"It does seem to be a good offer," said Jesse thoughtfully.

"I should think it was—twelve dollars a week and traveling expenses," said Grit enthusiastically.

"I wonder how this Mr. Weaver came to hear of you?"

"I can't think. That's what puzzles me," said Grit.

"He says that you have been recommended to him, I see."

"Yes. At any rate, I am very much obliged to the one who recommended me."

"What will your mother say?"

"She won't want to part with me; but when I tell her how good the offer is, she will get reconciled to it."

When Grit went home and read the letter to his mother, it was a shock to the good woman.

"How can I part from you, Grit?" she said, with a troubled look.

"It won't be for long, mother," said Grit hopefully. "I shall soon be able to send for you, and we can settle down somewhere near Boston. I've got tired of this place, haven't you?"

"No, Grit. I think Pine Point is very pleasant, as long as I can keep you with me. When you are gone, of course, it will seem very different. I don't see how I am going to stand it."

"It won't be for long, mother; and you'll know I am doing well."

"You can make a living with your boat, Grit."

"Yes, mother; but it isn't going to lead to anything. It's all very well now, but half a dozen years from now I ought to be established in some good business."

"Can't you put off going for a year, Grit?"

"A year hence there may be no such chance as this, mother."

"That is true."

"You'll give your consent, then, mother?"

"If you really think it is best, Grit—that is, if you've set your heart on it."

"I have, mother," said Grit earnestly. "I was getting tired of boating before this letter came, but I kept at it because there didn't seem to be anything else. Now it would seem worse than ever, and I'm afraid I should be very discontented."

"I wish you would call on your friend Mr. Jackson, at the hotel, and see what he thinks of it," said Mrs. Brandon. "He is an experienced man of business, and his judgment will be better than ours."

"I will do as you say, mother. I am sure he will recommend me to go."

Grit went to the hotel, arriving there about eight o'clock, and inquired for Mr. Jackson. He was told that that gentleman had started in the morning for Augusta, and would not return for a day or two. The young boatman was not, on the whole, sorry to hear this, for it was possible that the broker might not think favorably of the plan proposed, and he felt unwilling, even in that case, to give it up. He returned, and acquainted his mother with the result of his visit.

"Can't you wait till Mr. Jackson returns?" asked his mother.

"No, mother; I should run the risk of losing the chance."

The evening was spent in getting ready to go. Grit left in his mother's hands all the money he had, except the ten dollars he had last received, and gave an order for the sixty dollars in the hands of Mr. Lawrence, the lawyer, so that even if this Western journey were prolonged for three months, his mother would have enough to provide for her wants.

"Now, mother, I can leave home without any anxiety," he said.

"You will write me often, Grit?" said Mrs. Brandon anxiously.

"Oh, yes, mother; there is no danger I shall forget that."

"Your letters will be all I shall have to think of, you know, Grit."

"I won't forget it, mother."

Grit kissed his mother good-by, and bent his steps toward the railway station.

On the way he met Ephraim Carver.

"Where are you going, Grit?" asked the bank messenger.

"I am going to Boston."

"It seems to me you have a good deal of business in Boston."

"I hope to have."

"You ain't going to stay, are you?"

"I expect to stay. I've got an offer from a party there."

"Of what sort?"

"That letter will tell you."

Ephraim Carver looked over the letter, and he smiled to himself, for he recognized the handwriting of Colonel Johnson, though the letter was signed by another name.

"You're walking into the lion's den, young man," he thought; but he only said: "It seems to be a good offer. Why, you will be paid as much as I get. How old are you?"

"Almost sixteen."

"Boys get on more rapidly now than they did when I was of your age. Why, I'm more'n twenty years older than you are, and I haven't got any higher than twelve dollars a week yet."

Mr. Carver laughed in what seemed to be an entirely uncalled-for manner.

"I don't believe you'll keep your place long," thought the young boatman; but he, too, was not disposed to tell all he knew. So the two parted, each possessed of a secret in regard to the other.

Mr. Carver, however, was destined to receive the first disagreeable surprise. After parting from Grit he met Mr. Graves in the street.

"Good morning, Mr. Graves," he said, in his usual deferential manner, for he was a worldly-wise man, though he had committed one fatal mistake.

"Good morning, Mr. Carver," said the president of the bank gravely.

"Shall you have any errand for me this week?"

"I have something to say to you, Mr. Carver," said Mr. Graves, "and I may as well take the present opportunity to do so. We have concluded to dispense with your services, and you are at liberty to look elsewhere for employment."

"You are going to dispense with my services!" repeated Carver, in dismay.

"Such is the determination of the directors, Mr. Carver."

"But, sir, that is very hard on me. How am I to get along?"

"I hope you may find something else to do. We shall pay you a month's salary in advance, to give you an opportunity of looking about."

"But, Mr. Graves, why am I treated so harshly? Can't you intercede for me? I am a poor man."

"I feel for your situation, Mr. Carver, but I am compelled to say that I do not feel disposed to intercede for you."

"Haven't I always served the bank faithfully?"

"I advise you to ask yourself that question, Mr. Carver," said the president significantly. "You can answer it to your own conscience better than I or any one else can do for you."

"What does he mean?" thought Carver, startled.

Then it occurred to the messenger that nothing had been discovered, but that Mr. Graves, who had recently shown such partiality to Grit, wished to create a vacancy for him.

"Are you going to put Grit Morris in my place?" he asked angrily.

"What makes you think so?" asked Mr. Graves keenly.

"I knew you were partial to him," answered Carver, who reflected that it would not do to give the source of his information.

"I will at any rate answer your question, Mr. Carver. There is no intention of putting Grit in your place. We have every confidence in his fidelity and capacity, but consider him too young for the position."

"I was only going to say that Grit has another chance in Boston, so that there will be no need to provide for him."

"Grit has a chance in Boston!" said Mr. Graves, in surprise.

"Yes; he has just started for the city."

"What sort of a chance is it?"

"He has received an offer to travel at the West, with a salary of twelve dollars a week and expenses."

"That is strange."

"It is true. He showed me the letter."

"From whom did it come?"

"I don't remember."

Carver did remember, but for obvious reasons did not think it best to acquaint Mr. Graves.

"That is remarkable," thought Mr. Graves, as he walked home. "Grit is a smart boy, but such offers are not often made by strangers to a boy of fifteen. I must speak to Clark about it."

He found Mr. Clark at his house. He was the quiet man who had been employed by the bank as a detective, and who had come to report to the president.

There was a look of intelligence as he listened to the news about Grit.

"I tell you what I think of it," he said. "The rascals have found out the part which Grit took in circumventing them, and this letter is part of a plot. They mean the boy mischief."

"I hope not," said Mr. Graves anxiously. "I am attached to Grit, and I wouldn't have harm come to him for a good deal."

"Leave the matter in my hands. I will take the next train for Boston, and follow this clue. It may enable me to get hold of this Johnson, who is a dangerous rascal, because he has brains."

"Do so, and I will see you paid, if necessary, out of my own pocket."