"I don't think he intended to hit me; though he fired at me, or he fired his gun. I don't believe he fired it at me," answered the stranger in a confused manner.

"If he fired at you, of course he meant to hit you. What in the world should he fire at you for if he didn't mean to hit you?" asked Dory, wondering at the reasoning of his companion in the road.

"I am confident I am right; but we won't say any thing more about it just now," added the stranger, who seemed to be struggling with other emotions than those of fear or indignation.

"That's very queer," said Dory, puzzled at the strange conduct of the man who had been fired at. "I think you will get a bullet through your head if you stay here much longer."

"I am not afraid of a bullet; but I don't think I had better stay here any longer," replied the stranger. "Which way are you going, young man?"

"I was going over to a place they call Belzer's."

"That is a mile from here. Were you going there when that gun was fired?" asked the man eagerly.

"Well, not just at that minute. I was tired out, and I lay down in the woods to rest me. I was going over to Belzer's to see if I could get a place to work. I"--

"You are too late: they hired a boy at Belzer's this afternoon," added the man.

"That's just my luck," added Dory, discouraged at this intelligence.

"The luck shall not go against you this time. You have no errand at Belzer's now; and, if you will walk to Plattsburgh with me, I will make it all right with you; and you shall not be sorry that you did not find a place at Belzer's, which is not a proper place for a boy like you."

"If there is no place there for me, and it is not the place for me, I shall return to Plattsburgh," answered Dory, as he started with the stranger in the direction from which he had come when he took to the woods.

In a short time they came out into the open country; and there was no longer any danger that the attack from the mysterious a.s.sailant would be renewed.

"Young man, you have done me a great service; and you have done a greater one to another person," said the stranger.

"Who's that?" asked Dory, puzzled by the strange speech of his companion.

"I mean the one who fired the gun at me," answered his fellow-traveller.

"That's funny!" exclaimed Dory. "You and he seem to be fooling with each other. He shot at you, and didn't mean to hit you; and now I have done him a great service. I suppose you don't mean to pay me for the service I did him," laughed Dory.

"I should be willing to pay you more for what you did for him than for what you did for me."

Dory was bewildered.

CHAPTER III.

A BRILLIANT SCHEME MADE POSSIBLE.

Dory began to think his companion was a lunatic. Certainly he was a Christian man, for he seemed to have nothing but kindness in his heart towards his late a.s.sailant.

"I don't want any pay for what I did for either," said Dory Dornwood, as he saw his companion thrust his hand into his pocket, and he feared that his joke had been taken in earnest.

"We will talk about that when we get to Plattsburgh. Will you tell me your name, young man?"

"My name is Theodore Dornwood, though almost everybody calls me Dory.

But I don't care what they call me, if they don't call me too late to supper, or don't call me at all, as n.o.body did to-night," replied Dory.

And an emphatic wrenching at his stomach, just at the moment he spoke, compelled him to repeat that ancient witticism.

"You have had no supper, Dory?" demanded his new friend, with much sympathy in his tones.

"Not a bit, and not much dinner," added Dory. "Major Billcord spoiled my dinner. And I dare say he charges me with spoiling his dinner: but I didn't; it was the cook."

The curiosity of his companion was excited, and Dory told the whole story of his experience as a waiter at dinner that day. In answering the questions of the stranger, he told the history of himself and his family. He enlarged upon his efforts to obtain a situation, and declared that he wanted to do something to help his mother, and make things easier for her.

Just as he was finishing his narrative, they reached the front of a farmhouse. The stranger led the way to the door, and knocked. Presently the door was opened by a man with a lamp in his hand. Dory wondered what his companion wanted there; for he had not spoken of making a call on the way to the town.

"Ah! is that you, Basil Hawlinshed?" said the occupant of the house, as the light from his lamp fell upon the face of the stranger,--a stranger to Dory, though he did not appear to be such to the man of the house.

"I am glad to see you. Come in!"

"Thank you, Neighbor Brookbine. I am sorry to trouble you: but this young man with me has not been to supper yet; and it makes my stomach turn somersets to travel with any one who has not been to supper when it is after nine o'clock in the evening."

"Come in! come in, Neighbor Hawlinshed! though I suppose you are to be no longer my neighbor. The boy shall have the best supper we can get up for him at this time of night."

Mr. Hawlinshed--for this appeared to be the name to which he answered--and Dory followed him into the house. When he had gone to make preparations for the supper, Dory's companion led him to one side of the room.

"Will you do me a favor, Dory?" said Mr. Hawlinshed.

"I will try with all my might to do it," replied Dory.

"Don't say one word about what happened in the woods while you are in this house," said Mr. Hawlinshed earnestly, and with much emotion.

"Oh, that's an easy one!" replied Dory gayly. "I could do that, and only half try."

"Be very sure you don't speak a word about the matter, or even hint at it in the most distant manner," continued Mr. Hawlinshed with painful emphasis.

"Not a word or a hint, sir. No one shall squeeze it out of me with a cider-press," protested Dory.

Mr. Brookbine came into the room, and Mr. Hawlinshed tried to compose himself. The talk of the two men was upon subjects in which the boy felt no interest. He was more concerned about his supper than about the affairs of the two speakers. But he learned that Mr. Hawlinshed had been a farmer, and had just sold his farm for forty-five hundred dollars in cash. He was going to another part of the State to engage in the lumber business.

Nothing was said which afforded Dory a clew to the strange event in the woods. He fancied it had some connection with the money the farmer had received for his farm. The hungry boy was called into another room by Mrs. Brookbine to eat his supper. He found a plentiful meal on the table, and he did ample justice to it. While he was eating, the farmer's wife, who was a motherly sort of woman, plied him with questions; and he answered all those that related to himself, but he was extremely careful not to betray the confidence of his new friend.

Dory felt like a new creature when he had finished his supper, which he thought was quite good enough to have suited Major Billcord; though he was sure that it would not have suited him, for the simple reason that he was never suited with any thing. Mr. Hawlinshed offered to pay for the meal, and Farmer Brookbine felt insulted by the proposition. The visitor explained that he should not have offered to pay for his own supper, but he had brought an entire stranger into the house. Mr.

Brookbine declared that he always gave a meal of victuals to any one who needed it. With many thanks the visitors took their leave, and resumed their walk to town. In less than half an hour they were at a hotel in Plattsburgh.

"I can't stay here, Mr. Hawlinshed," said Dory, as they entered the house. "I have no money to pay my bill."

"Do you think I am a heathen, that I won't pay your bill after the service you have done me?" asked Mr. Hawlinshed with a smile.

"I don't want anybody to pay for me," protested Dory.

"Don't talk so, my boy," added his new friend. "Come to my room, for I want to talk with you."