THE horseman came in sight a moment later, and Dan looked at him in the greatest amazement. It was his brother David; but what a change had come over him since Dan last saw him at the cabin! If he was always dressed as he was now, the people in the settlement could no longer speak of him as “that ragamuffin, Dave Evans.” He wore a new suit of gray jeans, a pair of serviceable boots without a hole in them, and—which Dan did not fail to notice—were neatly blacked, a wide-brimmed felt hat, and, more wonderful than all, a collar and necktie. He was mounted on a high-stepping colt which Dan had often seen running in General Gordon’s stable-lot, had a saddle and bridle that looked as though they might just have come out of the store; and, strapped to the saddle was a mail-bag which Dan had seen so often that he recognised it at once. David passed swiftly along the road and was out of sight in a few seconds, but Dan had plenty of time to take in all these little details, and to note that his brother’s face wore a happy, contented look, as if he felt at peace with himself and all the world. Dan contrasted his situation with his own, and grew angry at once.

“Wal,” said he, as soon as he had recovered from his astonishment, “if that thar little Dave of our’n hain’t got to be a mail carrier! I done heared that the ole one was agoin’ to quit, but who’d a thought that one of our tribe would a stepped into his boots? Boots, mind ye; an’ them’s something me an’ Dave never owned afore. He must be makin’ stacks of greenbacks, as much as ten or twelve dollars a month, mebbe,” added Dan, laying down his rifle and leaning half way over the fence to take another view of the boy who was lucky enough to be earning money so rapidly. “Now, I’ll jest tell ye what’s the gospel truth: things must be lookin’ up to hum right peart when thar’s that much comin’ in.”

Dan forgot that he was hungry, and did not give another thought to the hen-roost he had made up his mind to rob that night. He went back into the woods and wandered aimlessly about, paying no heed to the direction he was taking, and was presently aroused from his reverie by the sound of an axe. He looked up and was surprised and a little alarmed to find that he was in the neighborhood of his home. The potato cellar, which had once served as a prison for Don Gordon, was close in front of him, and through the tall trees, which the autumnal winds had already stripped bare of leaves, he could see the cabin.

Dan was about to turn away and plunge into the woods again, when, he noticed that there was some one at work in the yard behind the house. He was sure that it could not be his brother, for David had not yet had time to go to the landing and deliver his mail. It could not be his father either, for Godfrey was hiding in the woods as well as himself; and besides, the man who was at work in the yard wore a white shirt—Dan could see it plainly through the trees—and that was something Godfrey had not owned for long years. But Dan wanted to see who it was, so he crept nearer to the fence, and when he obtained a fair view of the workman he almost let his rifle fall out of his hands in his astonishment. It was his father after all; but Dan could hardly bring himself to believe it until he had rubbed his eyes two or three times and taken as many good looks at him. Godfrey was dressed like a gentleman. There was not a hole to be seen in any of his garments, his hair and whiskers were neatly combed, he wore a hat with a brim to it on his head, boots instead of shoes on his feet, and, what surprised Dan more than anything else, his sleeves were rolled up and he was walking into the wood-pile as if he were in earnest. Two or three times while the boy was looking at him he stopped, took off his hat and wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

“Wal, of all the things I ever heared tell on this yere is the beatenest,” thought Dan, as soon as his mind had become settled so that he could think at all. “Looks like pap in the face, but don’t act like I ever seed him act afore.”

Dan took another good look at his father and asked himself what in the world could have happened to bring him home and set him to work; and while he was revolving the problem in his mind he ran his eye about the premises and saw that sundry little improvements had been made during his absence. The little log structure which was called the corn-crib, although Dan had never seen any corn in it, had been thoroughly repaired, and the golden ears protruded from every crack between the slats, showing that it was well filled. The miserable apology for a stable which sheltered the only mule Godfrey owned had been newly covered; a little shed had been erected against the rear wall of the cabin and was filled to the roof with dry fire-wood; the holes in the house had been freshly chinked; the rags had disappeared from the windows, their places being supplied with new lights of glass; the chips and other rubbish that had for so many years been accumulating in the back yard had been cleared away; and in short, the place looked, as Godfrey would have expressed it, as though white folks lived there. The change was so great that Dan could hardly argue himself into the belief that it was his old home; and when his mother came down the road, as she did a few minutes later, he became fully convinced that he was either dreaming or else that his eyes and ears had entered into a conspiracy to deceive him. As soon as Godfrey saw his wife coming he jumped over the fence and took the heavy basket she was carrying out of her hand.

