WHEN Tom deposited himself in bed, he found the straw-bed even more uncomfortable than he anticipated. The straw crackled beneath him at every movement, and was far from affording that ease which our hero coveted.

“I might as well sleep on a bed of thorns or briers,” he said to himself. “It’s cheap, and that is the only recommendation it has, but I can’t stand it, and I don’t mean to.”

At first Tom intended to make no disturbance till the next day, but Mrs. Middleton’s evident unwillingness to provide anything better decided him to take action immediately.

“What shall I do?” he thought.

A bright idea came to him.

In his trunk were two boxes of torpedoes which he had saved over from the last Fourth of July. These he took, two or three at a time, and struck against the uncarpeted floor, producing the series of noises which startled his guardians.

“I guess that’ll bring ’em up,” thought Tom.

In anticipation of a visit he had slipped on his pants.

Presently he heard a tapping at the door, but at first he took no notice of it, but kept on firing the torpedoes.

“Can’t you knock louder, Mr. Middleton?” said his wife impatiently, and she herself rigorously pounced the door.

“I guess I’ll let ’em in,” said Tom to himself.

He accordingly opened the door and stared at his visitors in a vacant manner.

“What’s the matter? Is it morning?” he asked, with the air of one who had just waked up.

“What mischief are you up to?” demanded Mrs. Middleton sternly.

“I, up to mischief?” said Tom, with an air of bewilderment.

“Yes; what are you making this outrageous racket for?”

Tom passed his hand over his eyes as if to recall himself to a realization of the situation.

“I must have been firing torpedoes,” he said, looking at the box in his hand.

“Torpedoes, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Middleton, sniffing indignantly. “Do you consider that proper conduct at time of night, disturbing the house?”

“I told you that I got up in my sleep sometimes,” said Tom.

Mrs. Middleton evidently thought this “too thin,” and looked her incredulity.

“What could have made you get up?” asked her husband.

“I know what it was.” said Mrs. Middleton. “It was eating late at night. I knew it wouldn’t agree with you.”

“No doubt you are right, my dear,” chimed in her husband.

“It wasn’t that,” said Tom bluntly. “Eating never disagrees with me. It was the straw-bed.”

“The straw-bed!”

“Yes, it’s as hard as a brick-bat. It doesn’t agree with my spine.”

“Mr. Middleton and I sleep on a straw-bed,” said the lady.

“Perhaps you have a feather-bed, too,” suggested our hero.

As this happened to be true, the lady did not see fit to reply directly.

“I don’t believe the bed had anything to do with it,” she said snappishly, “and, moreover, I don’t want any torpedoes in the house.”

“My dear,” said her husband soothingly, “I am sure our young friend will not care to keep them. Doubtless it is a mere accident that he happened to have them.”

“It’s lucky they were not fire-crackers,” said Tom. “It might have set the bed on fire.”

“Something must be done,” said Nathan, in alarm. “My dear, isn’t there a feather-bed or a mattress in the house?”

“There is a mattress in the spare chamber,” said the lady reluctantly.

“Then, by all means, let us give it to our young friend, that he may have a comfortable night’s rest.”

“That’s just the thing,” said Tom briskly. “I’ll help you bring it in.”

Mrs. Middleton would like to have objected, but there seemed to be no other way of securing quiet, and she tacitly consented. That is, she held her peace while her husband and Tom went to the spare chamber and transferred the cherished mattress to the chamber of the latter.

“There,” said she, “I hope you are satisfied now.”

“Thank you,” said Tom politely. “It is a decided improvement. I shall sleep like a top now.”

“Good-night,” said Nathan, and Tom responded, “Good-night.”

“I’d like to see that boy flogged,” said Mrs. Middleton, addressing her husband later in the privacy of their own apartment. “He’s the most impudent young ruffian I ever saw. He’s turned the house upside down already.”

“Think of the pay, Corinthia,” said her husband soothingly. “Six dollars a week! Why, it’s a dollar a day for you, leaving out Sunday.”

This happily diverted his wife’s thoughts in a more agreeable channel. She reflected that in a few days she would be able to buy a new bonnet with her board-money—an article she had long needed, but had been too mean to buy—and she gradually calmed down.

Now, though I by no means intend to justify Tom in his eccentric conduct, I submit that he was entitled to a comfortable bed and enough to eat, especially considering the liberal board he was to pay, and probably he would have found it difficult to compass his desires, but by some such decisive measure as he adopted. At any rate he made no further disturbance, but “kept the peace” till morning.

Usually breakfast at the Middletons’ was a very frugal meal. Bread and butter, accompanied by thin and watery coffee, supplemented occasionally by a little cold meat, satisfied the economical pair. But they rightly judged that Tom would require something more, and Mrs. Middleton was induced to provide a small portion of beefsteak and some fried potatoes, which, in her eyes, constituted a sumptuous repast.

Tom consumed the greater portion of the steak, rightly thinking that if there was not enough for all the loss should fall to those who chose to provide too small a supply. He used much more milk and sugar than the lady of the house regarded as sufficient, but it was very evident that on this subject she and her new boarder were not likely to agree.

Breakfast was scarcely over when a tall man, with a very stiff, dignified figure was seen entering the front gate.

