Grant did not write his mother that he was coming home; he wanted to surprise her. He landed in New York and took the train the same day for Woodburn. He arrived early one morning and went at once to the house where his mother was boarding.

Mrs. Tarbox’s face lighted up with amazement and joy when she saw Grant.

“O Grant, can it really be you!” she exclaimed, as she embraced him.

“I don’t think it is anybody else, mother,” returned Grant, with a smile.

“How you have grown!”

“Yes, mother; I am three inches taller than when I went away.”

“I have good news for you, Grant. Mr. Wilkins has engaged me as housekeeper, with a good salary.”

“How much is he going to pay you?”

“Three dollars a week.”

“You can’t go, mother. I want you for my housekeeper, and will pay you five dollars a week.”

“I wish you could afford to do it, Grant.”

“I can, mother. As near as I can figure it out, I am worth about eight thousand dollars, and expect to be worth a good deal more within a year.”

“This can’t be possible! How could you—a boy of sixteen—gain so much money?”

“Partly at the mines, partly by speculating in real estate in San Francisco. But I will give you particulars hereafter. Are the Bartletts living at the farm?”

“Yes; but I hear Mrs. Bartlett wants to sell it. She and Rodney want to go to a city to live.”

“And you didn’t get a cent from the estate?”

“No; Mrs. Bartlett offered me twenty-five dollars.”

“Which you very properly refused. No matter! You won’t need to depend on that family for anything. You’ve got a rich son.”

At this moment a buggy drove into the yard.

“That’s Mr. Wilkins come for me,” said Mrs. Tarbox. “Don’t you think it will be best for me to accept the engagement?”

“No, mother: I shall provide you with a home of your own, and give you enough to keep it up. I will buy back the house that used to be ours when father was alive.”

“O Grant, if you can!”

“I can. I shall be able to buy it for two thousand dollars.”

“It has been offered for eighteen hundred.”

“So much the better.”

Here Mr. Wilkins entered the house. He was a pleasant looking elderly gentleman, with white hair.

“Well, Mrs. Tarbox, are you ready?” he asked.

“I am very sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Wilkins; but my son Grant, who has just returned from California, wants me to have a home of my own.”

“Why, why; so Grant is back—and looking stout and rugged. Have you done well, Grant?”

“Yes, Mr. Wilkins; far better than I expected. I am able to provide my mother with a home of her own, and while we appreciate your kind offer, she will be happier and more independent living so.”

“I won’t say a word against it, though I am disappointed. Your father was an old friend of mine, and I would like to have had his widow in my home. But I am pleased with her better prospects.”

“Please don’t mention my plan for her. I want to take some people by surprise.”

“I’ll be mum, Grant.”

“Now, mother, I think I’ll take a walk. I’ll be back soon.”

Out in the street Grant fell in with Tom Childs.

“I am delighted to see you, Grant,” said Tom, grasping his hand. “Have you just arrived?”

“Yes, Tom.”

“Were you lucky?”

Grant smiled, and pulled out an elegant gold watch.

“You wrote me to get a watch that would, beat Rodney’s. Here it is!”

“What a beauty! What did you pay for it?”

“I bought it at Tiffany’s for one hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

Tom opened wide his eyes in amazement.

“A hundred and twenty-five dollars!” he ejaculated. “Then you must be rich!”

“I’ve got a little money.”

“As much as a thousand dollars?”

“A good deal more.”

“Then you’ve beaten Rodney both in money and a watch. I am awfully glad.”

“What news is there, Tom?”

“Some bad news. You know, I told you about Abner Jones and the mortgage on his farm. It comes due in three days, and Mrs. Bartlett is going to foreclose and take possession of the farm.”

“What’s the amount of the mortgage?”

“A thousand dollars.”

“Then she won’t do it! I’ll advance the money and assume the mortgage myself.”

“Bully for you, Grant! Here’s Mr. Jones himself coming. Tell him, and put him out of his anxiety.”

Abner Jones approached with downcast eyes and sad face. He saw no way of saving the farm, and it would doubtless be sold far below its value. When he saw Grant his face brightened, for he had always liked the boy.

