Grit was only ten years old when his stepfather began to serve out his sentence at the penitentiary, and the two had not seen each other since. Instead of the small boy he remembered, Brandon saw before him a boy large and strong for his age, of well-knit frame and sturdy look. Five years had made him quite a different boy. His daily exercise in rowing had strengthened his muscles and developed his chest, so that he seemed almost a young man.

Brandon stared in surprise at the boy.

"Is that—the cub?" he asked.

"I object to that name, Mr. Brandon," said Grit quietly.

"You've grown!" said Brandon, still regarding him with curiosity.

"Yes, I ought to have grown some in five years."

It occurred to Mr. Brandon that it might not be so easy as he had expected to bully his stepson. He resolved at first to be conciliatory.

"I'm glad to see you," he said. "It's long since we met."

"Yes," answered Grit.

He was not prepared to return the compliment, and express pleasure at his stepfather's return.

"I'm glad you and your mother have got along so well while I was away."

Grit felt tempted to say that they had got along better during Mr. Brandon's absence than when he was with them, but he forbore. He did not want to precipitate a conflict, though, from what his mother had said, he foresaw that one would come soon enough.

"Your mother tells me that you make money by your boat," continued Mr. Brandon.

"Yes, sir."

"That's a good plan. I approve it. How much money have you made to-day, now?"

"I have a dollar or two in my pocket," answered Grit evasively.

"Very good!" said Brandon, in a tone of satisfaction. "You may as well hand it to me."

So the crisis had come! Mrs. Brandon looked at her son and her husband with anxiety, fearing there would be a quarrel, and perhaps something worse. She was tempted to say something in deprecation, but Grit said promptly:

"Thank you, Mr. Brandon, but I would prefer to keep the money myself."

Brandon was rather taken aback by the boy's perfect coolness and self-possession.

"How old are you?" he asked, with a frown.

"Fifteen."

"Indeed!" sneered Brandon. "I thought, from the way you talked, you were twenty-one. You don't seem to be aware that I am your legal guardian."

"No, sir, I was not aware of it."

"Then it's time you knew it. Ain't I your stepfather?"

"I suppose so," said Grit, with reluctance.

"Ha, you admit that, do you? I'm the master of this house, and it's my place to give orders. Your wages belong to me, but if you are obedient and respectful, I will allow you a small sum daily, say five cents."

"That arrangement is not satisfactory, Mr. Brandon," said Grit firmly.

"Why isn't it?" demanded his stepfather, frowning.

"I use my money to support the family."

"Did I say anything against it? As the master of the house, the bills come to me to be paid, and therefore I require you to give me every night whatever you may have taken during the day."

"Do you intend to earn anything yourself?" asked Grit pointedly; "or do you expect to live on us?"

"Boy, you are impertinent," said Brandon, coloring.

"Don't provoke Mr. Brandon," said Grit's mother timidly.

"We may as well come to an understanding," said Grit boldly. "I am willing to do all I can for you, mother, but Mr. Brandon is able to take care of himself, and I cannot support him, too."

"Is this the way you talk to your father, you impertinent boy?" exclaimed Brandon wrathfully.

"You are not my father, Mr. Brandon," said Grit coldly.

"It is all the same; I am your mother's husband."

"That's a different thing."

"Once more, are you going to give me the money you have in your pocket?"

"No, sir."

Brandon looked at Grit, and he felt that it would have given him pleasure to shake the rebellion out of his obstinate stepson, but supper was almost ready, and he felt hungry. He decided that it would be as well to postpone an open outbreak. Grit was in the house, and not likely to run away.

"We'll speak of this another time," he said, waving his hand. "You will find, young man, that it is of no use opposing me. Mrs. Brandon, is supper almost ready?"

"Nearly," answered his wife, glad to have the subject postponed.

"Then serve it as soon as possible," he said, in a lordly tone. "I am to meet a gentleman on business directly afterward."

Supper was on the table in fifteen minutes.

Mr. Brandon ate with evident enjoyment. Indeed, it was so short a time since he had been restricted to prison fare that he relished the plain but well-cooked dishes which his wife prepared.

"Another cup of tea, Mrs. Brandon," he said. "It seems pleasant to be at home again after my long absence."

"I shouldn't think he would like to refer to his imprisonment," thought Grit.

"I hope soon to be in business," continued Brandon, "and we shall then be able to live in better style. When that time comes I shall be willing to have Grit retain his small earnings, stipulating only that he shall buy his own clothes, and pay his mother, say a dollar and a quarter a week, for board."

He said this with the air of a man who considered himself liberal, but neither Grit nor his mother expressed their sense of his generosity.

"Of course, just at present," Mr. Brandon proceeded, "I have no money. The minions of the law took from me all I had when they unjustly thrust me into a foul dungeon. For a time, therefore, I shall be compelled to accept Grit's earnings, but it will not be for long."

Grit said nothing to this hint, but all the same he determined, whether for a short or a long time, to resist the exactions of his stepfather.

As for Brandon, his change of front was induced by the thought that he could accomplish by stratagem what he might have had some difficulty in securing by force. He still had twenty-five cents of the dollar which his wife had given him in the morning.

When supper was over he rose, and, putting on his hat, said:

"I am going to the village on business. I shall be home in good season. Are you going my way, Grit?"

"Not just at present," answered Grit.

Mother and son looked at each other when they were alone.

"I suppose he's gone to the tavern," said Grit.

"Yes, I presume so," said his mother, sighing.

"Well, mother, I didn't give up the money."

"No, Grit, but he means to have it yet."

"He's welcome to it if he can get it," said the boy manfully.

"You haven't got the sixty dollars with you?" said his mother anxiously.

"No, they are safe. I have kept only two dollars, thinking you might need some groceries."

"Yes, I do, Grit. They go off faster, now that we have another mouth to feed."

"Suppose you make out a list of what you want, mother, and I will go up to the store this evening. I may as well save Mr. Brandon from temptation."

His mother made a list, and Grit, putting it in his pocket, walked up to the village.

The groceries, with a pound of steak, cost a dollar and ninety cents.

As Grit took the bundles and walked homeward, he thought to himself.

"Mr. Brandon wouldn't feel very well repaid for his trouble if he should take all I have left. He ought to be satisfied with free board, without expecting us to supply him with pocket-money besides. I wonder what he would say if he knew how much money I have deposited with Fred Lawrence?"

Grit congratulated himself that his stepfather was not likely to make this discovery, but in this he reckoned without his host.

Mr. Brandon made the discovery that same evening. How it came about will appear in the next chapter.