Although John would prefer to have remained at home, in order that his studies might be uninterrupted, he nevertheless could not help deriving enjoyment from the ride on the stage-coach. It was a beautiful morning. The sun was gilding with its beams the fields and brooks, and a beautiful breeze rustled in and out among the leaves of the trees that for some distance lined the road. John, from his elevated perch, had an excellent view of the scenes through which they passed. As they rode by the house of Squire Selwyn, lie hoped to catch sight of his friend Sam; but Sam was nowhere to be seen.

"Sam is lazy this morning," thought John, disappointed.

But there he did Sam injustice. He had risen early, and with hook and line had gone to the pond to fish. From a distance he caught a glimpse of the stage rumbling along the village street, but it was too far off for him to distinguish the outside passengers. He would have been surprised had he known that among them was his friend John.

Ere long they were beyond the limits of the township. Occasionally the stage stopped to take in a fresh passenger, or to discharge a portion of its living freight. At intervals of a few miles they came to some village tavern, with a broad swinging sign, where the driver would pause to water his horses, or, at longer intervals, to exchange them for a fresh supply. Once or twice John descended to stretch his legs, stiff with long sitting. More than once he observed Mr. Huxter enter the tavern, and come out with his nose a little redder than usual.

"I went in to get a glass of bitters," he explained to John, whom he encountered at the door on one of these occasions. "I'll get you some if you want it."

"Thank you," said John. "I don't care for any."

"Well, you're young and strong, and don't need them. When you get to my age, you'll need a little something to stimulate you."

John, who rightly conjectured that the glass of "bitters" was only another name for New England rum, could not help thinking that Mr. Huxter would have been quite as well off without it; but this thought he of course kept to himself.

"The old gentleman is rather fond of 'wetting his whistle,' isn't he?" said the driver, familiarly.

"So it seems," said John, briefly.

He did not care to discuss the conduct of his stepmother's brother with any one, and therefore confined himself to this remark. At twelve o'clock they had travelled forty miles.

"The stage will stop half an hour for dinner," said the driver, as he drew up in front of an old-fashioned country tavern.

"This is as far as I go," said the driver to John. "Do you stop here?"

"No, we go further on."

"I suppose you'll be comin' back this way in a few days?"

"I expect so. By the way, if you see Sam Selwyn to-night, just tell him that I was one of your passengers this morning."

"All right."

"John Oakley!" said Mr. Huxter, from below.

"Here, sir," said John.

"Just get down, and bring that basket with you. We'll go under the trees and have a bite."

John followed directions, and the two sat down together, with the basket between them.

"Travelling is hungry work," said Mr. Huxter. "Let's see what my sister has put up for us."

The basket, being uncovered, proved to be full of sandwiches, with a few doughnuts on top. They were all excellent of their kind; for Mrs. Oakley, whatever might be said of her in other respects, was a good house-keeper, and took care that whatever food was prepared in the house should be good.

"Now, Oakley," said Mr. Huxter, "we needn't have any ceremony here. Just make yourself at home and pitch in."

It may be observed that Mr. Huxter was gradually beginning to treat John with greater familiarity. When first introduced, he had addressed him as "Mr. Oakley." Next it was "John Oakley." Now it was "Oakley," without any prefix. John, who had no inordinate sense of his own dignity, was not much disturbed by this, but continued to treat Mr. Huxter with the same outward respect as at first.

Mr. Huxter followed his own recommendations strictly. He did "pitch in," and with such vigor that he consumed two-thirds of the contents of the basket, while John, whose appetite had also been stimulated by the long ride, was eating the remaining third.

"Well, there aint much left, that's a fact," he said, surveying the empty basket. "The ride's given you a pretty good appetite, Oakley."

"Pretty good," said John, smiling at the unexpected inference drawn from the empty basket.

"That's lucky, for we shan't get anything more till we get home," said Mr. Huxter.

"When will that be?" inquired John.

"Somewhere about seven. It's a long pull; but I guess we can stand it," said Mr. Huxter.

"I think I can," said John.

"The old lady won't be expecting us," said Mr. Huxter. "I told her I might, maybe, be gone a fortnight."

"She'll be glad to see you so soon," said John, who did not think of anything else to say.

"Umph!" said Mr. Huxter, in a tone which might be interpreted as conveying a little doubt on this point. "I feel a little dry," he said, rising and stretching himself. "I think I'll go into the house, and see if I can find a little water."

When Mr. Huxter reappeared, John inferred from his appearance that, if he had been drinking water, it had been largely mingled with a different beverage. He satisfied his own thirst at the pump, where he drank a deep and refreshing draught of clear cold water, purer and better than any liquid which the art of man has devised.

So the afternoon passed. Twice more Mr. Huxter got out of the stage, and entered a wayside tavern, on the same mysterious errand. Each time he reappeared with his nose redder, and his eyes more inflamed. The liquor which he had drunk made him quarrelsome, and so disagreeable to his fellow-passengers. Finally one of them called to the driver in an authoritative voice to stop, and insisted that Mr. Huxter should travel outside for the remainder of the way. With some difficulty he was induced to make the change, and from that time John had the pleasure of his society.

