When John found that his enemy had abandoned the siege, he rowed ashore, and watched Mr. Huxter until he became satisfied that it would require a considerable time to catch the horse. He thought that he might venture to pursue his journey, without further fear of molestation. Of the incidents that followed, none are worth recording. It is sufficient to say that on the evening of the second day John entered the town of Wilton.

It was years since he had seen his aunt. She had been confined at home by the cares of a young family, and the distance between Wilton and Hampton seemed formidable. He knew, however, that his uncle, Thomas Berry, kept a small country store, and had done so ever since his marriage. In a country village it is always easy to find the "store," and John kept up the main road, feeling that it would not be necessary to inquire. He came at length to a meeting-house, and judged that the store would not be far off. In fact, a few rods further he came to a long, two-story building, painted white, with a piazza in front. On a large sign-board over it he read:—

"THOMAS BERRY.
PROVISION AND DRY-GOODS STORE."

"This must be the place," thought John. "I think I'll go into the store first and see uncle."

He entered, and found himself in a broad room, low-studded, furnished with counters on two sides, and crowded with a motley collection of goods, embracing calicoes and dry goods generally, as well as barrels of molasses and firkins of butter. There chanced to be no customer in at the time. Behind the counter he saw, not his uncle, but a young man, with long, light hair combed behind his ears, not very prepossessing in his appearance,—at least so John thought.

"Is Mr. Berry in?" he asked, walking up to the counter.

"Mr. Berry is dead," was the unexpected reply.

"Dead!" exclaimed John, in surprise. "How long since he died?"

"A week ago."

"We never heard of it," said John, half to himself.

"Are you a relation?" asked the young man.

"He was my uncle."

"Is your name Oakley?"

"Yes, John Oakley."

"Of Hampton?"

"Yes."

"A letter was sent there, announcing the death."

This was true; but Mrs. Oakley, who received the letter, had not thought it necessary to send intelligence of its contents to John.

"Didn't you get it?" continued the other.

"I haven't been at home for a week or more," said John. "I suppose that accounts for it. How is my aunt?"

"She is not very well."

"I think I will go into the house and see her."

John went around to the door of the house and knocked. A young girl of twelve answered. Though John had not seen her for six years, he concluded that it must be his Cousin Martha.

"How do you do, Cousin Martha?" he said, extending his hand.

"Are you my Cousin John Oakley?" she said, doubtfully.

"Yes. I did not hear till just now of your loss," said John. "How is your mother?"

"She is not very well. Come in, Cousin John. She will be glad to see you."

John was ushered into a small sitting-room, where he found his aunt seated in a chair by the window, sewing on a black dress for one of the children.

"Here's Cousin John, mother," said Martha.

An expression of pleasure came to Mrs. Berry's pale face.

"I am very glad to see you, John," she said. "You were very kind to come. Is your stepmother well?"

"Quite well," said John. "But I do not come directly from home."

"Indeed! How does that happen?" asked his aunt.

"It is rather a long story, aunt. I will tell you by and by. But now tell me about yourself. Of what did my uncle die?"

"He exposed himself imprudently in a storm one evening three months since," said Mrs. Berry. "In consequence of this, he took a severe cold, which finally terminated in a fever. We did not at first suppose him to be in any danger, but he gradually became worse, and a week since he died. It is a terrible loss to me and my poor children."

Here his aunt put her handkerchief to her face to wipe away the tears that started at the thought of her bereavement.

"Dear aunt, I sympathize with you," said John, earnestly, taking her hand.

"I know you do, John," said his aunt. "I don't know how I can get along alone, with four poor fatherless children to look after."

"God will help you, aunt. You must look to him," said John, reverently.

"It is that thought alone that sustains me," said Mrs. Berry. "But sometimes, when the thought of my bereavement comes upon me, I don't realize it as I should."

"I went into the store first," said John. "I suppose it was my uncle's assistant that I saw there?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Berry; "it was Mr. Hall."

"I suppose he manages the store now for you?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Berry, slowly. "But I hardly know that it is right to say that he manages it for me."

"Why not?" asked John, perplexed by his aunt's manner, which seemed to him strange.

"I will tell you, John," said his aunt. "When Mr. Berry died, I thought he owned the stock clear, and had no debts; but day before yesterday Mr. Hall called in, and showed me a note for two thousand dollars, signed by Mr. Berry. I don't suppose the stock is worth more than three thousand. Of course that makes a very great difference in my circumstances. In fact, it will leave me only a thousand dollars, at the utmost, to support my poor children. I don't know what I shall do." And the poor woman, whose nerves had been shaken by her grief, burst into tears.

"Didn't my uncle own this building, then?" asked John.

"No, he never owned it. He hired it at a low rent from Mr. Mansfield, one of the selectmen, and a rich man."

"Can't you keep up the store, aunt? Will not that give income enough to support the family?"

"But for this note, I could. But if I have to pay that, it will leave only a third of the store belonging to me. Then out of the profits I must pay the rent, the wages of a salesman and a boy, before I can get anything for myself. You see, John, there isn't much prospect."

"Yes," said John, thoughtfully. "It doesn't look very bright. You say, aunt, that uncle never mentioned this note to you?"

"He never mentioned a syllable about it."

"Did he generally mention his affairs to you?"

"Yes; he wasn't one of those husbands that keep everything secret from their wives. He always told me how he was getting along."

"When was the note dated?"

"A year and a half ago."

"Do you know whether my uncle had any particular use for so large a sum of money at that time?"

"No. That is what puzzles me," said Mrs. Berry. "If he got the money, I am sure I don't know what he did with it."

"Did he extend his business with it, do you think?"

"No, I am sure he did not. His stock is no larger now than it was six years ago. He always calculated to keep it at about the same amount."

"That seems strange," said John,—"that we can't find where the money went to, I mean; especially as it was so large a sum."

"Yes, John, that is what I think. There's some mystery about it. I've thought and thought, and I can't tell how it happened."

"What sort of a man is Mr. Hall?" asked John, after a pause.

"I don't know anything against him," said Mrs. Berry.

"I don't know why it is," said John, "but I don't like his looks. I took rather a prejudice against him when I saw him just now."

"I never liked him," said his aunt, "though I can't give any good reason for my dislike. He never treated me in any way of which I could complain."

"How long has he been in the store?"

"How long is it, Martha?" asked Mrs. Berry, turning to her oldest daughter, who, by the way, was a very pretty girl, with blooming cheeks and dark, sparkling eyes.

"It will be four years in October, mother."

"Yes, I remember now."

"He seems quite a young man."

"I think he is twenty-three."

"Does he get a large salary?"

"No, only forty dollars a month."

"Did you know of his having any property when he came here?"

"No; he seemed quite poor."

"Then I don't understand where he could have got the two thousand dollars which he says he loaned uncle."

"I declare, John, you are right," said Mrs. Berry, looking as if new light was thrown over the matter. "It certainly does look very strange. I wonder I didn't think of it before; but I have had so much to think of, that I couldn't think properly of anything. How do you account for it, John?"

"I will tell you, aunt," said John, quietly. "I think the note is a forgery, and that Mr. Hall means to cheat you out of two-thirds of your property."