“Welcome home, Grant!” he said heartily. “When did you come?”

“I have just arrived.”

“Did you do well?”

“Finely. How is it with you?”

“I am about to lose my home, Grant,” he said sadly. “There’s a mortgage on it, held by Mrs. Bartlett, that I can’t pay.”

“And won’t she extend it?”

“No; she wants to get possession of it.”

“Can’t you get anybody to advance the money?”

“No; we have no capitalist in Woodburn that can command that sum in ready money.”

“You forget me, Mr. Jones.”

“What do you mean, Grant?” asked the farmer quickly.

“I mean that I will advance the money, Mr. Jones.”

“It isn’t possible that you’ve got so much as that, Grant?”

“I assure you that it is.”

“But you’ll straiten yourself.”

“No; I have brought double that sum with me, and have more in California.”

“Then I am saved! You have made me very happy, Grant.”

“It’s all right, Mr. Jones. I am making a business investment.”

A few minutes later Grant met Rodney Bartlett walking with a slow dignified step, swinging a light bamboo cane.

“Good-morning, Rodney!” he said, touching his hat with a smile.

“What! have you come back, Grant Colburn?” cried Rodney, in surprise.

“Yes, I arrived this morning.”

“Grandpa’s dead, and ma and I have got the property.”

“So I hear.”

“I suppose you hurried home to see if you couldn’t get some of it,” sneered Rodney.

“I think my mother could get a share if she went to law.”

“That’s where you are mistaken. You have come on a fool’s errand.”

“That isn’t what brought me.”

“If you want a place, perhaps ma will have you for a farm boy.”

Grant smiled.

“As she has you, I don’t think she will need me,” he said.

“Do you think I would soil my hands by farm work? I am a gentleman.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“What do you say to that watch?” and Rodney complacently produced his gold chronometer.

“It is a fair watch,” said Grant, examining it.

“I should say it was! It cost sixty dollars.”

“Suppose you look at mine;” and Grant produced his. Rodney had not noticed that he had one.

Rodney looked paralyzed, for he saw that it was a much finer one than his.

“Is it oroide?” he gasped.

Grant laughed.

“It was bought at Tiffany’s, and Tiffany doesn’t sell oroide watches.”

“How much did it cost?”

“A hundred and twenty-five dollars.”

“I don’t believe it!” said Rodney sharply.

“I can show you Tiffany’s receipt,” he said, and he drew a paper from his pocket.

“And you spent all your money for that watch?” ejaculated Rodney.

“No; I have more left.”

Rodney walked away abruptly. All his pride in his watch had gone. He hurried back to the farm, and told his mother the astounding news.

“Ma,” he said, “you must buy me a nicer watch. I don’t want that farm boy to beat me.”

Mrs. Bartlett would not at first believe that Rodney’s story was correct. When convinced, she would not accede to her son s request.

“A sixty-dollar watch is good enough for a boy of your age,” she said. “Grant Colburn will come to the poorhouse if he spends money like that. If pa were living he could claim the guardianship of the boy and take care of his money. Do you know how much he has got?”

“He didn’t tell me.”

“It isn’t likely he has as much as you. I hear his mother is going to be housekeeper for Mr. Wilkins.”

But later in the day Mrs. Bartlett learned that this was a mistake. She was very much worried about Grant’s plans, and anxious to learn how much money he had.

Meanwhile Grant called on the proprietor of their old home and bought it for eighteen hundred dollars, only paying five hundred down, for he could get much better interest for his money in San Francisco, and could well afford to pay six per cent, interest on the balance. He bought the house just as it stood—furniture and all—as his mother had originally sold it. If the price of the property seems small, it must be remembered that Woodburn was a country village.

There was another surprise in store for the Bartletts.

On the day when the mortgage on the Jones place came due, Mrs. Bartlett, accompanied by her lawyer, called at the farm.

“Mr. Jones,” she said, “I have come to foreclose the mortgage on your place.”

“You can’t do it, Mrs. Bartlett,” replied the farmer.

Mrs. Bartlett closed her thin lips firmly, and her cold gray eyes rested on the farmer’s face.

