The Grosvenors traveled in a leisurely manner, stopping at places of interest on the way, so that they did not reach Paris for a fortnight.

Mr. Tarbox had been back over a week before Frank arrived at the Hotel du Louvre. Our hero had by this time got very well acquainted with his party, and the favorable impression which he at first made was considerably strengthened. Little Herbert took a great fancy to him, and Frank allowed the little boy to accompany him in many of his walks. Frequently, also, Beatrice was of the party. She, too, was much pleased with our hero, and treated him in a frank, sisterly way, which Frank found agreeable. Mr. Grosvenor noticed the intimacy established between his children and Frank, but he saw that our hero was well brought up, and very polite and gentlemanly, and therefore was not displeased by it. In fact he was gratified, for he saw that it added considerably to the pleasure which they derived from the journey.

On the morning after their arrival in Paris Frank prepared to go out.

"Where are you going, Frank?" asked little Herbert.

Beatrice also looked up, inquiringly.

"To see a friend of mine, Herbert."

"What is his name?"

"It seems to me that you are inquisitive, Herbert," said his father.

"Oh, it is no secret," said Frank, laughing. "It is Jonathan Tarbox, of Squashboro', State o' Maine."

"What a funny name!"

"Yes, it is a queer name, and its owner is a little queer, also, but he is a good fellow for all that. He is a genuine specimen of the Yankee, Mr. Grosvenor."

"I should like to see him," said Mr. Grosvenor, smiling. "Invite him to call."

"I will, sir, thank you. Though he is unpolished, I believe you will find that he has something in him."

Mr. Tarbox was back in his place in the exposition building. He had not ceased to mourn for Frank. Still he felt in better spirits than usual, for he had had an interview with a wealthy American capitalist, who had looked into the merits of his plow, and half-promised that he would pay him ten thousand dollars for a half ownership of the patent. This would make Mr. Tarbox a man of great wealth in his native place (Squashboro', State o' Maine), and enable him to triumph over his friends and relations, who had thought him a fool for going to the expense of a trip to Europe, when he might have invested the same sum in a small farm at home.

He was busily engaged in thinking over his prospects, when he was startled by a familiar voice.

"How do you do, Mr. Tarbox?" said Frank, saluting him.

"What!" gasped Mr. Tarbox, fixing his eyes upon our hero in a strange mixture of incredulity, wonder, bewilderment and joy.

"Why, Mr. Tarbox, you don't seem glad to see me," said Frank. "You haven't forgotten me, have you?"

"Are you alive?" asked Mr. Tarbox, cautiously, eying him askance.

"Alive? I rather think I am. Just give me your hand."

The Yankee mechanically extended his hand, and Frank gave him a grip which convinced him that he was flesh and blood.

"But I thought you were dead!"

"You see I am not."

"I saw the cliff where you tumbled off, and broke your neck."

"I got it mended again," said Frank, laughing. "But you say you saw the cliff. Have you been to Switzerland?"

"Yes. I mistrusted something was goin' to happen to you."

"How could you mistrust? What led to your suspicions?"

"A letter that your step-father wrote to that skunk, Sharpley, in which he talks about your meeting with an accident."

"But," inquired Frank, in surprise, "how did you get hold of such a letter? I knew nothing about it."

"You left it here one day by accident."

"Where is it? Let me read it."

"First, let me ask you a question. Didn't that skunk push you off the cliff?"

"Yes," said Frank, gravely.

"And how did you escape?"

"Some peasants found me on a snow-covered ledge on which I had fallen. They took me home, and nursed me till I was well enough to travel."

"Are you with that skunk now?"

"No; I never would travel with him again," said Frank, shuddering.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know. But let me have the letter."

He read in silence the paragraph which has been quoted in an earlier chapter. When he had finished he looked up.

"I am afraid," he said, gravely, "there is no doubt that Mr. Craven employed Colonel Sharpley to make away with me."

"Then he is a skunk, too!"

"Mr. Tarbox, I would not mind it so much but for one thing."

"What is that, Frank?"

"He is married to my mother. If he lays this plot for me, what will he do against her?"

"He will try to get hold of her money."

"I fear so, and if she resists I am afraid he will try to injure her."

"May be you're right, Frank."

"I think I ought to go home at once; don't you think so?"

"I don't know but you're right, Frank. I'm almost ready to go too."

"Oh, I forgot to ask you what luck you had met with."

"I expect I'll do first-rate. There's a gentleman that's talkin' of buyin' one-half my plow for ten thousand dollars."

"I congratulate you, Mr. Tarbox," said Frank, heartily; "I hope he'll do it."

"I guess he won't back out. He's been inquirin' about it pretty close. He thinks it's a big thing."

"I've no doubt he's right, Mr. Tarbox."

"It'll take the shine off all the plows that's goin'."

"Perhaps business will detain you, then, Mr. Tarbox."

"No, Mr. Peterson—that's his name—is goin' back to America in a week or two, and if he strikes a bargain I'll go too. Won't dad open his eyes when his son comes home with ten thousand dollars in his pocket? May be he won't think me quite such a fool as he thought when I started off for Europe, and wouldn't buy a farm, as he wanted me to, with that money I got as a legacy."

"But you will have half your patent also."

"Of course I will, and if that don't bring me in a fortun' it's because folks can't tell a good plow when they see it. But there's one thing I can't understand, Frank."

"What's that?"

"Where did you get all your money to travel after you got pitched over the precipice by that skunk?"

"Oh, I didn't tell you that. Well, after I was able to travel I examined my purse, and found I had only twelve dollars."

"That wa'n't much."

"No, particularly as I had to pay ten dollars to the good people who picked me up. I shall send them more as soon as I have it."

"Jest draw on me, Frank. I ain't rich, but ef you want a hundred dollars or more, jest say so."

"Thank you, Mr. Tarbox," said Frank, gratefully. "I wouldn't hesitate to accept your very kind offer, but I do not now need it."

He then proceeded to explain his meeting with the Grosvenors just when he stood in most need of assistance. He dwelt upon the kindness they had shown him, and the pleasure he had experienced in their society.

"I'm glad you've been so lucky. Grosvenor is a brick, but it ain't surprisin' he should take a fancy to you."

"I suppose that is a compliment, Mr. Tarbox," said Frank, smiling.

"Perhaps it is. I don't know much about compliments, but I know I felt awful bad when I thought you was dead. I wanted to thrash that skunk within an inch of his life."

"I guess you could do it," said Frank, surveying the athletic form of his Yankee friend.

"I'll do it now if I ever come across him. Where do you think he is?"

"I think he has gone to America to ask pay for disposing of me."

"I guess so, too. They told me at that Hotel du Glacier (the last word Mr. Tarbox pronounced in two syllables) that he was goin' home to break the news to your folks. I guess your step-father won't break his heart badly."

"I must follow him," said Frank. "I shall feel uneasy till I reach home and unmask their villany."

"I hope we'll go together."

"I'll let you know, Mr. Tarbox, when I take passage. Then, if your business is concluded, we will be fellow-passengers once more."