On Sunday the family attended church. Many curious glances were fixed on the Lane's pew, and there was a general wonder who the new boy was. Abel was not at all troubled by this scrutiny, but held up his head and assumed airs of importance.

"Who is that new boy, Gerald?" asked Harry Lovell.

"It is Abel Tyler—Mrs. Lane's son."

"I never knew she had a son."

"Nor did I till lately."

"Is he going to live here?"

"I suppose so."

"I don't think I shall like him."

"Why not?" Gerald asked.

"He looks disagreeable. Do you like him?"

"I haven't made up my mind. He only came yesterday. We must give him a chance."

Toward evening Mrs. Lane said:

"Gerald, I am going to transfer you to the small room, and give your present room to Abel."

Gerald had a good temper ordinarily, but his eyes flashed with indignation.

"Why is this, Mrs. Lane?" he demanded.

"I don't acknowledge your right to question or criticise my arrangements," said his stepmother, coldly.

"Mrs. Lane, that room has always been mine. My father gave it to me when I was eight years old, and I have occupied it ever since. Abel is a stranger in the house. Why should my room be given to him?"

"When your father was alive he made such arrangements as he chose for you. He is dead, and his authority has descended to me."

"There is no justice in this change," said Gerald, bitterly, for he was attached to his chamber, and it was endeared to him by many associations.

"I don't want to hear any more on the subject," said Mrs. Lane, decisively. "I have made the change for good and sufficient reasons and nothing that you can say will alter my plan."

"That's right, ma," put in Abel. "Of course it is for you to say. I wouldn't stand any impudence."

"Nor will I," retorted Gerald, and he looked so fierce and determined that Abel shrank back in momentary fear of an attack.

"Enough of this," said Mrs. Lane, coldly. "Gerald, you will find that your trunk and clothing have been carried into the small room. You will get used to it in time."

"If this injustice continues," Gerald said to himself, "I may decide to leave my old home and strike out for myself."

He resolved, however, not to act hastily, but for the present to accommodate himself to the new arrangements. It was hard to bear Abel's triumphant glance as he walked into the larger room, which had so long been his own.

During the week following Gerald did not attend school. If, as seemed likely, a long season of hard work lay before him, he would have a preliminary vacation. A good deal of his time he spent in his dory, as he was very fond of the water and was a skilful oarsman. Two or three times Abel accompanied him and showed an ambition to use the oars; but, not being accustomed to rowing, he one day upset the boat, and might have been drowned but for the timely assistance rendered by Gerald. This seemed to disgust him with the water, and he gave up the idea of asking his mother for a sail-boat. Gerald was not sorry to lose his company, especially as his place was frequently taken by John Holman, who was now back again in the shoe shop, but only working on half-time.

One afternoon, after leaving the boat, Gerald was on his way home when he was accosted by a stranger—a stout, muscular man, roughly dressed, who looked like a laboring man.

"Are you acquainted hereabout, young man?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I have a sister living here somewhere, but as I have never been in Portville before I don't know where to find her."

"Perhaps I can direct you," said Gerald, politely. "What is her name?"

"Her first husband was a Tyler, but I hear she married a rich man in this town—his name was Lane, I'm told."

Gerald was amazed. Was it possible that this rough-looking man was the brother of his stepmother and the uncle of Abel? It must be so, for Abel's last name, as he recalled, was Tyler.

"You have come to the right person for information," he said. "Your sister married my father."

"You don't say! Well, that beats all. Is it true that my sister is again a widder?"

"Yes; my father is dead," said Gerald, gravely.

"And did he leave Melindy well fixed?" asked the stranger, vaguely.

"Yes."

Gerald did not feel like going into particulars. He felt too bitterly the injustice of his father's will to speak of its provisions before a stranger.

"Well, I'm glad on't. Melindy's first husband was a no-account sort of a man, and it's my belief he didn't leave her a hundred dollars. He was shif'less; and, besides, he drank."

So that was the man upon whom Abel must look as a father. Gerald felt glad to think that his father was a man of whom he had no reason to be ashamed.

"Have you seen your sister since—since her last marriage?" he asked, with some curiosity.

"No; I've never had an invitation to call upon her. I guess she was too much set up by her marriage to a rich man to notice a workin'-man. You see, I ain't one of your 'ristocrats—I'm only a blacksmith, and have to work hard for a living."

"You are none the worse for that, Mr.——" here Gerald hesitated, for he had not yet learned the name of his new acquaintance.

"Crane—Alonzo Crane—that's my name, young man. I'm glad you don't put on no airs, even if your father was a rich man. Do you know anything of my sister's son, Abel?"

"Yes, sir; he is in Portville, living with his mother."

"How do you like him?" Then, seeing that Gerald hesitated, he added: "You needn't mind telling me, for I ain't much stuck on the boy myself, even if he is my nephew."

"I don't like him much, Mr. Crane."

"I don't know anybody that does, except his mother. He and Melindy—that's his mother—have seen some pretty hard times. More'n once his mother has sent him to me for a little help when they hadn't a penny in the house."

This was news to Gerald, of course, but did not necessarily prejudice him against his stepmother and her son, but it made their present pretensions and airs rather ridiculous.

"Why haven't you been to call on your sister before?" he asked.

"Because she never invited me and I thought she wouldn't like to have her new husband see me."

"My father would have received you kindly, Mr. Crane."

"I am sure he would if you are like him. You ain't no kin to me, but I like you better already than Abel."

"Thank you, Mr. Crane."

"You needn't do that. It ain't sayin' much, for Abel, to my mind, is a disagreeable cub."

Gerald began to think that Mr. Crane, despite his relationship to Mrs. Lane and Abel, was a man of excellent sense.

"I wonder what sort of a welcome he will get," he thought.

He had considerable doubt whether it would be very cordial.

By this time they had reached a point in the road from which the Lane mansion was visible.

"That is where your sister lives," he said, pointing to it.

"You don't say! Well, it is a nice place. Melindy has feathered her nest pretty well."

"That is true enough," said Gerald to himself.

"It's lucky I fell in with you, young man. You didn't tell me your name."

"Gerald—I am Gerald Lane."

"I wish you was my nephew instead of Abel. How long has Abel been here?"

"Only since my father died."

"Melindy was sly. Like as not she never told your father she had a son."

"She said he knew it; but I never heard of Abel till a few days ago."

"It's likely she didn't tell him. Of course she wouldn't own it up to you."

"Do you live far away, Mr. Crane?"

"I live in the town of Gladwin, most sixty miles from here. I'm fifty years old, but I was never so far away from home before. I shouldn't have come now, only I've been unlucky. My shop burned down last week, and there warn't no insurance on it. Thinks I, Melindy is rich, and now is just the time when I need help. Don't you think she ought to help me?"

"Yes."

"I'm her only brother, and there's only two of us anyway. I've got a wife and two children at home, and they'll be pinched if I don't get help somewhere. Many's the time I've helped Melindy and Abel."

"Then you certainly have a claim upon Mrs. Lane."

They turned into the yard, and Gerald was about ushering his new acquaintance into the house, when Abel appeared at the door.

"Who are you bringing into the house, Gerald?" demanded Abel, sharply.

"Don't you know me, Abe?" asked Alonzo Crane, with an ingratiating smile.

"How should I?" asked Abel; but his face changed, for he did recognize his plebeian relative.

"This is your uncle," said Gerald, gravely. "Is your mother at home?"