"Who was that you were walking with yesterday, Frank?" asked Sharpley.

"Mr. Tarbox."

"What, that confounded Yankee?" ejaculated Sharpley, roughly.

"What harm is there in him?" asked Frank, quietly.

"He is an ignorant barbarian. Mr. Craven wouldn't like to have you associate with such a man."

"I care very little what Mr. Craven would like," said Frank.

"He is your step-father."

"If he is, I can't help it. I am only responsible to my mother for my conduct, and she would not object to my keeping company with a countryman."

"I shouldn't want to own it," sneered Sharpley.

"Why not?"

"This Tarbox, if that is his name, is as green as his native hills, and an ignorant boor."

"I don't agree with you, Colonel Sharpley," said Frank, undaunted. "He is not well educated, but he has brains enough to have invented a plow of an improved pattern, which he is exhibiting here. He is young yet, and if he succeeds he will get rid of his awkwardness, and may in time occupy a prominent position in the community."

"I don't approve of elevating the rabble," said Sharpley; "and as you are my ward, I desire you not to associate with this Tarbox."

"If you had any good reason to offer, Colonel Sharpley, or if Mr. Tarbox were an improper person, I would obey; but, under the present circumstances, I must decline."

"What! You dare to defy me!" exclaimed Sharpley, who was in a worse temper than usual, having lost money at cards the evening before.

"I don't wish to defy you, sir, but I must beg you to be reasonable."

"Do you dare insinuate that I am unreasonable?" said Sharpley, advancing as if to strike him.

Frank looked calmly in his face and didn't shrink. There was something in his eye which prevented the blow from falling. Sharpley bethought himself of another way of "coming up with" his rebellious charge.

"If you are going to act in this way," he said, "I shall send you home."

"I don't propose to go home, Colonel Sharpley," said Frank, firmly. "Now that I am here, I shall stay through the summer."

"Do you think you can compel me to keep charge of you?"

"No, sir; but since it is a trouble to you, I will place myself under the charge of Mr. Tarbox, though I feel quite competent to travel alone. If you will place in his hands what funds you have of mine, this will relieve you of all trouble."

"The deuce it will!" thought Sharpley, who knew that such a course would leave him absolutely helpless and penniless.

He began to see that he had overshot the mark. He would risk the utter failure of all his plans if a separation should take place between them. So, though it went against his grain, he resolved to make up with Frank. Forcing a smile, therefore, he said:

"Are you really anxious to leave me, Frank?"

Our hero was bewildered by the unexpected change of manner.

"I thought you were tired of me, sir," he said. "I am afraid I give you trouble and interfere with your plans."

"Not at all. I am sorry if I have given you such an impression. The fact is, I am vexed and irritated at some news I have heard, and that made me disposed to vent my irritation on you."

"I am sorry, sir, if you have had bad news. Is it anything serious?"

"Not very serious," said Sharpley; "but," he added, with ready invention, "it is vexatious to hear that I have lost a thousand pounds."

"Yes; that is a serious loss," said Frank, with sympathy.

"It was invested, as I thought, safely; but the concern proves to be rotten, and my loss is total."

"I hope it won't seriously inconvenience you, Colonel Sharpley?"

"Oh, no; it is fortunately but a small part of my fortune," said Sharpley, with barefaced falsehood. "Still, it is annoying. But let it pass. To-morrow I shall feel all right. Meanwhile, if you really care to associate with this Tarbox, do so by all means. I confess he is not to my taste."

"He is not a countryman of yours, sir; he reminds me of home."

"Just so. By the way, I have letters for you from home."

"Oh, give them to me!" said Frank, eagerly. "I am longing to hear."

He eagerly opened the letters. One, a long one, crossed and recrossed, was from his mother. I will only quote one paragraph:

"I need hardly tell you, my dear son, how much I miss you. The house seems very dull and lonely without you. But I am glad you are enjoying yourself amid new scenes, and look forward with great interest to hear your accounts of what you have seen. I send a great deal of love, and hope to hear from you often.

"Your affectionate mother,
"Mary Craven.

"P.S.—Mr. Craven has written a note to you, which will go by the same mail as this."

The other letter, written in a masculine hand, Frank opened with some curiosity. He had not expected to hear from Mr. Craven, and wondered what he would have to say. His letter being short, will be given entire:

"My Dear Frank:

As your mother is writing you, I cannot resist the temptation of sending a line also. We both miss you very much, but are consoled for your absence by the knowledge that you are enjoying and improving yourself in the Old World. Had circumstances been favorable, how pleasant it would have been if your mother and myself could have accompanied you. Let us hope that sometime such a plan may be carried out. Meanwhile, I feel truly happy to think that you are under the care of my friend, Colonel Sharpley, whom I know to be a gentleman every way qualified for such a responsible trust. We are hoping to receive letters from you describing your travels. I will not write more now, but subscribe myself

"Your affectionate step-father,
"Samuel Craven."

There was nothing to complain of in this letter. It was kind and cordial, and exhibited a strong and affectionate interest in our hero. Yet Frank read it without any special feeling of gratitude; nor was he drawn by it any nearer to the writer. He blamed himself for his coldness.

"Why can't I like him?" he said to himself. "He seems very kind, and wants me to enjoy myself. I suppose he was partly the means of my coming out on this tour. Yet that doesn't make me like him."

Frank could not tell why he felt so, but it was an instinctive perception of Mr. Craven's insincerity, and the falseness of his character and professions that influenced him. He folded the letters, first reading his mother's a second time, and went out, Colonel Sharpley having already departed. He bent his steps to the exhibition building, and made his way to Mr. Tarbox.

"Good morning, Mr. Tarbox," he said. "How do you feel to-day?"

"Pooty smart. You look as if you've heerd good news."

"I have had two letters from home."

"So have I."

"Any news?"

"Yes," said Jonathan; "the brindle cow's got a calf."

Frank smiled.

"That's my cow," said Mr. Tarbox, seriously; "she's a stunner for givin' milk; she gives a pailful in the mornin', and two pailfuls at night. I'm goin' to make money out of that cow."

"And out of that plow, too, I hope."

"I don't know," said Mr. Tarbox, shaking his head. "These ignorant furriners don't seem to care nothin' about plows. They care more about silks and laces, and sich like."

"Was that all the news you got—about the cow, I mean?"

"No," said Jonathan, chuckling a little, and lowering his voice; "I got a letter from her."

"From her?"

"Yes, from my gal."

"Oh, I understand," said Frank, laughing. "How glad you must be."

"Yes, sir-ee. I feel like a fly in a molasses keg—all over sweetness."

"Then she hasn't forgotten you?"

"I guess not. How do you think she ended her letter?"

"I can't tell."

"Wait a minute, and I'll read you the endin' off. Here it is:

"Arn't that scrumptious?"

"I should think it was. I hope you'll introduce me some day, when she's Mrs. Tarbox."

"Yes, I will. You must come up to the farm, and stay a week in the summer."

"By that time you'll have made your fortune out of the plow."

"I hope so. Where are you goin'?"

"I am going to visit the French department of the exhibition."

"Wal, I'll go along with you. I want to see if they've got any plow here to compare with mine. I don't believe they know enough to make anything useful."

Mr. Tarbox certainly did the French injustice, but he was under the sway of prejudice, and was quite disposed to exalt the useful at the expense of the beautiful.