ON HIS way back from the shop Tom met another member of John Simpson’s family.

It was Rupert.

Rupert was carefully dressed, and looked, as the saying is, as if he had just come out of a bandbox. He was rather fond of dress. Besides it helped to distinguish him from the other boys in the village. Harry Julian was the only one who had the means to dress as well, and he was content with dressing neatly.

Generally Rupert would have passed Tom with a cool nod, if indeed he had deigned to notice him at all, but now his curiosity was excited by seeing him in the street at an hour when he was usually at work.

“Why are you not at work?” asked Rupert, pausing in his walk.

“Because I have no work to do,” answered Tom, who did not care to seek Rupert’s sympathy.

“Isn’t the shop open to-day?” asked Rupert, puzzled, for he knew nothing of Tom’s dismissal.

“Yes, it’s open.”

“Then why are you not at work?”

“Didn’t your father tell you that he had discharged me?”

60 “No,” said Rupert, eagerly. “What for?”

“He is angry with me. I will refer you to him.”

“But what are you going to do?” inquired Rupert, who did not seem to take the news much to heart.

“I must find work somewhere else.”

“That won’t be very easy.”

“Perhaps not.”

“If you can’t find anything to do, you and your mother will have to come on the town, won’t you?” asked Rupert, briskly.

“I don’t think so,” said Tom, gravely.

“I wonder father didn’t say anything at home about it,” continued Rupert. “Wouldn’t you just as lief tell me why he bounced you?”

“I must refer you to your father,” said Tom, coldly. “Good-morning.”

“That boy is very proud, considering he is a beggar, or the next thing to it,” said Rupert to himself. “I suppose he was impudent to pa. I know pa wouldn’t stand that, and he ought not to. I am glad Tom’s pride has had a fall.”

Tom didn’t go immediately home. There was another shop in the village, considerably smaller than Mr. Simpson’s, but still employing twenty hands. This was kept by a Mr. Casey, a man well-to-do, but not setting up for an aristocrat like his competitor in business. Tom thought it possible he might get employment here, and he dropped in on the way home.

“Good-morning, Tom,” said Casey, who was cutting out shoes.

61 “Good-morning, sir.”

“Are you not at work to-day?”

“Mr. Simpson thinks he can get along without me.”

“How is that?” asked Casey, in surprise.

Tom briefly told under what circumstances he had been discharged.

“That’s a pity,” said Casey, in a sympathizing tone. “I can’t justify John Simpson in that.”

“You don’t want a pegger, do you, Mr. Casey?”

“Not unless one of my boys leave me. I’d like to take you on; but I have no vacancy. As soon as there is one, you may depend on my sending for you.”

“Thank you, sir. That is all I can ask.”

“How much did Mr. Simpson pay you?” asked Casey.

“Fifty cents a day.”

“That is poor. Why, I pay sixty, and out of town more is paid.”

“I know that; but it wouldn’t pay me to go out of town as long as mother lives here.”

“That’s true. Well, Tom, I hope you will find something to do. You may depend on hearing from me when I have a vacancy.”

Tom thanked him and left the shop. He had been kindly received; but kind words wouldn’t pay the baker’s and grocer’s bills, and he felt rather sober.

A few rods from Casey’s shop he met his friend Harry Julian, who also expressed his surprise at seeing Tom on the street at that time in the day.

Tom gave an explanation.

Harry looked concerned, for he was strongly attached62 to Tom, and he very well understood what a serious matter it was to him and his mother for him to be out of work.

He reflected a moment, and his face brightened as something occurred to him.

“Tom,” he said, “will you do me a favor?”

“Of course I will, Julian.”

“Then let me lend you this,” and before Tom understood what he meant, he had thrust something into his vest-pocket.

Tom drew it out, unfolded it, and found it to be a five-dollar bill.

“Thank you, Harry,” he said; “but I can’t take this.”

“Why not? Remember, I ask it as a favo............