The two rogues lost no time in carrying out their villanous design. They thirsted for the gold, and were impatient to get rid of the only obstacle to its acquisition. Sharpley found two disreputable hangers-on upon the medical profession in the city of New York who, for twenty-five dollars a piece, agreed to pronounce Mrs. Craven insane. They came to the village, and were introduced to Mrs. Craven as business friends. The subject of Frank's loss was cunningly introduced, and she once more affirmed her belief in his safety. This was enough. An hour later, in Mr. Craven's office, the two physicians signed a paper certifying that his wife was insane. They received their money and went back to the city.

The next day was fixed upon by the conspirators for taking Mrs. Craven to an insane asylum.

Late the day previous a Cunard steamer arrived at its dock. Among the passengers were two of our acquaintances. One was Frank Hunter, our hero, sun-browned and healthy, heavier and taller, and more self-reliant than when, three months before, he sailed from the port of New York bound for Liverpool. The other no one can mistake. The blue coat and brass buttons, the tall and somewhat awkward form, the thin but shrewd and good-humored face, are those of Jonathan Tarbox, of Squashboro', State o' Maine.

"Well, Frank, I'm tarnal glad to be here," said Mr. Tarbox. "It seems kind of nat'ral. Wonder what they'll say in Squashboro' when they see me come home a man of fortun'."

"Your plow is a great success, Mr. Tarbox. You ought to be proud of it."

"I be, Frank. My pardner says he wouldn't take twenty thousand for his half of the invention, but I'm satisfied with the ten thousand he gave me. I didn't never expect to be worth ten thousand dollars."

"You'll be worth a hundred thousand before you're through."

"Sho! you don't mean it. Any how, I guess Sally Sprague'll be glad she's going to be Mrs. Tarbox. I say, Frank we'll live in style. Sally shall sit in the parlor, and play on the pianner. She wouldn't have done that if she'd took up with Tom North. He's a shiftless, good-for-nothin' feller. But, I say, Frank, what'll your folks say to see you?"

"Mother'll be overjoyed, but Mr. Craven won't laugh much. I hope," he added, gravely, "he hain't been playing any of his tricks on mother."

"Do you think that skunk, Sharpley, has got back?"

"I think he has, and it makes me anxious. Mr. Tarbox, will you do me a favor?"

"Sartin, Frank."

"Then, come home with me. I may need a friend."

"I'll do it, Frank," said Jonathan, grasping our hero's hand. "Ef that skunk's round the neighborhood, I'll give him a piece of my mind."

"Thank you," said Frank. "I am not afraid of him, but I am only a boy, and they might be too much for me. With you I have no cause to fear."

They reached the village depot, and set out to walk. Frank met two or three friends, who looked upon him as one raised from the dead. He merely spoke and hurried on.

When a few rods from the house, their attention was called to a woman, who was running up the street, without any covering upon her head, sobbing like one in distress.

"Why, it's our Katy!" exclaimed Frank, in great agitation. "Good heavens! what can have happened?"

"Katy!" he cried out.

"Oh, Master Frank, is it you?" exclaimed Katy, laughing hysterically. "You're come in time. Run home as fast as ever you can."

"Why, what's the matter?" demanded Frank, in great alarm.

"Them rascals, Mr. Craven and Sharpley, pretend that your mother is crazy, just because she won't hear to your bein' dead, and they're takin' her to the crazy 'sylum. I couldn't stand it, and I run out to see if I couldn't get help."

"The blamed skunk!" exclaimed Mr. Tarbox, swinging his arms threateningly. "Let me get a hold of him and he won't never know what hurt him."

Meanwhile, Craven and Sharpley had forced Mrs. Craven into a close carriage, and they were just driving out of the yard when our hero and his friend rushed to the rescue.

Mr. Tarbox sprang to the horses' heads and brought them to a stop, while Frank hurried to the door of the coach, which he pulled open. Inside were Mrs. Craven, her husband and Sharpley.

They looked angrily to the door, but their dismay may be conceived when they met the angry face of one whom both believed to be dead.

"Oh, Frank!" screamed Mrs. Craven. "You are come home at last."

"Yes, mother. Let me help you out of the carriage."

"You shall not go!" said Mr. Craven, desperately. "Frank, your mother's insane. We are taking her to the asylum. It is for her good."

