“GO TO California!” exclaimed Mrs. Thatcher, in dismay, when Tom had finished his story. “You surely can’t be in earnest, Tom?”

“Why, not, mother? Remember, there is a bag of gold dust somewhere there which belongs to us. If my father knows what is going on here, don’t you think it would be a relief to him to know that this money was in our hands? When he was gathering it he was thinking of us. It was for our sakes that he went so far from home, and thus far his labor has brought us no advantage.”

Tom spoke earnestly, and his mother was somewhat impressed by his words. Still she had a mother’s reluctance to have her only boy leave her on a distant trip for an uncertain period.

“Of course, I wouldn’t go if you and Tillie were likely to suffer,” continued Tom. “But I shall be able to leave with you as much money as I earned in the whole of last year, besides buying you some dresses, and so on, before I go.”

“I can’t understand where all this money comes from, Tom,” said Mrs. Thatcher, in a puzzled tone.

“I am not at liberty to tell you, mother; I can only say it is given me for the special purpose of making this journey.”

“But who could possibly care so much about your going to California.”

“It is some one who once knew father, and knew about the bag of gold dust being concealed.”

“It seems very strange.”

“So it does, mother. It seems very strange to me. But shall I reject a piece of good fortune because it seems strange?”

“I can’t look on it as good fortune to be separated from my boy.”

“Of course, mother, we shall miss each other, but a year or perhaps less, will soon pass, and we can be together once more. I will hire a boy to come and prepare the wood and do errands for you. Charlie Bates will be willing to do it, I know, and I will make it worth his while.”

“It won’t be necessary, Tom. If you go away I shall not live in this house.”

“Not live in this house!” exclaimed Tom, surprised in turn.

“No, I have other views,” said Mrs. Thatcher, in a tone which quite mystified Tom.

“While you have been away, Tom, I, too, have had a proposal made to me.”

“A proposal, mother! Surely you will not marry again?”

“You are a foolish boy,” said his mother, smiling. “The proposal is of quite a different character.”

“What is it, mother?”

“You remember that Mr. Hiram Bacon lost his wife a year since,” said Mrs. Thatcher. “Since then his daughter has been keeping house for him. Now she is to be married, and will move out of town. He came here this afternoon to ask me to become his housekeeper.”

“But what is to become of Tillie?”

“She is to be with me. He says he would rather have her than not, as he likes to see children about the house. He also offered to take you, and let you pay your expenses by working on the farm. He agreed to pay you a dollar a week, besides board. Now, Tom, think how comfortable we might all be, if you would give up the idea of going to California, and settle down here.”

“I shouldn’t like it, mother. Farming wouldn’t suit me. If I give up the plan of going to California, I have a situation offered me in New York.”

“Accept it then, Tom. It will be much better for you than going so far from home.”

But Tom finally persuaded his mother that it would be expedient for him to go to California, promising when he returned to settle down near home.

That same evening he went to the minister’s house, and handed over the money which he had collected, and resigned his position as copyist.

“I am glad you have found some better employment, my boy,” said the minister. “As to this plan of yours I think it rather hazardous for a boy of your age to go so far away; but I pray God to bless you, to fulfill your desires, and bring you safe home!” Tom had imparted his designation confidentially to the minister’s family, knowing the kind interest which they each and all, felt in him, but he had no intention of making it generally known, as it would then reach the ears of John Simpson, and probably excite his suspicions.

It was not possible, however, wholly to suppress the news of his departure. In due course, therefore, it came to the knowledge of Rupert Simpson, who undertook to learn more from Tom himself.

“Is it true that you are going to leave Wilton?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered Tom, briefly.

“I thought you’d have to. You couldn’t get work here.”

“I can do better elsewhere.”

“Where are you going?”

“To New York, first.”

“Oh, I see—you’ll set up as a bootblack,” sneered Rupert.

“If I did I would offer you a partnership.”

“Don’t be impudent,” said Rupert, reddening.

“I generally repay compliments in kind, Rupert. As you are so anxious about my prospects, I may say that a Pearl Street merchant has offered me a place.”

“Then you expect to live in New York—as long as you keep your situation?”

“No; I shall travel at first.”

“Indeed! Where?”

“I shall probably go West.” This was all that Rupert was able to elicit from Tom.

He faithfully reported it to his father. John Simpson was relieved to hear that Tom was to leave Wilton. Had he known that our hero was going to California his feeling would have been very different. As it was, he concluded that Tom had undertaken the business of traveling-agent for some firm.

“He won’t make his fortune at it,” said he, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a poor business.”

“I am glad of that,” said Rupert. “I hope he’ll come back in rags.”