stick in the hands of Henry Dunbar, who was lying flat near the edge of the break. There we hung and lived until the boys came with a pole and got us out. Chilled? No. I was never so hot in my life until I began to feel the wind.     

       One day soon after that my father came into the village and said that I was to board at the house of Mr. Daniel W. Smead, have three square meals a day, and a room with four windows and a stove in it. Poor lad! I did not know until long after that Florence and Henry paid the bill. My father said that he had sold the big Wilkes mare and her foal, and I supposed       that that accounted for his generosity.     

       Florence would have it that I had saved her life, although the truth is that if I had not gone down after her one of the other boys would have done so, I am sure, or she might even have reached the air alone. How she pitied me after that! Almost every day she tried to show me her gratitude with some little token—a flower, a tender word or look, or an invitation to supper. I loved her with all the steadfastness of the true-born Yankee, but it seemed to me now that my love was hopeless. I could never ask her to marry me, for how could she say no to me with all that burden of gratitude in her heart? How could I have got an honest answer if I had been unfair enough to ask it?     

  

  

       CHAPTER II     

 MR. DANIEL WEBSTER SMEAD had five children and a wife, who did all the work of the household. He was an auctioneer, a musician, and a horseman.     

M

       When I went to begin my life in his house, it was he who opened the door. He was coatless, collarless, and in dirty linen.     

       “I am Uriel Havelock,” I said.     

       “Havelock of Stillwater,” said he. “I salute you. How is your health?”      

       “Pretty good,” I said.     

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