"Save me, Frank!" implored Mrs. Craven.

"I will save you, mother," said Frank, firmly.

"Drive on!" shouted Sharpley, savagely.

"Look a here!" exclaimed a new voice, that of Jonathan Tarbox, who was now peeping into the carriage. "That is the skunk that tried to murder you."

"What do you mean, fellow?" demanded Sharpley.

"If you don't understand, come out and I'll lick it into you, you skunk! Tell your mother to come out, and let that skunk stop her if he dares!" and Mr. Tarbox coolly drew out a revolver and pointed it at Sharpley.

"I'll get out, too," said Mr. Craven, faintly.

"No, you won't. I've got a letter of yourn, written to that skunk, advisin' him to pitch Frank over a precipice."

"It's a lie!" ejaculated Craven, pallid with fear.

"It comes to the same thing," said Mr. Tarbox, coolly. "When he's tried for murder, you'll come in second fiddle."

Sharpley saw his danger. Mr. Craven was already out of the carriage. He made a dash for the door, but found himself in Jonathan's powerful grasp. In a moment he was sprawling on his back in the yard.

"Jest lie there till I tell you to get up," he said.

By this time two neighbors—athletic farmers—entered the yard. Frank briefly explained the matter to them, and Mr. Tarbox asked their assistance to secure Sharpley and Craven.

"Let me go, Frank. I'm your step-father," implored Craven. "If that man has attempted your life, I know nothing of it. Blame him; not me."

"Oh, that is your game," said Sharpley, "you cowardly hound! You want to sell me and go scot-free yourself. Then, gentlemen, it becomes my duty to say that this man has no business here. At the time he married this boys mother he had a wife living in London."

"It's a lie!" faltered Craven.

"It's the truth. I saw her two months since, and so did the boy. You remember Mrs. Craven, whom you relieved?"

"Yes," said Frank, in astonishment.

"She is that man's wife."

"Thank Heaven!" exclaimed Frank. "Then my mother is free."

"Moreover, he hired me to carry you abroad, with the understanding that you should not return, in order that he might enjoy your fortune."

"You miserable snake in the grass!" exclaimed Mr. Tarbox, energetically.

Mr. Craven, who was a coward at heart, was thoroughly overwhelmed at the revelations of his baseness, and made no resistance when taken into custody. Sharpley and he were closely confined until indictments could be found against them, and, to anticipate matters a little, were tried, convicted and sentenced to ten years in the State prison. It was found that Mr. Craven had squandered several thousand dollars belonging to his wife, but Frank's fortune was intact, and they indulged in no useless regrets for the money that was gone.

Frank went back to school, where he remained until the next summer, when he induced his mother to visit Europe under his guidance. They visited his friends, the Grosvenors, by whom they were cordially received. They went to Switzerland, where Mrs. Hunter (Craven no longer), beheld, with a shudder, the scene of her son's fall and escape.

Some years have now elapsed. Frank is a young man, and junior partner in a prosperous New York firm. He is not married, but rumor has it that next fall he is to visit London for the purpose of uniting his fortunes to those of Beatrice Grosvenor, whose early fancy for our hero has ripened into a mature affection. It is probable that Mr. Grosvenor will be induced, after his daughter's marriage, to establish himself in New York, in order to be near her.

Frank's mother still lives, happy in the goodness and the prosperity of her son. She has improved in health, and is likely to live many years, an honored member of Frank's household.

Our Yankee friend, Jonathan Tarbox, is one of the magnates of Squashboro', State o' Maine. He and his partner have built a large manufactory, from which plows are turned out by hundreds and thousands annually. He is now Squire Tarbox, and Sally Sprague has changed her last name for one beginning with T. I should not be surprised to see him a member of Congress, or Governor of Maine some time.

Frank has settled a pension upon the real Mrs. Craven, who will probably never see her husband again, as he is reported in poor health, and not likely to leave the prison alive. Sharpley succeeded in effecting his escape, and it is not known where he has taken refuge. Ben Cameron is a trusted clerk in Frank's employ, and our hero will take care that his old school friend prospers. Though his path lies in sunshine, Frank is not likely to forget the peril from which he so narrowly escaped.

THE END.

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation has been silently corrected.

Archaic and variable spelling have been preserved.

Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.