“Why, Godfrey, how nice things begin to look,” exclaimed Mrs. Evans, and Dan could not remember when he had seen her smile before.

“Don’t they, though,” replied Godfrey. “I tell ye, Susie, I haint felt so peart since the good ole days when we had niggers to do our work for us. It’s a heap of comfort to know that yer a trifle forehanded, aint it? The critters is well provided with shelter an’ corn; thar’s taters enough in the cellar an’ bacon enough in the smoke-house to run us till I kin ’arn some more; the shed is full of fire-wood; an’ now it kin blow an’ snow an’ freeze jest as soon as it dog-gone pleases!”

Godfrey and his wife went into the cabin, and Dan turned about and crept back into the woods. “Things is a lookin’ up to hum right peart,” said he, to himself, as he sat down on a log to think over what had just transpired. “Pap’s got a pair of store boots; Dave’s mail carrier; mam looks like a lady; thar’s glass windows to the house, an’ here’s me—jest look at me!” added Dan, glancing down at his ragged clothes. “Now I’ll tell ye what’s the gospel truth: Pap’s the feller that crept up an’ stole them greenbacks while I was out shootin’ that squirrel,” continued Dan, who just then forgot the conclusions at which he had arrived when he found the print of the boot-heel in the soft earth. “He was afeared to spend the money, so he brings it back to Dave, makes up with him an’ the ole woman, an’ everything goes as slick as ’lasses, an’ nobody don’t care no more for me nor if I wasn’t Dan at all.”

There are boys, and men, too, in the world who can not bear to see other people happy, and we are by this time well enough acquainted with Dan to know that he was one of this class. He was not happy—he could not be with his disposition—and it would have afforded him infinite satisfaction if he could have found some way to render his relations, who now seemed to be getting on so nicely in the world, as miserable as he was himself. It hurt him to know that they could enjoy themselves while he was away from home. Why didn’t they come out into the woods and search for him, and when they found him take him to the cabin, put good clothes on him and act as though they were glad to see him? “That’s what they had oughter do,” exclaimed Dan, “an’ to pay ’em for not doin’ it I just wish I had them hundred and sixty dollars now. I’d like to see Dave get ’em again.”

Dan scraped a few dry leaves together under the lee of the log, and went supperless to bed that night. He lay almost within a stone’s throw of the cabin, and could hear the door slam every time any one passed in or out. He fell asleep just before daylight, and when he awoke he started up in great confusion, for he saw his brother sitting on a log near him. Dan was not more surprised to find him there than he was to notice that he had on another suit of clothes and a pair of warm mittens. David must be getting rich.

“Dan, you don’t know how glad I am to see you again,” said David, as soon as his brother was fairly awake. “Where in the world have you kept yourself? Father and I have been in the woods every day looking for you, but could find no traces of you.”

This announcement arrested the angry words that arose to Dan’s lips. He must have been missed at home, or else his father and brother would not have spent time in looking for him.

“You shake as though you were half frozen,” continued David, glancing at his brother’s blue cold hands and face. “Get up and come into the house with me. There’s a good fire there.”

“Wal, I dunno,” replied Dan, sitting up on his bed of leaves, and speaking as plainly as his chattering teeth would permit. “Mebbe I ain’t wanted thar.”

“Why, yes, you are, What put that notion into your head?”

“Ye heared me tell pap whar yer money was, I reckon, didn’t ye?”

“Of course I did; but I don’t bear you any ill will for that.”

“Nor mam, nuther?”

“No, nor mother, either. I wish I had never earned the money, for it has made us a world of trouble. But, we’ve, begun all over again, and are going to do better, all of us. Come on, now, Dan; mother wants to see you, and so does father.”

