THE STAGE stopped in front of the Plympton Hotel two days afterward. There were several inside passengers, but with these we have nothing to do. Beside the driver sat a stout boy, with a keen, expressive face, who looked full of life and activity.

“Here you are,” said the driver, with a final flourish of the whip.

“I see that, old chap,” said the boy; “but I don’t stop here.”

“Where are you goin’ to put up?”

“The man’s name is Middleton. He is to have the honor of feeding and lodging me for the present.”

“I suppose you mean Nathan Middleton. I don’t envy you. He keeps the meanest table in town.”

“Does he? Then I shall take the liberty to reform his table.”

“I don’t believe you can do it. There’s only one person in town meaner than old Middleton, and that’s his wife. What makes you board with them?”

“Can’t help it. He went to school with my father, and he left orders in his will that I should be taken care of by Middleton. You’ll take me up there?”

“Yes; you’ll have to wait till I land the mail and discharge cargo.”

“All right.”

A few minutes later Tom Temple was deposited at the gate of his future guardian. Nathan Middleton hastened to welcome him with the consideration due to so wealthy a boarder.

“My dear young friend,” he begun expansively, “I am indeed glad to welcome the son of my old friend to my humble home.”

If Mr. Middleton expected Tom to reply in a similar manner, he soon realized his mistake. Our hero was not one of the gushing kind.

“All right,” he answered coolly. “Will you help me in with my trunk?”

Mr. Middleton mechanically obeyed, not seeing his way clear to any more sentiment.

Mrs. Middleton appeared in the front entry as the trunk was set down.

“Corinthia, my dear, this is the son of my deceased friend, Stephen Temple.”

Mrs. Middleton’s thin figure was clad in a thin, slazy silk of very scant pattern, and her pinched features wore an artificial smile.

“How do you do, Mr. Temple?” she said.

“I’m well, but hungry,” responded Tom readily.

“Is tea nearly ready, Corinthia?” asked her husband.

“It will be ready in fifteen minutes. If you will show Mr. Temple to his room, he won’t have long to wait.”

The two together carried up Tom’s trunk, and deposited it in a scantily furnished chamber, which it was announced he was to occupy.

“I hope, my young friend, you will like your apartment,” said Nathan.

Tom looked about him critically.

“I don’t see any rocking-chair,” he said.

“I was not aware that rocking-chairs were considered necessary in a sleeping apartment,” said Nathan, who did not fancy buying any extra furniture.

“I study in my room,” said Tom, “and I need a rocking-chair to support my spine.”

“I hope your spine is not affected,” said Mr. Middleton, rather astonished.

“It’s very weak,” said Tom gravely.

“You don’t look it,” said Nathan, surveying the strong form of his young friend.

“Appearances are deceitful,” said Tom sententiously.

“I will procure you a rocking-chair,” said Mr. Middleton, sighing at the thought of the extra expense. “I will now leave you to any little preparations you may desire to make. I will call you when supper is ready.”

So Tom was left alone.

Our hero sat down on the bed and reflected.

“I don’t fancy the old man’s looks,” he thought. “He looks mean, and so does his wife. I have an idea they’ll try to starve me, but if they do I’ll make it lively for them, or my name isn’t Tom Temple. I know, from what Sharp told me, that they are going to get a steep price for my board, and I don’t want them to make too much out of me. This bed is as hard as a brick. No wonder—it’s filled with straw. I suppose mattresses come too high. I see I shall have to give some lessons to my worthy friends on the subject of keeping house. I’ve got plenty of money, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t go in for comfort. I could stand hard fare if there was any need of it, but there isn’t.”

Soon the feet of Mr. Middleton were heard on the stairs.

“My young friend,” he said, as Tom opened the door at his gentle tap, “supper is ready.”

“My old friend,” said Tom promptly, “I am ready, too.”

“What a very extraordinary boy!” thought Mr. Middleton. “Why should he call me old? I am older than he, to be sure, but I am not aged.”

He led the way into the dining-room. Mrs. Middleton was already seated at the table. It did not look particularly inviting. There was a plate of bread, cut in thin slices, a very small plate of butter, a plate of consumptive looking gingerbread and half a dozen slices of meat about the thickness of a wafer.

“Not much chance of overeating myself here,” thought Tom. “This won’t do at all.”

“Will you be seated, Mr. Temple,” said the lady. “Shall I give you some tea?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Corinthia poured out a cup of colored liquid, into which she poured about half a teaspoonful of milk and an extremely small portion of sugar.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” said Tom, “but I am not afraid of milk or sugar.”

“Really!” said the lady, not quite comprehending.

“I’ll put in the sugar and milk myself,” said Tom, and he deliberately poured out a part of his tea into the saucer, filling up with milk, and deposited two full spoonfuls of sugar in the same.

This was wasteful extravagance in the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Middleton.

“I never knew any one use so much sugar and milk, Mr. Temple,” she said with asperity.

“You haven’t any objection, have you?” he asked coolly.

“Oh, of course not,” she answered bridling; “but it seems so singular.”

“Does it? That’s just what I thought of your way.”

“Shall I help you to a slice of meat, Mr. Temple?” asked Nathan.

“You’d better give me two or three; they seem to be very small,” said Tom.

Mrs. Middleton looked far from amiable as she heard this remark. Her husband contented himself with putting two of the wafers on his young friend’s plate.

“We don’t always have meat at supper,” said his wife, fearing that Tom would expect it as a general thing, “but we supposed your journey might make you hungry.”

“So it has. Mr. Middleton will you help me to more meat?” said Tom, who had already disposed of the two wafers.

Mr. and Mrs. Middleton exchanged glances of dismay.

“I think you’ll have to send for more,” said Tom coolly. “I’m delicate, and the doctor says I must eat plenty of meat.”

“My doctor tells me meat is injurious at supper,” said Mrs. Middleton, with emphasis.

“Tell him he doesn’t know much. Another piece of butter, Mr. Middleton, if you please? It would kill me to go without meat.”

“You don’t look delicate.”

“I am, though. I tried doing without meat at supper for a week, and what do you think happened?”

Mr. Middleton looked curious.

“I got up in the night—fast asleep, you know—and set the bed-clothes on fire. Came near burning up the house. All on account of not eating meat.”

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Mrs. Middleton alarmed. “Do you walk in your sleep, Mr. Temple?”

“Not when I’ve had a hearty supper, ma’am.”

“I think, Corinthia, you’d better get some meat,” said her husband, who looked anxious.

“Warm meat—beefsteak, for instance—is better than cold to make me sleep,” said Tom. “By the way, Mrs. Middleton, the butter is out, and so is the bread.”

“I never saw so voracious a boy,” said the lady to herself. “He really has an ungovernable appetite.”

But she got the bread and the butter. Tom generally managed to have his way.

In justice to him I must say that he had no more appetite than is usual to a hearty, growing boy, but Mr. and Mrs. Middleton stinted themselves out of regard to economy, and to them he seemed to eat enough for six.