Making His Mark

On their way through the village they passed a drug-store.

"I suppose no soda water is to be had in a town like this," said Abel, with a quiet smile.

"Yes; we can get some in the drug-store. If you will come in I shall be glad to offer you some."

"I don't mind," replied Abel, who seldom declined a treat.

They entered the store and were speedily supplied. Gerald drew a dollar bill from his vest-pocket and paid the bill.

"I wonder how much money he carries round with him?" thought Abel. "I must ask mother."

"Now I guess we'll go home. I feel tired after my journey."

"Very well."

"Where did you go?" asked Mrs. Lane, when they re-entered the house.

"I took Abel round the village, Mrs. Lane."

"And what do you think of it, Abel?" asked his mother.

"Oh, it'll do; but I'd rather live in the city."

"The city would naturally be more attractive to a young person. You prefer it to Fulton, I hope?"

"Yes; I hope I shall never go back there. I hate boarding-school."

"I hope you don't hate study. At your age you can hardly have a sufficient education. There is a good academy here. I should like to have you attend next term."

"Perhaps I will," said Abel, vaguely; "but I want to rest a while."

When Gerald left the room he said:

"Gerald treated me to some soda water."

"Did he?"

"Yes, and he took out a dollar bill to pay for it. Do you allow him much money?"

"No; he won't have as much as you."

"I should hope not. He's only your stepson."

"I am quite aware of that, and so is he."

"Does he attend the academy?"

"He has been doing so; but I have decided to withdraw him and put him to work."

"Where? In a shoe shop?"

"No. Mr. Tubbs, a grocer in the village, has agreed to take him."

"That's a good arrangement. He hasn't any money, and ought to work for a living like that Holman boy I met."

"Did you meet John Holman?"

"Yes. Who is he?"

"His mother is one of my tenants; but if she doesn't pay a month's rent on Monday I shall turn her out."

"That's right, mother. Business is business. I wish I were going to sleep in that large room to-night."

"You shall go into it to-morrow."

"I expect Gerald will make a fuss," chuckled Abel.

"No doubt he will."

"But you won't give in to him, will you, mother? You won't forget that I am to have the best of everything?"

"Yes, my darling; I will see that you are well provided for," said Mrs. Lane, fondly.

CHAPTER VII

A PLEBEIAN RELATIVE

On Sunday the family attended church. Many curious glances were fixed on the Lane's pew, and there was a general wonder who the new boy was. Abel was not at all troubled by this scrutiny, but held up his head and assumed airs of importance.

"Who is that new boy, Gerald?" asked Harry Lovell.

"It is Abel Tyler—Mrs. Lane's son."

"I never knew she had a son."

"Nor did I till lately."

"Is he going to live here?"

"I suppose so."

"I don't think I shall like him."

"Why not?" Gerald asked.

"He looks disagreeable. Do you like him?"

"I haven't made up my mind. He only came yesterday. We must give him a chance."

Toward evening Mrs. Lane said:

"Gerald, I am going to transfer you to the small room, and give your present room to Abel."

Gerald had a good temper ordinarily, but his eyes flashed with indignation.

"Why is this, Mrs. Lane?" he demanded.

"I don't acknowledge your right to question or criticise my arrangements," said his stepmother, coldly.

"Mrs. Lane, that room has always been mine. My father gave it to me when I was eight years old, and I have occupied it ever since. Abel is a stranger in the house. Why should my room be given to him?"

"When your father was alive he made such arrangements as he chose for you. He is dead, and his authority has descended to me."

"There is no justice in this change," said Gerald, bitterly, for he was attached to his chamber, and it was endeared to him by many associations.

"I don't want to hear any more on the subject," said Mrs. Lane, decisively. "I have made the change for good and sufficient reasons and nothing that you can say will alter my plan."

"That's right, ma," put in Abel. "Of course it is for you to say. I wouldn't stand any impudence."

"Nor will I," retorted Gerald, and he looked so fierce and determined that Abel shrank back in momentary fear of an attack.