But Dan didn’t know whether to come on or not. He felt that he had forfeited all right to his home, and that he would be justly punished if he were never permitted to cross the threshold again. But, he was cold, hungry, and utterly discouraged; and, after David had argued with him a few minutes longer, he allowed him to lift him to his feet and lead him toward the cabin. He hesitated at the door, but David pushed him in, and Dan was not a little astonished at the reception that was extended to him. His mother kissed him and cried over him, his father wrung his hand until Dan was almost ready to cry himself, and then he was placed in a chair in the warmest corner. As soon as he could handle a knife and fork, a plate filled with the most substantial breakfast he had ever eaten under that roof was passed over to him, and Dan did ample justice to it. He was left pretty nearly to himself, for the family, knowing what his feelings must be, did not trouble him with any questions. He sat in his chair—it was a chair, too, he noticed, and not a nail-keg with a board placed over the top of it—with his head hanging down and his chin resting on his breast; but his eyes were roving everywhere, and they found much to excite his wonder. The cabin had been furnished with a new table and a few chairs during his absence; two comfortable beds had taken the places of the miserable “shake-downs;” the cracked and broken dishes had given way to new ones, and everything was as neat as it could be kept. Dan felt out of place there.

When Godfrey and David had finished their breakfast they sat down in front of the fire to whet their axes, after which the former, with the remark that they had a hundred cords of wood to cut for General Gordon, bade his wife and Dan good-bye, and the two left the cabin. Dan felt much more at his ease after they were gone. The nice, warm breakfast he had eaten, and the thorough thawing-out he had undergone, brought his spirits back to him again, and he began to make some inquiries in regard to several little matters that had aroused his curiosity.

“Say, mam,” said he, “what brung pap hum?”

“The general was the cause of his coming home,” replied Mrs. Evans. “He found your father in the woods, and talked to him in such a way that he promised to come back and turn over a new leaf; and I am glad to say that he has done it.”

There was one thing Mrs. Evans did not tell Dan, (probably she was not acquainted with the fact herself), and that was, that if Godfrey had not taken his old commander’s advice, and returned to his home and gone to work in earnest to support his family, he would have been in jail before another day had passed over his head. Godfrey himself did not know this, for the general had made no threats. He had gained his point by argument.

“How come Dave carryin’ the mail?” asked Dan.

“The general has the contract, and he hires David to do the work,” was the answer.

“He must be makin’ a pile of money, I reckon, aint he?”

“Thirty dollars a month.”

Dan opened his eyes in great surprise. “How much’ll that be in a year?” he asked.

“Three hundred and sixty dollars.”

“Whew! We’re gittin’ rich, aint we, mam?”

“O, no! There’s not a cent coming into the family except what your father and David earn by their daily labor. David is heavily in debt.”

“How came us by all these yere nice things then?”

“Well, David had just fifty dollars in money. Ten dollars of it he earned by breaking Don Gordon’s pointer, and the rest he received from Silas Jones for two young bears that were caught in that trap on Bruin’s Island. Some of the money was used to pay our grocery bill, and the rest was spent on the house. David owes the general a hundred dollars for that colt he rides, and he is worth every cent of two hundred.”

“Wal now, mam,” said Dan, with some hesitation, “that ain’t all the money we’uns have got. Whar’s them greenbacks Dave got fur ketchin’ them quails?”

“Why, didn’t you cut your father’s pocket open and take the box?” asked Mrs. Evans, while an expression that Dan could not understand settled on her face.

“I did, an’ sarved him right, too, fur tryin’ to cheat me outen my share that he promised, honor bright, to give me!” exclaimed Dan. “Didn’t he give it back to Dave?”

“He certainly did not.”

“Wal, I don’t know whar it is, more’n the man in the moon.”

Mrs. Evans’ face grew a shade paler, and, after looking steadily at Dan for a few seconds, she leaned back in her chair and covered her eyes with her hand. Here was another disappointment in store for the young mail carrier. He and his parents had been indulging in the hope that, when Dan returned to his home, the money for which Dave had worked so hard would be restored to him. Dan thought, by the way his mother looked at him, that she did not believe his story, so he hastened to assure her that he told nothing but the truth, following it up with a minute account of the manner in which the thief—whoever he was—had operated to secure possession of the box. His mother was satisfied that he stated the facts as they occurred, and there the matter was dropped.