"Who are you?" asked Mr. Huxter, fixing his eyes upon John with a vacant stare.

"I am John Oakley," said our hero.

"Oh, yes, I know. You're the son of old Oakley that my sister Jane married."

It was painful to John to hear his father spoken of as old Oakley, but he understood Mr. Huxter's situation, and felt that it would be idle to resent anything said under such circumstances.

"Old Oakley left all his property to Jane," continued Mr. Huxter, with a drunken laugh. "Oh, she's a deep one, is Jane! She knows how her bread is buttered."

John turned away in disgust, and tried not to heed what was said.

"But she's hard on her poor brother," whined Mr. Huxter. "She ought to have come down with something handsome."

His mutterings became incoherent, and John ceased to notice them. At length, about seven o'clock, the stage drove into a small village, of not particularly attractive appearance.

"Well," said the driver, turning to John, "you're most home."

"Am I?" asked John.

"Of course you are. Aint you travelling with him?" indicating Mr. Huxter by a gesture.

"Yes; I've come with him on a little business."

"Then you're not going to stay?"

"Oh, no!"

"Lucky for you!"

John didn't inquire why the driver thought it lucky for him. He thought he understood without any explanation.

"Do you go any further?" he asked of the driver.

"To the next town."

"What is the name of this place?"

"Some folks call it Hardscrabble; but the real name is Jackson."

"Where does Mr. Huxter live?"

"Up the road apiece. I go right by the gate. I'll stop and leave you there."

A little less than a mile further the driver reined up his horses.

"Here you are," he said. "Now look sharp, for I'm behind time."

With some difficulty Mr. Huxter, who had now become quite drowsy, was made to understand that he had reached home. With still greater difficulty, he was assisted in safety to the ground, and the stage drove on.

John now for the first time looked about him to see what sort of a place he had reached. He distinguished a two-story house, old-fashioned in appearance, standing a few rods back from the road. It was sadly in need of a fresh coat of paint, as was also the fence which surrounded it. A little distance from the house, at one side, was a small building of one story, liberally supplied with windows, which John afterwards learned to be a shoe-shop. It was Mr. Huxter's place of business, when he saw fit to work, which was by no means regularly. An old cart, a wood-pile, and some barrels littered up the front yard. A field alongside was overgrown with weeds, and everything indicated shiftlessness and neglect.

John had no difficulty in opening the front gate, for it hung upon one hinge, and was never shut. He supported Mr. Huxter to the door and knocked, for there was no bell. The summons was answered by a girl of ten, in a dirty calico dress and dishevelled hair.

"Mother," she screamed, shrilly, as she saw who it was, "here's father come home, and there's somebody with him!"

At this intimation, a woman came from a back room to the door. She looked thin and careworn, as if the life which she led was not a very happy one.

"Mrs. Huxter, I suppose?" asked John.

"Yes," said she.

"Your husband does not feel quite well," said John, expressing in as delicate a manner as possible the fact that something was out of order with Mr. Huxter.

"Who said I wasn't well?" exclaimed Mr. Huxter, in a rough voice. "Never was better in my life. I say, Polly, can't you get us something to eat? I'm most starved."

Mrs. Huxter looked inquiringly at John, whose presence with her husband she did not understand.

"I believe I am to stop here for a day or two," said John, responding to her look. "My name is John Oakley. I am the stepson of Mr. Huxter's sister."

"Oh, yes, I know," said Mrs. Huxter. "I am afraid we can't accommodate you very well, Mr. Oakley, but we'll do our best."

"What's good enough for us is good enough for him," said Mr. Huxter, fiercely. "He's as poor as we are. Sister Jane's got all the money. She's a deep one, is sister Jane."

"I hope you won't be offended at what he says, Mr. Oakley," said Mrs. Huxter, in an apologetic tone. "He don't mean what he says."

"Shut up, Mrs. Huxter!" said her husband, who was disposed to be quarrelsome. "Don't make a fool of yourself, but get supper as soon as you can."

"We haven't got any meat in the house," said Mrs. Huxter, timidly. "You know you only left me a little money."

"Here's some money," said Mr. Huxter, fumbling in his pocket, and producing a five-dollar bill.

Mrs. Huxter took the bill, surprised at its large amount, for she seldom got more than one dollar at a time. Forthwith the girl of ten was sent for some steak at the butcher's, and in a reasonable time supper was declared to be ready. Meanwhile Mr. Huxter had been to the pump, and by the free use of cold water, applied externally, succeeded in getting the better of his intoxication, and was prepared to do full justice to the meal provided.

By the time supper was over, it was half-past eight. John felt fatigued with his long journey, and asked permission to retire. He was shown to an attic chamber, furnished only with a cot bed and a broken chair. But, rude as were the accommodations, John slept soundly, little dreaming the unwelcome news that awaited him on the morrow.