"Enough of this," said Mrs. Lane, coldly. "Gerald, you will find that your trunk and clothing have been carried into the small room. You will get used to it in time."

"If this injustice continues," Gerald said to himself, "I may decide to leave my old home and strike out for myself."

He resolved, however, not to act hastily, but for the present to accommodate himself to the new arrangements. It was hard to bear Abel's triumphant glance as he walked into the larger room, which had so long been his own.

During the week following Gerald did not attend school. If, as seemed likely, a long season of hard work lay before him, he would have a preliminary vacation. A good deal of his time he spent in his dory, as he was very fond of the water and was a skilful oarsman. Two or three times Abel accompanied him and showed an ambition to use the oars; but, not being accustomed to rowing, he one day upset the boat, and might have been drowned but for the timely assistance rendered by Gerald. This seemed to disgust him with the water, and he gave up the idea of asking his mother for a sail-boat. Gerald was not sorry to lose his company, especially as his place was frequently taken by John Holman, who was now back again in the shoe shop, but only working on half-time.

One afternoon, after leaving the boat, Gerald was on his way home when he was accosted by a stranger—a stout, muscular man, roughly dressed, who looked like a laboring man.

"Are you acquainted hereabout, young man?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"I have a sister living here somewhere, but as I have never been in Portville before I don't know where to find her."

"Perhaps I can direct you," said Gerald, politely. "What is her name?"

"Her first husband was a Tyler, but I hear she married a rich man in this town—his name was Lane, I'm told."

Gerald was amazed. Was it possible that this rough-looking man was the brother of his stepmother and the uncle of Abel? It must be so, for Abel's last name, as he recalled, was Tyler.

"You have come to the right person for information," he said. "Your sister married my father."

"You don't say! Well, that beats all. Is it true that my sister is again a widder?"

"Yes; my father is dead," said Gerald, gravely.

"And did he leave Melindy well fixed?" asked the stranger, vaguely.

"Yes."

Gerald did not feel like going into particulars. He felt too bitterly the injustice of his father's will to speak of its provisions before a stranger.

"Well, I'm glad on't. Melindy's first husband was a no-account sort of a man, and it's my belief he didn't leave her a hundred dollars. He was shif'less; and, besides, he drank."

So that was the man upon whom Abel must look as a father. Gerald felt glad to think that his father was a man of whom he had no reason to be ashamed.

"Have you seen your sister since—since her last marriage?" he asked, with some curiosity.

"No; I've never had an invitation to call upon her. I guess she was too much set up by her marriage to a rich man to notice a workin'-man. You see, I ain't one of your 'ristocrats—I'm only a blacksmith, and have to work hard for a living."

"You are none the worse for that, Mr.–" here Gerald hesitated, for he had not yet learned the name of his new acquaintance.

"Crane—Alonzo Crane—that's my name, young man. I'm glad you don't put on no airs, even if your father was a rich man. Do you know anything of my sister's son, Abel?"

"Yes, sir; he is in Portville, living with his mother."

"How do you like him?" Then, seeing that Gerald hesitated, he added: "You needn't mind telling me, for I ain't much stuck on the boy myself, even if he is my nephew."

"I don't like him much, Mr. Crane."

"I don't know anybody that does, except his mother. He and Melindy—that's his mother—have seen some pretty hard times. More'n once his mother has sent him to me for a little help when they hadn't a penny in the house."

This was news to Gerald, of course, but did not necessarily prejudice him against his stepmother and her son, but it made their present pretensions and airs rather ridiculous.

"Why haven't you been to call on your sister before?" he asked.

"Because she never invited me and I thought she wouldn't like to have her new husband see me."

"My father would have received you kindly, Mr. Crane."

"I am sure he would if you are like him. You ain't no kin to me, but I like you better already than Abel."

"Thank you, Mr. Crane."

"You needn't do that. It ain't sayin' much, for Abel, to my mind, is a disagreeable cub."