David learned of the loss of his money when he came home that night, and although it was a severe blow to him he bore up under it, rode his mail route regularly twice a week and spent the other four days in helping his father cut General Gordon’s wood. Dan loitered about the house doing nothing, and finally began to act a little more like himself. The feeling that he had lost all his rights to a home under his father’s roof gradually gave away to the opinion that he was of vastly more importance than anybody else. One day he said to his mother—

“Now, mam, I’ve waited just long enough for ’em. I don’t want to be treated this yere way no longer. Ye hear me?”

“You have waited long enough for what?” asked his mother.

“Fur my good clothes an’ a pair of store boots like Dave an’ pap have got.”

“You can have them just as soon as you earn them.”

“’Arn ’em!”

“Certainly. That is the way your father and David got theirs.”

“An’ how long did it take ’em?” asked Dan, who was not a little shocked and enraged to learn that he must work for his nice things before he could own them.

“About a week. You ought to earn a dollar a day by cutting wood, and the general will give you all the work you can do.”

“An’ while I am workin’ down thar must I wear these yere rags?” exclaimed Dan. “I’d look purty if Don an’ Bert should come along on them circus hosses of their’n, an’ wearin’ their shiny boots an’ nice clothes, wouldn’t I? No, sir! I must have something better fust. I’ll speak to Dave about it jest as soon as he comes home to-night.”

“Why, David can’t help you,” replied his mother. “He has to work hard for everything he wears.”

“Can’t help me?” yelled Dan, “an’ him ’arnin’ a’most four hundred dollars a year! Ye don’t think no more of me in this house nor if I was a yaller dog. His credit is good at the store fur six months, kase I done heared Silas tell him so.”

But Dan didn’t speak to David about it, for his father spoke to him. When Godfrey came home that night he carried on his shoulder two axes, one of which looked as though it had just come out of the store. He put his own axe in the corner where it was usually kept, and with the new one in his hand he approached Dan’s chair. “Thar, sonny,” said he, cheerfully, “see what a nice present I brung ye. It’s the fust one I’ve give ye in a long time, aint it? Take hold on it. ’Twon’t hurt ye.”

“What shall I do with it, pap?” asked the boy, as he took the axe in both hands, holding it as awkwardly as though he had never touched one before.

“Wal, Dannie, I’ll tell ye,” replied Godfrey, placing his hand on his son’s shoulder and speaking in a confidential tone. “When the gen’ral found me loafin’ about in the woods like a lazy wagabone as I was, he says to me: ‘Godfrey,’ says he, ‘this is the principle we go on up to our house: them as don’t work can’t eat!’ I’ve thought of them words a heap of times since I come home, an’ I made up my mind that if rich folks do that way, poor folks had oughter, too. Now, I notus that yer amazin’ willin’ to set here in this yere cheer an’ warm yourself by the fire that Dave makes up every mornin’, an’ yer scandalous fond of drinkin’ the store-tea an’ coffee made outen the water that he brings from the spring; but I never seed ye cut no wood yerself nor tote no water. Now, sich doin’s as them won’t work in this yere house no longer. Ye’ve had a powerful long rest, an’ to-morrer mornin’ I want to see that thar new axe sharper’n a razor, so’t ye kin go with me an’ Dave to chop wood up to the gen’ral’s.”

Dan listened to this speech in silence, and could not muster up courage enough to make an impertinent reply, as he certainly would have done if his father had talked to him in this way a month before. But his father had never before talked to him in this way. If he had yelled and flourished his fists and jumped up and knocked his heels together, Dan would have met him half way; but he could not understand this quiet, earnest manner that Godfrey seemed to have fallen into of late. He didn’t like it either, for he was sure that it meant business. At any rate, the axe was sharpened that night with David’s assistance, and at daylight the next morning Dan might have been seen in company with his father and David wending his way toward the general’s wood lot.