“Why can’t I do it, Mr. Jones?” she asked, in an acid tone.

“Because I am going to pay it.”

“But you can’t do it!” she exclaimed, in dismay.

“Here is the money, ma’am. You’ll find it correct. Now, I’ll thank you to cancel the mortgage, Mr. Lawyer.”

“Have I got to take the money?” asked Sophia Bartlett.

“Certainly,” said the lawyer.

“Where did you get it? I didn’t know you had any,” she asked sharply.

“I am not obliged to tell; but I will do so to satisfy you. The money is kindly advanced by Grant Colburn.”

“That boy!” ejaculated Mrs. Bartlett furiously.

“Yes; he has been to me a friend in need.”

If evil wishes could have blighted him, Grant would have stood in great danger, for he had disappointed Sophia Bartlett in her cherished desire.

“It beats all how that boy has got on!” she muttered. “I wish he had never been to California.”

Prosperity makes friends. Though Rodney liked Grant no better he made friendly overtures to him now that he looked upon him as rich, but Grant, though polite, was cold. He understood the value of such friendship.

Now for a few concluding words. Grant returned to California. Eventually he intends to take his mother out there, for his business interests are growing more extensive, and in five years he will be a rich man. Mrs. Bartlett has sold her farm and gone to Chicago, but her pecuniary ventures have not been successful, and Rodney is by no means a dutiful son. He is growing extravagant, and is always calling upon his mother for money, while he shows no willingness to work. The whole family is likely to end in poverty.

Giles Crosmont has returned to England with his son, leaving his California property in charge of Grant. He has invited Grant and his mother to visit him at his home in Devonshire, and, some summer, the invitation will probably be accepted. Tom Cooper has established himself in San Francisco, but his father and mother have returned with a competence to their home in Iowa.

“It was a lucky day, mother,” said Grant one day, “when I came to California to dig for gold.”

“Many came out here and failed,” returned his mother; “but you had good habits and the qualities that insure success.”

No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys than “Harry Castlemon;” every book by him is sure to meet with hearty reception by young readers generally. His naturalness and vivacity lead his readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when one volume is finished the fascinated reader, like Oliver Twist, asks “for more.”

? Any volume sold separately.

Horatio Alger, Jr., has attained distinction as one of the most popular writers of books for boys, and the following list comprises all of his best books.

? Any volume sold separately.

? Any volume sold separately.

Rare books for boys—bright, breezy, wholesome and instructive; full of adventure and incident, and information upon natural history. They blend instruction with amusement—contain much useful and valuable information upon the habits of animals, and plenty of adventure, fun and jollity.

These stories will rank among the best of Mr. Trowbridge’s books for the young—and he has written some of the best of our juvenile literature.

The “BELLS” Series has been undertaken by the publishers with a view to issue original illustrated poems of a high character, at a price within the reach of all classes.

By Alfred Tennyson. Elegantly illustrated by Hammatt Billings.

By Alfred Tennyson. Elegantly illustrated with twenty engravings, from original drawings by Frederic B. Schell. Beautifully printed on the finest plate paper.

By Bishop Heber. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by Frederic B. Schell. Beautifully printed on the finest plate paper.

By Alfred Tennyson. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by Alfred Fredericks, F.S. Church, Harry Fenn, F B. Schell, E.P. Garret and Granville Perkins. Beautifully printed on the finest plate paper.

By Clement C. Moore. Never before has this popular poem—a favorite with both the old and the young—been presented in such a beautiful dress. It is elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by F.B. Schell, W.T. Smedley, A. Fredericks and H.R. Poore.

By Caroline E. Norton. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by W.T. Smedley, F.B. Schell, A. Fredericks, Granville Perkins and E.P. Garrett.

By Edgar Allan Poe. Elegantly illustrated with twenty-two engravings, from original drawings by W.T. Smedley, A. Fredericks, Granville Perkins and others.

By Oliver Goldsmith. Elegantly illustrated with thirty-five engravings, from drawings by Hammatt Billings.

By Robert Burns. Elegantly illustrated with fifty engravings, from drawings by Chapman.