Though Mr. Taylor owned several hundred acres, he retained but forty under his personal charge. The remainder was rented to various parties, who paid him either in money or grain, according to the agreement made. Being fond of agriculture, he would have kept the whole in his own hands, but that it would have increased so largely the cares of his wife. A large number of farm laborers would have been required, whom he would probably have been compelled to receive under his own roof, and his wife would have become in effect the mistress of a large boarding house. This he was too considerate to require, or allow.

Even of the forty acres he reserved, but a small portion was cultivated, the remainder being used for pasturage or mowing. During the greater part of the year, therefore, he found Abner’s services sufficient. Only during haying and harvest he found it necessary to engage extra assistance. Mr. Taylor was, however, an exception to the general rule. Ordinarily, Western farmers, owning a large number of acres, carry on the whole themselves; though it is doubtful whether their profits{107} are any greater than if they should let out the greater part.

It will be seen, therefore, that Julius was fortunate in his position. He had to work but half the day, while the remaining half he was at liberty to devote to making up the many deficiencies in his early education. He was sensible enough to appreciate this advantage, and showed it by the rapid improvement he made. After he had begun to improve in his reading, he had lessons assigned him in writing and arithmetic. For the latter he showed a decided taste; and even mastered with ease the difficulties of fractions, which, perhaps more than any other part of the arithmetic, are liable to perplex the learner.

“You are really making excellent progress, Julius,” said Mr. Taylor to him one evening. “I find you are a very satisfactory pupil.”

“Do you, sir?” said Julius, his eyes brightening.

“You appear not only to take pains, but to have very good natural abilities.”

“I’m glad I’m not goin’ to grow up a know-nothin’.”

“You certainly won’t if you keep on in this way. But there is one other thing in which you can improve?”

“What is that?”

“In your pronunciation. Just now you said ‘goin’’ and ‘know-nothin’.’ You should pronounce the final letter, saying ‘going’ and ‘nothing.’ Don’t you notice that I do it?”{108}

“Yes, sir; but I’m used to the other.”

“You can correct it, notwithstanding. By way of helping you I will remind you whenever you go wrong in this particular way; indeed, whenever you make any mistake in pronunciation.”

“I wish you would,” said Julius, earnestly. “Do you think they’ll put me in a very low class at school?”

“Not if you work hard from now to Thanksgiving.”

“I’d like to know as much as other boys of my age. I don’t want to be in a class with four-year-olds.”

“You have got safely by that, at least,” said Mr. Taylor, smiling. “I like your ambition, and shall be glad myself, when you enter school, to have you do credit to my teaching.”

There was nothing connected with the farm work that Julius liked better than driving a horse, particularly when he had sole charge of it; and he felt proud indeed the first time he was sent with a load of hay to a neighboring town. He acquitted himself well; and from that time he was often sent in this way. Sometimes, when Mr. Taylor was too busy to accompany her, Mrs. Taylor employed him to drive her to the village stores, or to a neighbor’s, to make a call; and as Julius showed himself fearless, and appeared to have perfect control even of Mr. Taylor’s most spirited horse, she felt as safe with him as with her husband.

Julius had been in his new place about six weeks, when{109} his integrity was subjected to a sudden and severe test. He was sent to a neighbor’s, living about a mile and a half away, and, on account of the distance, was told to harness up the horse and ride. This he did with alacrity. He took his seat in the buggy, gathered the reins into his hands, and set out. He had got a quarter of a mile on his way when he suddenly espied on the floor of the carriage, in the corner, a pocketbook. He took it up, and, opening it, discovered two facts: first, that it belonged to Mr. Taylor, as it contained his card; next, that its contents were valuable, judging from the thick roll of bills.

“How much is there here?”

This was the first question that Julius asked himself.

Counting the bills hurriedly, he ascertained that they amounted to two hundred and sixty-seven dollars.

“Whew! what a pile!” he said to himself. “Ain’t I in luck? I could go to California for this, and make a fortune. Why shouldn’t I keep it? Mr. Taylor will never know. Besides, he’s so rich he won’t need it.”

