"You are a fool, Bob!" exclaimed Tom, who had evidently used Bobby as much as he wished, and no longer cared to speak soft words to him.

"Perhaps I am; but I know better than to spend my money upon fast horses. If you will go, I can't help it. I am sorry you are going astray."

"What do you mean by that, you young monkey?" said Tom, angrily.

This was Tom Spicer, the bully. It sounded like him; and with a feeling of sorrow Bobby resigned the hopes he had cherished of making a good boy of him.

"We had better part now," added our hero, sadly.

"I'm willing."

"I shall leave Brunswick this afternoon for the towns up the river. I hope no harm will befall you. Good by, Tom."

"Go it! I have heard your preaching about long enough, and I am more glad to get rid of you than you are to get rid of me."

Bobby walked away towards the house where he had left the trunk containing his books, while Tom made his way towards a livery stable. The boys had been in the place for several days, and had made some acquaintances; so Tom had no difficulty in procuring a companion for his proposed ride.

Our hero wrote a letter that afternoon to Mr. Bayard, in which he narrated all the particulars of his journey, his relations with Tom Spicer, and the success that had attended his labors. At the bank he procured a hundred dollar note for his small bills, and enclosed it in the letter.

He felt sad about Tom. The runaway had done so well, had been so industrious, and shown such a tractable spirit, that he had been very much encouraged about him. But if he meant to be wild again,--for it was plain that the ride was only "the beginning of sorrows,"--it was well that they should part.

By the afternoon stage our hero proceeded to Gardiner, pa.s.sing through several smaller towns, which did not promise a very abundant harvest.

His usual success attended him; for wherever he went, people seemed to be pleased with him, as Squire Lee had declared they would be. His pleasant, honest face was a capital recommendation, and his eloquence seldom failed to achieve the result which eloquence has ever achieved from Demosthenes down to the present day.

Our limits do not permit us to follow him in all his peregrinations from town to town, and from house to house; so we pa.s.s over the next fortnight, at the end of which time we find him at Augusta. He had sold all his books but twenty, and had that day remitted eighty dollars more to Mr. Bayard. It was Wednesday, and he hoped to sell out so as to be able to take the next steamer for Boston, which was advertised to sail on the following day.

He had heard nothing from Tom since their parting, and had given up all expectation of meeting him again; but that bad penny maxim proved true once more, for, as he was walking through one of the streets of Augusta, he had the misfortune to meet him--and this time it was indeed a misfortune.

"Hallo, Bobby!" shouted the runaway, as familiarly as though nothing had happened to disturb the harmony of their relations.

"Ah, Tom, I didn't expect to see you again," replied Bobby, not very much rejoiced to meet his late companion.

"I suppose not; but here I am, as good as new. Have you sold out?"

"No, not quite."

"How many have you left?"

"About twenty; but I thought, Tom, you would have returned to Boston before this time."

"No;" and Tom did not seem to be in very good spirits.

"Where are you going now?"

"I don't know. I ought to have taken your advice, Bobby."

This was a concession, and our hero began to feel some sympathy for his companion--as who does not when the erring confess their faults?

"I am sorry you did not."

"I got in with some pretty hard fellows down there to Brunswick,"

continued Tom, rather sheepishly.

"And spent all your money," added Bobby, who could readily understand the reason why Tom had put on his humility again.

"Not all."

"How much have you left?"

"Not much," replied he, evasively. "I don't know what I shall do. I am in a strange place, and have no friends."

Bobby's sympathies were aroused, and without reflection, he promised to be a friend in his extremity.

"I will stick by you this time, Bob, come what will. I will do just as you say, now."

Our merchant was a little flattered by this unreserved display of confidence. He did not give weight enough to the fact that it was adversity alone which made Tom so humble. He was in trouble, and gave him all the guarantee he could ask for his future good behavior. He could not desert him now he was in difficulty.

"You shall help me sell my books, and then we will return to Boston together. Have you money enough left to pay your employer?"

Tom hesitated; something evidently hung heavily upon his mind.

"I don't know how it will be after I have paid my expenses to Boston,"

he replied, averting his face.

Bobby was perplexed by this evasive answer; but as Tom seemed so reluctant to go into details, he reserved his inquiries for a more convenient season.

"Now, Tom, you take the houses on that side of the street, and I will take those upon this side. You shall have the profits on all you sell."

"You are a first rate fellow, Bob; and I only wish I had done as you wanted me to do."

"Can't be helped now, and we will do the next best thing," replied Bobby, as he left his companion to enter a house.

Tom did very well, and by the middle of the afternoon they had sold all the books but four. "The Wayfarer" had been liberally advertised in that vicinity, and the work was in great demand. Bobby's heart grew lighter as the volumes disappeared from his valise, and already he had begun to picture the scene which would ensue upon his return to the little black house. How glad his mother would be to see him, and, he dared believe, how happy Annie would be as she listened to the account of his journey in the State of Maine! Wouldn't she be astonished when he told her about the steamboat, about the fog, and about the wild region at the mouth of the beautiful Kennebec!

Poor Bobby! the brightest dream often ends in sadness; and a greater trial than any he had been called upon to endure was yet in store for him.

As he walked along, thinking of Riverdale and its loved ones, Tom came out of a grocery store where he had just sold a book.

"Here, Bob, is a ten dollar bill. I believe I have sold ten books for you," said Tom, after they had walked some distance. "You had better keep the money now; and while I think of it, you had better take what I have left of my former sales;" and Tom handed him another ten dollar bill.

Bobby noticed that Tom seemed very much confused and embarra.s.sed; but he did not observe that the two bills he had handed him were on the same bank.

"Then you had ten dollars left after your frolic," he remarked, as he took the last bill.

"About that;" and Tom glanced uneasily behind him.

"What is the matter with you, Tom?" asked Bobby, who did not know what to make of his companion's embarra.s.sment.