"It was mean to blow on a fellow, though."

"The master asked him if I whispered to him; of course he ought not to lie about it. But he told of you at the same time."

"I know it; but I wouldn't have licked him on my own account."

"_Perhaps_ you wouldn't."

"I know I wouldn't. But, I say, Bobby, where do you buy your books?"

"At Mr. Bayard's, in Washington Street."

"He will sell them to me at the same price--won't he?"

"I don't know."

"When are you going again?"

"Monday."

"Won't you let me go with you, Bob?"

"Let you? Of course you can go where you please; it is none of my business."

Bobby did not like the idea of having such a copartner as Tom Spicer, and he did not like to tell him so. If he did, he would have to give his reasons for declining the proposition, and that would make Tom mad, and perhaps provoke him to quarrel.

The fish bit well, and in an hour's time Bobby had a mess. As he took his basket and walked home, the young ruffian followed him. He could not get rid of him till he reached the gate in front of the little black house; and even there Tom begged him to stop a few moments. Our hero was in a hurry, and in the easiest manner possible got rid of this aspirant for mercantile honors.

We have no doubt a journal of Bobby's daily life would be very interesting to our young readers; but the fact that some of his most stirring adventures are yet to be related admonishes us to hasten forward more rapidly.

On Monday morning Bobby bade adieu to his mother again, and started for Boston. He fully expected to encounter Tom on the way, who, he was afraid, would persist in accompanying him on his tour. As before, he stopped at Squire Lee's to bid him and Annie good by.

The little maiden had read "The Wayfarer" more than half through, and was very enthusiastic in her expression of the pleasure she derived from it. She promised to send it over to his house when she had finished it, and hoped he would bring his stock to Riverdale, so that she might again replenish her library. Bobby thought of something just then, and the thought brought forth a harvest on the following Sat.u.r.day, when he returned.

When he had shaken hands with the squire and was about to depart, he received a piece of news which gave him food for an hour's serious reflection.

"Did you hear about Tom Spicer?" asked Squire Lee.

"No, sir; what about him?"

"Broken his arm."

"Broken his arm! Gracious! How did it happen?" exclaimed Bobby, the more astonished because he had been thinking of Tom since he had left home.

"He was out in the woods yesterday, where boys should not be on Sundays, and, in climbing a tree after a bird's nest, he fell to the ground."

"I am sorry for him," replied Bobby, musing.

"So am I; but if he had been at home, or at church, where he should have been, it would not have happened. If I had any boys, I would lock them up in their chambers if I could not keep them at home Sundays."

"Poor Tom!" mused Bobby, recalling the conversation he had had with him on Sat.u.r.day, and then wishing that he had been a little more pliant with him.

"It is too bad; but I must say I am more sorry for his poor mother than I am for him," added the squire. "However, I hope it will do him good, and be a lesson he will remember as long as he lives."

Bobby bade the squire and Annie adieu again, resumed his journey towards the railroad station. His thoughts were busy with Tom Spicer's case. The reason why he had not joined him, as he expected and feared he would, was now apparent. He pitied him, for he realized that he must endure a great deal of pain before he could again go out; but he finally dismissed the matter with the squire's sage reflection, that he hoped the calamity would be a good lesson to him.

The young merchant did not walk to Boston this time, for he had come to the conclusion that, in the six hours it would take him to travel to the city on foot, the profit on the books he could sell would be more than enough to pay his fare, to say nothing of the fatigue and the expense of shoe leather.

Before noon he was at B---- again, as busy as ever in driving his business. The experience of the former week was of great value to him.

He visited people belonging to all spheres in society, and, though he was occasionally repulsed or treated with incivility, he was not conscious in a single instance of offending any person's sense of propriety.

He was not as fortunate as during the previous week, and it was Sat.u.r.day noon before he had sold out the sixty books he carried with him. The net profit for this week was fourteen dollars, with which he was abundantly pleased.

Mr. Bayard again commended him in the warmest terms for his zeal and promptness. Mr. Timmins was even more civil than the last time, and when Bobby asked the price of Moore's Poems, he actually offered to sell it to him for thirty-three per cent less than the retail price. The little merchant was on the point of purchasing it, when Mr. Bayard inquired what he wanted.

"I am going to buy this book," replied Bobby.

"Moore's Poems?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Bayard took from a gla.s.s case an elegantly bound copy of the same work--morocco, full gilt--and handed it to our hero.

"I shall make you a present of this. Are you an admirer of Moore?"

"No, sir; not exactly--that is, I don't know much about it; but Annie Lee does, and I want to get the book for her."

Bobby's cheeks reddened as he turned the leaves of the beautiful volume, putting his head down to the page to hide his confusion.

"Annie Lee?" said Mr. Bayard with a quizzing smile. "I see how it is. Rather young, Bobby."

"Her father has been very good to me and to my mother; and so has Annie, for that matter. Squire Lee would be a great deal more pleased if I should make Annie a present than if I made him one. I feel grateful to him, and I want to let it out somehow."

"That's right, Bobby; always remember your friends. Timmins, wrap up this book."

Bobby protested with all his might; but the bookseller insisted that he should give Annie this beautiful edition, and he was obliged to yield the point.

That evening he was at the little black house again, and his mother examined his ledger with a great deal of pride and satisfaction. That evening, too, another ten dollars was indorsed on the note, and Annie received that elegant copy of Moore's Poems.

CHAPTER XIV

IN WHICH BOBBY'S AIR CASTLE IS UPSET AND TOM SPICER TAKES TO THE WOODS

During the next four weeks Bobby visited various places in the vicinity of Boston; and at the end of that time he had paid the whole of the debt he owed Squire Lee. He had the note in his memorandum book, and the fact that he had achieved his first great purpose afforded him much satisfaction. Now he owed no man anything, and he felt as though he could hold up his head among the best people in the world.

The little black house was paid for, and Bobby was proud that his own exertions had released his mother from her obligation to her hard creditor. Mr. Hardhand could no longer insult and abuse her.