To one who had been brought up, or rather who had brought himself up, as a bootblack in the streets of New York, the temptation was a strong one. Notwithstanding the comfort which he now enjoyed there were moments when a longing for his old, independent, vagrant life swept over him. He thought of Broadway, and City Hall Park, of Tony Pastor’s, and the old Bowery, of the busy hum and excitement of the streets of the great{110} city; and a feeling something like homesickness was aroused within him. Brookville seemed dull, and he pined to be in the midst of crowds. This longing he was now able to gratify. He was not apprenticed to Mr. Taylor. It is not the custom of the Children’s Aid Society to bind out the children they send West for any definite term. There was nothing to hinder his leaving Brookville, and either going back to New York, or going to California, as he had often thought he would like to do. Before the contents of the pocketbook were exhausted, which, according to his reckoning, would be a very long time, he would get something to do. There was something exhilarating in the prospect of starting on a long journey alone, with plenty of money in his pocket. Besides, the money wouldn’t be stolen. He had found it, and why shouldn’t he keep it?

These thoughts passed through the mind of Julius in considerably less time than I have taken in writing them down. But other and better thoughts succeeded. After all, it would be no better than stealing to retain money when he knew the owner. Besides, it would be a very poor return to Mr. Taylor for the kindness with which he had treated him ever since he became a member of his household. Again, it would cut short his studies, and he would grow up a know-nothing—to use his own word—- after all. It would be pleasant traveling, to be sure; it would be pleasant to see California, or to find himself{111} again in the streets of New York; but that pleasure would be dearly bought.

“I won’t keep it,” said Julius, resolutely. “It would be mean, and I should feel like a thief.”

He put the pocketbook carefully in the side pocket of his coat, and buttoned it up. As he whipped up the horse, who had taken advantage of his preoccupation of mind to walk at a snail’s pace, it occurred to him that if he should leave Brookville he would no longer be able to drive a horse; and this thought contributed to strengthen his resolution.

“What a fool I was to think of keeping it!” he thought. “I’ll give it to Mr. Taylor just as soon as I get back.”

He kept his word.

“Haven’t you lost your pocketbook, Mr. Taylor?” he asked, when, having unharnessed the horse, he entered the room where his guardian was sitting.

Mr. Taylor felt in his pocket.

“Yes,” said he, anxiously. “It contained a considerable sum of money. Have you found it?”

“Yes, sir; here it is.” And our hero drew it from his pocket, and restored it to the owner.

“Where did you find it?”

“In the bottom of the wagon,” answered Julius.

“Do you know how much money there is in the wallet?” asked Mr. Taylor.{112}

“Yes, sir; I counted the bills. There is nearly three hundred dollars.”

“Didn’t it occur to you,” asked Mr. Taylor, looking at him in some curiosity, knowing what he did of his past life and associations, “didn’t it occur to you that you could have kept it without my suspecting it?”

“Yes,” said Julius, frankly. “It did.”

“Did you think how much you might do with it?”

“Yes; I thought how I could go back to New York and cut a swell, or go to California and maybe make a fortune at the mines.”

“But you didn’t keep it.”

“No; it would be mean. It wouldn’t be treating you right, after all you’ve done for me; so I just pushed it into my pocket, and there it is.”

“You have resisted temptation nobly, my boy,” said Mr. Taylor, warmly; “and I thank you for it. I won’t offer to reward you, for I know you didn’t do it for that; but I shall hereafter give you my full confidence, and trust you as I would myself.”

Nothing could have made a better or deeper impression on the mind of Julius than these words. Nothing could have made him more ashamed of his momentary yielding to the temptation of dishonesty. He was proud of having won the confidence of Mr. Taylor. It elevated him in his own eyes.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, taking his guardian’s proffered{113} hand. “I’ll try to deserve what you say. I’d rather hear them words than have you pay me money.”

Mr. Taylor was a wise man, and knew the way to a boy’s heart. Julius never forgot the lesson of that day. In moments of after temptation it came back to him, and strengthened him to do right.{114}