“It’s Lawyer Davenport,” said Nathan, in a flustered manner. “What can bring him here so early?”

“No doubt it is on account of the assault Mr. Temple made upon his son,” said Mrs. Middleton.

“I am afraid it is,” said her husband, evidently disturbed. “I fear, my young friend, you have got into hot water.”

“I don’t think it will scald me,” said Tom coolly.

“Mr. Davenport is one of our first citizens,” said Nathan.

“He seems to think he is,” said Tom. “He walks so erect that he bends backward.”

“He has a proper sense of his social position,” said Mrs. Middleton reprovingly.

“So has his son,” said Tom.

A ponderous knock here notified the party that the lawyer had arrived at the front door, and demanded admittance.

Mr. Middleton himself answered the call, and with an air of deference ushered the distinguished visitor into the sitting-room.

“I hope I see you well, Mrs. Middleton,” said the visitor, with stately condescension.

“Thank you, sir; I am not as well as I have been,” said the lady. “I have been subjected to unusual trials during the last twenty-four hours,” she continued, with a side glance at Tom.

“I am sorry to hear it,” said the lawyer. “I regret also to say that I have called this morning on rather an unpleasant matter connected, if I mistake not, with the young man whom I see here.”

“This is Thomas Temple, Squire Davenport, my ward.”

“Indeed! I was not aware that you had a ward.”

“He is the son of my old school-mate, Stephen Temple, who desired at his death that his son should come to me.”

“It is very kind of you to assume the charge,” said the lawyer, who fancied that Tom was without means.

“Not at all,” said Nathan modestly. “For the sake of my old friend I am glad to assume his place to his orphan boy.”

“I hope, young man,” said the lawyer, “that you are sensible of Mr. Middleton’s kindness.”

“Oh, yes,” said Tom, “I appreciate it properly.”

Our hero’s tone was rather peculiar, and Nathan Middleton felt uncomfortable, not knowing what he might be tempted to say. He was quite conscious that boarding Tom for twenty dollars a week did not involve any extraordinary kindness on his part.

“I believe, young man, you had some difficulty with my son yesterday,” said the lawyer, in a tone calculated to overawe our hero.

“I had a little difficulty with two boys,” said Tom coolly.

“My son and nephew.”

“I am very sorry that anything unpleasant should have occurred, Squire Davenport,” said Nathan nervously.

“It is for the young man to apologize, not you, Mr. Middleton,” said the lawyer severely.

“You are quite mistaken, sir,” said Tom; “it is for your son to apologize.”

“Young man, this assurance is most extraordinary,” gasped the lawyer, in amazement.

“If your son had behaved like a gentleman he would have had nothing to complain of,” said Tom. “He refused to play with me, and I playfully threw his ball into a corn-field. Then, as he rushed at me, I defended myself.”

“Mr. Middleton, do you sustain this boy in his extraordinary and defiant attitude?”

“There must have been a misunderstanding,” said Nathan eagerly. “I am anxious that Thomas should enjoy the privilege of associating with your son and nephew, and I hope when they come to know each other better they will become friends.”

“It is rather presumptuous for a charity boy to expect to associate with my family,” thought the lawyer; but he said: “If this young man will apologize for this outrage of yesterday and treat my son with proper respect, I may consent to his occasionally visiting him.”

“I am sure he will be willing,” said Mr. Middleton.

“Quite a mistake,” said Tom. “He owes me an apology for his boorish conduct. As to the ball—if it’s lost, I’ll pay for it.”

He drew out his pocket-book and displayed a roll of bills, considerably to the astonishment of the lawyer, who begun to think he had acted too hastily.

“Be kind enough to take pay for the ball out of that,” said Tom, offering a ten-dollar bill to the visitor.

Lawyer Davenport had a respect for money. Tom was no longer a charity boy, to be condescended to, but a young gentleman.

“On no account,” he said mildly. “The offer is sufficient. No doubt it was a mere boy’s quarrel. We’ll say no more about it. I shall be glad to have you come over and take supper with us some evening, Master Temple. I have no doubt you and James will become good friends yet.”

“Oh, I bear no malice,” said Tom easily. “I’ll be happy to come.”

“Come this evening, then.”

“All right. Thank you, sir.”

“I must say good-morning, Mr. Middleton,” said the lawyer. “Good-morning, Mr. Temple.”

Mr. Davenport took care to inquire of Nathan Middleton the extent of Tom’s property, when he accompanied him to the door, and went away with very different feelings toward him from those with which he entered.

“James,” said he, on his return home, “I fear you have been very rude to the young gentleman who is boarding at Mr. Middleton’s.”

“Young gentleman! He is a bully.”

“Hush, James. He is a young man of large property—fifty thousand dollars, at the very least, as Mr. Middleton informs me—just the companion I desire for you and Edwin. He very handsomely offered to buy you a new ball, but I wouldn’t permit it.”

“Is he so rich, father?” inquired James, in astonishment.

“Yes, you made a great mistake about him. I have invited him to supper here this evening, and I expect you and Edwin to treat him with attention.”

James was like his father, and needed no admonition. Tom was no longer a bully in his eyes, but a young gentleman entitled to consideration.