Gerald began to think that Mr. Crane, despite his relationship to Mrs. Lane and Abel, was a man of excellent sense.

"I wonder what sort of a welcome he will get," he thought.

He had considerable doubt whether it would be very cordial.

By this time they had reached a point in the road from which the Lane mansion was visible.

"That is where your sister lives," he said, pointing to it.

"You don't say! Well, it is a nice place. Melindy has feathered her nest pretty well."

"That is true enough," said Gerald to himself.

"It's lucky I fell in with you, young man. You didn't tell me your name."

"Gerald—I am Gerald Lane."

"I wish you was my nephew instead of Abel. How long has Abel been here?"

"Only since my father died."

"Melindy was sly. Like as not she never told your father she had a son."

"She said he knew it; but I never heard of Abel till a few days ago."

"It's likely she didn't tell him. Of course she wouldn't own it up to you."

"Do you live far away, Mr. Crane?"

"I live in the town of Gladwin, most sixty miles from here. I'm fifty years old, but I was never so far away from home before. I shouldn't have come now, only I've been unlucky. My shop burned down last week, and there warn't no insurance on it. Thinks I, Melindy is rich, and now is just the time when I need help. Don't you think she ought to help me?"

"Yes."

"I'm her only brother, and there's only two of us anyway. I've got a wife and two children at home, and they'll be pinched if I don't get help somewhere. Many's the time I've helped Melindy and Abel."

"Then you certainly have a claim upon Mrs. Lane."

They turned into the yard, and Gerald was about ushering his new acquaintance into the house, when Abel appeared at the door.

"Who are you bringing into the house, Gerald?" demanded Abel, sharply.

"Don't you know me, Abe?" asked Alonzo Crane, with an ingratiating smile.

"How should I?" asked Abel; but his face changed, for he did recognize his plebeian relative.

"This is your uncle," said Gerald, gravely. "Is your mother at home?"

CHAPTER VIII

A COLD RECEPTION

"I don't think she is," said Abel, reddening with mortification.

Just then Mrs. Lane's voice was heard from the head of the stairs.

"Who are you talking with, Abel?"

"It's me, Melindy—your brother Alonzo," said Mr. Crane.

Mrs. Lane descended the stairs slowly, looking very much annoyed. She was ashamed of her plebeian brother, and very much disturbed that Gerald should have seen him. It occurred to her to deny the relationship, but this seemed impracticable. So she said with an ill grace, not even offering her hand:

"What brought you here, Alonzo?"

"I reckon the cars brought me here, Melindy. It does me good to see you well fixed. You have feathered your nest well, I must say."

Mrs. Lane bit her lips.

"You can come in and sit down," she said. "I shall be glad if you will talk more like a gentleman."

"But I'm not a gentleman, Melindy. I am an honest, hard-working blacksmith. Carrie and the children send their love."

"I am obliged to them," said Mrs. Lane, stiffly. "I wonder you could get away from your work for a visit."

"Well, the truth is, Melindy, I'm in hard luck. My shop burned down day before yesterday, and I need money to build it up again."

"Wasn't it insured?" asked his sister, coldly.

"The insurance ran out a month ago. So I naturally thought of my only sister who is a rich woman, and I've come to ask a loan of two hundred dollars. That, I calculate, will set me on my feet again."

"The estate is not yet settled, and even if it were I should not feel at liberty to take Mr. Lane's money for such a purpose."

"I reckon you'll spend it on yourself and Abel, Melindy."

"My husband left a son."

"I know that, and he's a gentleman, too," said Mr. Crane, with a kindly glance at Gerald. "If he had money I am sure he would help me."

"Yes, Mr. Crane; I would," said Gerald.

"We won't discuss that matter now, Alonzo. As you are here, you can stay for the balance of the day."

"I shall have to stay till to-morrow, as there is no train from Portville till then. I hope you won't forget the help I gave you and Abel when you were first left a widder."