Order having been rËestablished under Godfrey’s humble roof, and the Evans family being once more on the road to prosperity, the little settlement of Rochdale, which had been stirred from centre to circumference by the incidents, exciting and amusing, that we have attempted to describe in this series of books, once more fell back into its old habits, and peace and quietness reigned. The settlers, like so many hibernating animals, seemed to have crawled into their holes for their winter’s sleep, and only showed themselves to the world on mail-days, or when five long whistles announced that some steamer was about to touch at the landing. On these occasions it was remarked that two persons, who had never been known to miss a boat or a mail-day, no matter what the weather might be, were never seen at the landing now. They were Godfrey Evans and Dan. The latter, at first, would have been glad to resume his lazy habits, but his father kept him steadily at work, and at the end of the first week presented him with the money he had earned. This was a great encouragement to Dan, and from that time forward work was not quite so distasteful to him. Dan doesn’t hunt as much now as he did a few months ago, and neither does he own a breech-loading shot-gun; but he is a thrifty, hard-working boy, and has placed a very nice little sum of money in Don Gordon’s hands for safe-keeping, besides refunding that ten dollars, the loss of which had occasioned David so much trouble and anxiety.

As for Godfrey, there was no sham about his reformation. He went to work in earnest to make amends for the long years he had spent in idleness, and, in order that he might begin right, he told the general the story of that highway robbery, and handed over to him the first twenty dollars he could save out of his earnings, with the request that it might be forwarded to Clarence Gordon’s father. Then he breathed easier. He felt as if a mountain had been removed from his shoulders.

Don and Bert Gordon kept on the even tenor of their way, and, having seen David established as mail carrier, set to work, with the assistance of Fred and Joe Packard, to build another shooting-box on the site of the one that was burned by Lester Brigham and Bob Owens. They knew now that it was not Godfrey Evans who set fire to it, for their father told them so: but he did not tell them who the guilty ones were, and they never tried to find out. The new shooting-box was finished in a week’s time, and, as Don had predicted, it threw the old one far into the shade. Lester Brigham went over there one night to look at it, but he left it just as he found it. Lester was not the boy he was once. He was as much alone in the world as though there had not been another youth of his age within a hundred miles of him. How he passed his time no one knew or cared to ask. He often thought of his old friend, Bob Owens, and wondered what had become of him. Of course everybody knew that he had run away from home, but no one dreamed that he took David’s money with him when he went. The general impression seemed to be that Godfrey and Dan could produce it at any moment, if they saw fit to do so.

David faithfully fulfilled the duties of mail carrier during the winter, and at the end of six months he was all out of debt, and had a nice little sum of money laid by for a rainy day. One morning he rode down to the post-office after the mail that was to be carried to the county-seat, and Silas Jones handed him the following note, which he read as he galloped along:

“Friend David:

It may surprise you to know that father has just turned over to me the hundred dollars you paid him for that colt, and that I hold it subject to your order. Father intended to return it to you all the time, and to make you a present of the horse; but he didn’t let anybody know it, for he wanted you to believe that you had got to work for your nag before you could own him. He doesn’t want you to get into the way of leaning upon any one, or of thinking that you will always have a friend to lend you a hand when you get into a tight place. You have shown him that you are able and willing to take care of yourself, and so he wants to help you.

Yours,

Don Gordon.”

It was, indeed, a surprise to David. He was just a hundred dollars richer than he thought he was. During his ride he could think of nothing but the general’s kindness, and he made the mental resolution that he would prove himself worthy of it. When he returned to the landing that afternoon, he waited until Silas had distributed the mail, in order to purchase some groceries for his mother, and found that there was another surprise in store for him. When the postmaster gave him the general’s mail, which David always carried home now, he gave him also a letter addressed to himself. He did not recognise the handwriting, so he did as a good many people do when they receive letters from an unknown source: he looked at the envelope, and tried to guess whom it was from. Then he put the general’s mail into his pocket, took his purchases under his arm, mounted his horse, and having started him toward home pulled out the letter again and tore off the envelope. The first thing that caught his eye was a check for fifty dollars.

“There!” exclaimed the young mail carrier, “I’ve opened a letter intended for somebody else; but if there’s another Dave Evans about here, I don’t know him.”

