“GOOD-EVENING, Harry,” said Mrs. Thatcher, cordially. “Won’t you sit down and take a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Thatcher; I have just got through supper. You must excuse my coming so early, but I wanted to be sure to find Tom at home.”

The speaker was a slender, pleasant-faced boy of about Tom’s age. He was better dressed than Tom, for though his father received but a small annual salary from his parish, he was possessed of a considerable private fortune, which enabled him to live with more freedom from pecuniary anxiety than most ministers. The boys had always been intimate, and Tom had more than once been favored by the loan of books from his friend’s library.

“You have found me at home, Julian,” said Tom. “Is there anything going on this evening?”

“Yes, and that’s what brings me here. There’s going to be a large skating party on Round Pond, and we want you to join it.”

“I should like it, but I can’t go quite yet. I must saw and split some wood for to-morrow first.”

“How long will it take you?”

“Less than an hour.”

“Let me help you. Then it won’t take so long.”

“I’m afraid I can’t afford to pay a hired man,” said Tom, laughing.

“The pleasure of your company will pay me,” said Harry.

“Thank you. I would take off my hat in return for the compliment if I happened to have it on. I will soon be through supper.”

“Won’t you change your mind, Harry, and let me give you a cup of tea?” asked Mrs. Thatcher.

“On second thoughts I will. It will keep me warm.”

The boys were soon through supper, and, adjourning to the wood-shed, set to work energetically on the wood-pile.

“Will you saw or split, Harry?” asked Tom.

“I might break the saw if I attempted to use it. I will try the ax.”

“What would Rupert Simpson say if he should see you helping me?” said Tom, in a moment’s pause. “He would think you were lowering yourself.”

“And he might be welcome to his opinion,” said Harry, independently.

“You are a good deal together.”

“Yes, but he seeks my company, not I his.”

“Mother tells me that he and I were like two brothers when we were quite young. But he wasn’t rich then.”

“That has spoiled him.”

“At any rate, it has cured him of his liking for my company. Doesn’t he ever speak to you about your being intimate with me?”

“Yes, often. He thinks I like you better than I do him, and he is right there.”

“I can guess what he says to you, Harry?”

“Try it.”

Tom changed his voice, adopting Rupert’s rather affected tone.

“I shouldn’t think,” he began, “that you would associate with that Tom Thatcher. He pegs shoes in father’s shop, and isn’t fit for gentlemen like us to notice. My father doesn’t like me to keep such low company.”

Harry laughed heartily.

“You must have been listening some time when Rupert was speaking to me,” he said.

“Then I hit right, did I?”

“Couldn’t come nearer.”

“I thought so. Yet father and Mr. Simpson worked side by side at the shoe bench. They went to California together. Both secured a great deal of money, but my poor father didn’t live to come home.”

“And his money? What became of that?” inquired Harry.

“No one knows. He was probably robbed of it.”

“It is a sad story, Tom.”

“Yes. My poor father’s fate is often in my mind. I cannot bring him back to life, but I hope some day to learn something more of his last days, and, if possible, of the manner in which he died.” “Couldn’t Mr. Simpson tell you something about it?”

“He called on mother after his return, but gave her no definite information. I am sometimes tempted to call on him and inquire on my own account.”

“I would if I were you.”

“I will, then. I won’t speak to mother about it, because it always makes her sad to speak about father’s death.”

“There’s the last stick, Harry,” said Tom, a few moments later. “Now I sha’n’t have to keep you waiting any longer. I have only to put on my coat, and get my skates.”

“Better wear your overcoat, Tom. It is quite cold.”

“Oh, I’m tough,” said Tom, lightly. “Besides, I can skate better without it.”

He didn’t like to name the real reason, that he had no overcoat fit to wear. The one he had worn the previous winter was very ragged, and he could not spare money to buy a new one.

Harry suspected that this was the case, but was too delicate to refer to it, and said nothing further.

From a nail in the closet Tom took down a pair of old wooden-framed skates, on which, however, he could beat many who were provided with club-skates of the most approved styles.

His friend Harry had a new pair of club-skates, and so had Rupert Simpson.

A walk of a quarter of a mile brought the boys to Round Pond, which was situated near the center of the village. It was small, not more than three-quarters of a mile in circumference; but it was frozen clear as glass, and looked tempting to the young skaters as they descended the bank, and sat down by the margin to put on their skates.

Many boys and a few girls were already on the ice. When Tom and Harry arrived some of them came to greet the new-comers. It was evident that both were general favorites.

Among the boys who came up was Rupert Simpson.

“What made you so late, Harry?” he asked, impatiently.

“I called for Tom, and he had some wood to saw and split before he could come.”

“I suppose you helped him,” suggested Rupert, with a sneer.

“I did.”

Rupert looked astonished and disgusted.

“I didn’t know you hired out to saw and split wood,” he said, with another sneer.

“Now you do know it, I suppose you will cut my acquaintance,” said Harry, pleasantly.

“I suppose you have a right to suit yourself. You wouldn’t catch me sawing and splitting wood. We leave that to the servants.”

“You couldn’t give me a job, could you? However, it would be of no use. I only work for Tom.”

Rupert shrugged his shoulders, and his attention was drawn to Tom’s old skates.

“Those skates look as if they dated back to the ark,” said he, rudely. “I don’t think they are quite so old as that,” returned Tom, coolly.

“They are a curiosity, anyway.”

“They can do good service, Rupert, that is, when Tom wears them,” said Harry. “In spite of our fine club-skates, I believe we should find it hard work to keep up with him.”

“Speak for yourself!” said Rupert, haughtily.

“No, I speak for you, too.”

“Try it! A race! a race!” exclaimed the boys in chorus.

“I will race with Harry,” said Rupert, hastily.

“No; you can beat me; I admit that in advance. Race with Tom.”

Tom said nothing. By this time his skates were on, and he was quite ready to enter upon a trial of speed with Rupert, or any boy on the pond; but he did not care to betray any anxiety on the subject.

Rupert was rather conceited on the subject of his skating. With the exception of Tom Thatcher, he was probably the best skater in the village—that is, among the boys—and felt pretty confident that he could beat Tom himself. His reluctance was due only to his not liking to place himself on an equality with the boy who pegged shoes for his father at fifty cents per day. The clamor of the boys, however, and the anticipation of a triumph over his rival overruled his objections, and he said:

“I’ll try a race across the pond, if you insist upon it.”

“What do you say, Tom?” asked Harry. “I am ready,” said Tom, promptly. “Just wait a minute till I tighten my skates.”

“Won’t you use mine?” asked Harry.

“I object to that,” said Rupert.

“That will place you on equal terms.”

“I doubt that,” said Rupert, with a sneer which made his meaning plain.

“I will use the skates I have on,” said Tom, quietly.

“Clear the track!” exclaimed Harry.

The two boys took their positions side by side, both eager for the race.