"It isn't very becoming to twit me with any little favors I may have accepted from you in the past," said Mrs. Lane. "If you want me to receive you in a friendly way, you must behave and talk differently."

As Mr. Crane went into the house, following his not over-cordial relative, Gerald walked away. He felt that he had no place in the family conclave, and was only sorry that it was not likely to prove very satisfactory to his new acquaintance.

He walked away, and, having nothing else to occupy his time, went to the lake and got into his rowboat. He rowed about lazily for half an hour when he heard a voice from the bank.

Looking up, he saw Alonzo Crane standing on the blink of the pond.

"Hello, Gerald!" he called out, "won't you give me a ride in your boat?"

"Certainly, Mr. Crane," and he rowed up to a little pier near where his new acquaintance was standing.

Alonzo Crane stepped into the boat and took a seat near the stern.

"This is a nice dory of yours," he said. "I always liked a rowboat, but I've been too busy in my business to use one. I don't think I've been in a boat for five years. Did my sister give it to you?"

"No," answered Gerald, hastily; "it was a gift from my father."

"I suppose, from what Melindy says, he left you most of his property?"

"She doesn't say that to me. She says it is all hers, and that I am entirely dependent upon her."

"Whew! Well, that beats all. Wasn't your father friendly to you?"

"I always found him the best of fathers, and that makes me wonder at his leaving me dependent upon Mrs. Lane."

Alonzo Crane looked thoughtful.

"You don't suspect nothing?" he said, interrogatively.

"What should I suspect?" asked Gerald.

"Well," said Alonzo, slowly, "Melindy always was tricky. She was always set on gettin' money, and I don't think she'd be over scrupulous. There might be such a thing as forgin' a will, though I don't know as I ought to say that considerin' that Melindy is my sister."

"Thank you for suggesting it, at any rate, Mr. Crane. The time may come when I shall look into the matter. At present I am only a boy–"

"And a boy ain't no match for a woman like Melindy. Oh, she's cunning! What do you think she said to get rid of lendin' me any money?"

"I can't guess."

"She said that she must provide for you."

Gerald smiled, bitterly.

"Because it would serve her purpose," he responded. "She has given Abel my place in the house. She has taken from me the large room I have for years occupied—given it to Abel—and put me in a small hall bedroom adjoining."

"That's too bad! Abel is a mean, conceited little upstart, who don't treat me half decent, though he would more than once have gone without a meal but for the help I gave his mother."

"Has Mrs. Lane refused to loan you money to rebuild your shop?"

"Yes; she won't think of it. She says I must have been careless, or the fire wouldn't have happened. It hasn't done much good to come to Portville. The only pleasure I've got out of it is meeting you."

"Thank you, Mr. Crane. I wish your sister were more like you."

"I'm a rough man, Gerald. There ain't much polish about me, but nobody can charge me with being mean and ungrateful. Some time I hope you'll come and see me."

"Thank you, Mr. Crane. It may come about some day. Is there no one in your town who will lend you money to rebuild your shop?"

"No; there ain't much money in Hillsdale. It's just a common country town, and the people are mostly farmers. I don't know what to do." And a look of sadness overspread his rugged countenance.

"You are no worse off than I am, Mr. Crane. I have lost an indulgent father, and am left dependent upon a woman I cannot like or respect."

"It does seem hard."

"But I have faith that some time things will come out for the best."

Gerald spoke gravely and calmly. He had been brought up to trust in God, and to have faith in His goodness. His words, young as he was, seemed to have a cheering effect on Mr. Crane.

"You're right, Gerald," he said, "and I'll try to believe things are comin' out right, though I can't see how."

"Why did you leave the house so soon, Mr. Crane? I thought you would have a long conversation with your sister and Abel."

"I thought so, too, but Melindy didn't seem to hanker much after my company. About fifteen minutes after you went out, she said: 'I shall have to leave you, as I have an errand in the village. Perhaps Abel will stay with you?'"

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