David looked at the check again, then at the signature at the bottom of the letter. It was from Bob Owens, and read as follows:

“No doubt you will be surprised when you receive this, for I don’t suppose that you or anybody else in Rochdale ever expected to hear from me again. I owe you a hundred and sixty dollars and fifty cents, and hand you herewith a check for fifty of it. It is the first money I ever earned in my life. I should have been glad to send it before, but this is the first I have received. I am a private soldier in the regular army. My pay is small, and out of it I have to buy everything I wear, so my savings do not amount to any great sum. You probably know by this time how I came into possession of the money. I followed Dan to his camp, saw him hide the box under a log, and go out to shoot a squirrel for his breakfast. When he was out of sight I slipped up and took the box, and ran away from home to spend the money. I have never regretted the act but once, and that has been every moment I have lived since I left Mississippi. I hope you have not suffered for want of the money. Have all the patience with me you can, and I will send you the rest just as soon as I can earn it.”

Then followed a postscript requesting David to acknowledge the receipt of the money, and telling him where to send his letter. It also contained the information that Bob had just written a letter to his father (he said he knew he did wrong in keeping him in suspense so long, but he could not find it in his heart to write to him until he could tell him that he had taken the first step toward making amends for some of his misdeeds), and, for fear that the letter might miscarry, he (Bob) would be glad if David would see Mr. Owens, and give him his son’s address.

“That clears Dan, and father, too,” said David, as soon as he had found his tongue. “I didn’t want to think hard of them while they are trying their best to do what is right, but somehow I couldn’t help feeling that that money was hidden in the woods, and that it would some day be brought out for the benefit of somebody besides mother and myself. Am I not the luckiest fellow in the world? Whatever else Bob Owens may be now, he is an honest boy.”

This was the opinion of everybody who heard of this act of reparation on the part of the runaway. It made him more popular in the settlement than he had ever been while he was at home. People now remembered of reading in the newspapers a long account of the coolness and courage he had exhibited on the night the Sam Kendall was burned; and some of those who had had the most to say about Bob, when he first ran away, now began to see that there were some good things in him, and predicted that he would come out all right in the end. Bob is in the army now. He is on the plains, among the Indians, right where he wanted to be; but he would be glad, indeed, if he were a long way from there. The only thing that prevented him from being with General Custer, when that gallant soldier and his command were massacred by Sitting Bull and his warriors, was the receipt of an order, that very morning, detailing him as one of the guard of a wagon-train. Bob doesn’t think as much of that wild country as he did once. His feelings have undergone a very great change since the day he stole the money belonging to the Mail Carrier.

No author of the present day has become a greater favorite with boys than “Harry Castlemon,” every book by him is sure to meet with hearty reception by young readers generally. His naturalness and vivacity leads his readers from page to page with breathless interest, and when one volume is finished the fascinated reader, like Oliver Twist, asks “for more.”

GUNBOAT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 6 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $7 50

(Sold separately.)

Frank the Young Naturalist. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Frank in the Woods. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Frank on the Prairie. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Frank on a Gunboat. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Frank before Vicksburg. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Frank on the Lower Mississippi. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

GO AHEAD SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 4 50

(Sold separately.)

Go Ahead; or, The Fisher Boy’s Motto. Illustrated. 16mo. $1 50

No Moss; or, The Career of a Rolling Stone. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Tom Newcombe; or, The Boy of Bad Habits. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75

(Sold separately.)

Frank at Don Carlos’ Rancho. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Frank among the Rancheros. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Frank in the Mountains. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

SPORTSMAN’S CLUB SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75

(Sold separately.)

The Sportsman’s Club in the Saddle. Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 1 25

The Sportsman’s Club Afloat. Being the 2d volume of the “Sportsman’s Club Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 1 25

The Sportsman’s Club among the Trappers. Being the 3d volume of the “Sportsman’s Club Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 1 25

FRANK NELSON SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75

(Sold separately.)

Snowed up; or, The Sportsman’s Club in the Mountains. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Frank Nelson in the Forecastle; or, the Sportsman’s Club among the Whalers. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

The Boy Traders; or, The Sportsman’s Club among the Boers. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

BOY TRAPPER SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $3 75

(Sold separately.)

