain boiled dinner, without a pudding, for since Jacob’s losses he had begun to pinch on the table.

In a New England farmhouse, whatever the parsimony of the farmer the table is not often affected.

“I ain’t got no appetite, Mrs. Winter,” said the farmer with a querulous expression. “The dinner don’t taste as good as usual.”

“I think the fault is in you, Mr. Winter,” replied his wife. “Your appetite has been very poor lately.”

“I’m on my way to the poorhouse,” said Jacob gloomily. “Things have been going very bad.”

“Your crops are as good as usual.”

“I can’t help it. I am poor, Mrs. Winter, dreadfully poor.”

“Well, we will hope that luck will turn.”

At this moment the door of the kitchen where the table was spread was thrown open, and Ben, ruddy and glowing, stepped in.

“Why, it’s Ben!” exclaimed Mrs. Winter, her heart overflowing with joy.

Jacob Winter stared in surprise, but said nothing while Ben was embracing his mother.

“And how well you are looking, Ben!”

“But you have fallen off, mother. Mr. Winter, I hope you are well.”

Jacob Winter yielded his hand reluctantly to the boy’s proffered grasp. “We’re very badly off,” he said querulously, “and now you’ve came back to live on us.”

“I think I shall be able to pay my way,” said Ben, smiling.

“I don’t believe you’ve got five dollars about you.”

Ben drew a five-dollar bill from his pocket. Mr. Winter looked at it longingly. The sight of money always made him feel covetous.

“You owe me as much as that for goin’ away suddenly, and leavin’ me in the lurch,” he said.

“Take it, then. You are welcome to it.”

With a look of satisfaction on his rugged face Jacob drew out an immense wallet and tucked the bill carefully away.

“You shall have your turn soon, mother,” said Ben, smiling.

“Have you been doin’ well, Ben?” asked Jacob, thawing a little.

“Pretty well, thank you. I can pay my way, Mr. Winter.”

“You’d better stay at home and pay board. I’ll take you for four dollars a week.”

“I will think it over, Mr. Winter, but I think business will keep me in New York. Who do you suppose came from New York on the boat with me, Mr. Winter?” “I ain’t good at guessin’.”

“Ezra Winter.”

Jacob half rose from the table, and his face grew dark and stern.

“That scoundrel!” he said. “He’s robbed me of my money.”

“He intends to sail for Europe with all the money he can raise.”

Jacob fell back in his chair pale and dismayed.

“And I shall never see my money again!” he murmured.

“Yes; I have consulted Mr. Bentham the lawyer, and he will go to Boston with you and have him arrested. He will be over in a hour to talk the matter over.”

“I hope I’ll live long enough to see him rottin’ in jail!” said Jacob vindictively. “He’s made me a poor man. You’re a smart boy, Ben, and I thank you.”