The Buried Treasure; or, Old Jordan’s “Haunt.” Being the 1st volume of the “Boy Trapper Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

The Boy Trapper; or, How Dave filled the Order. Being the 2d volume of the “Boy Trapper Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

The Mail Carrier. Being the 3d and concluding volume of the “Boy Trapper Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

ROUGHING IT SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75

(Sold separately.)

George in Camp; or, Life on the Plains. Being the 1st volume of the “Roughing It Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

George at the Wheel; or, Life in a Pilot-House. Being the 2d volume of the “Roughing It Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

George at the Fort; or, Life Among the Soldiers. Being the 3d and concluding volume of the “Roughing It Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

ROD AND GUN SERIES. By Harry Castlemon. In box containing the following. 3 vols. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75

(Sold separately).

Don Gordon’s Shooting-Box. Being the 1st volume of the “Rod and Gun Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Rod and Gun. Being the second volume of the “Rod and Gun Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

The Young Wild Flowers. Being the third volume of the “Rod and Gun Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Horatio Alger, Jr., has attained distinction as one of the most popular writers of books for boys, and the following list comprises all of his best books.

RAGGED DICK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 6 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $7 50

(Sold separately.)

Ragged Dick; or, Street Life in New York. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Mark the Match Boy; or, Richard Hunter’s Ward. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Rough and Ready; or, Life among the New York Newsboys. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Ben the Luggage Boy; or, Among the Wharves. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Rufus and Rose; or, The Fortunes of Rough and Ready. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

TATTERED TOM SERIES. (First Series.) By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 5 00

(Sold separately.)

Tattered Tom; or, The Story of a Street Arab. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Paul the Peddler; or, The Adventures of a Young Street Merchant. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Phil the Fiddler; or, The Young Street Musician. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Slow and Sure; or, From the Sidewalk to the Shop. Illustrated. 16mo. $1 25

TATTERED TOM SERIES. (Second Series.) In box containing the following. 4 vols. Cloth, extra, black and gold 5 00

(Sold separately.)

Julius; or, The Street Boy Out West. Illust’d. 16mo. 1 25

The Young Outlaw; or, Adrift in the World. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Sam’s Chance and How He Improved it. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

The Telegraph Boy. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (First Series.) By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 6 00

(Sold separately.)

Luck and Pluck; or, John Oakley’s Inheritance. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Sink or Swim; or, Harry Raymond’s Resolve. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Strong and Steady; or, Paddle Your Own Canoe. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Strive and Succeed; or, The Progress of Walter Conrad. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. (Second Series.) In box containing the following. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 6 00

(Sold separately.)

Try and Trust; or, The Story of a Bound Boy. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Bound to Rise; or, How Harry Walton Rose in the World. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Risen from the Ranks; or, Harry Walton’s Success. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Herbert Carter’s Legacy; or, The Inventor’s Son. Illustrated, 16mo. 1 50

BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold $6 00

(Sold separately.)

Brave and Bold; or, The Story of a Factory Boy. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Jack’s Ward; or, The Boy Guardian. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Shifting for Himself; or, Gilbert Greyson’s Fortunes. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

Wait and Hope; or, Ben Bradford’s Motto. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 50

CAMPAIGN SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr., in box containing the following. 3 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 3 75

(Sold separately.)

Frank’s Campaign; or, the Farm and the Camp. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Paul Prescott’s Charge. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Charlie Codman’s Cruise. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

PACIFIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 5 00

(Sold separately.)

The Young Adventurer; or, Tom’s Trip Across the Plains. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

The Young Miner; or, Tom Nelson in California. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

The Young Explorer; or, Among the Sierras. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

Ben’s Nugget; or, A Boy’s Search for Fortune. A Story of the Pacific Coast. Illustrated. 16mo. 1 25

The Young Circus Rider; or, The Mystery of Robert Rudd. Being the 1st volume of the “Atlantic Series.” Illustrated. 16mo. Cloth, extra, black and gold 1 25

• Transcriber’s Notes:
  • Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
  • Typographical errors were silently corrected.
  • Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation was made consistent only when a predominant form was found in this book.