But Frank Ma.s.sanet proceeded on different lines, and when he and Richard had finished the improvement was apparent. Nearly every cla.s.s of goods in the store was represented, and anything new or special was given a prominent place.

"That looks hot," said Phil, who was given to slang. "Never saw it so showy before."

And the many people who stopped to gaze at the display seemed to justify his statement.

"How often should a window like that be cleaned?" asked Richard.

"At least once a week," replied Frank. "And twice a week is not too much, if you have the time to spare."

Both Richard and Frank worked diligently all day. Of course many things were strange to them, and they made some laughable blunders; but they invariably took things so pleasantly that none of the customers seemed to mind.

When night came they found that they had taken in five dollars more than the day previous.

"It's on account of fixing up the window," said Richard.

"Partly that, and partly getting used to customers and the run of stock," replied Frank.

They were soon on the way home. Richard had sent his letter to his mother the day previous, and was now expecting one in return.

"Here is your usual letter," said Mattie Ma.s.sanet, appearing at the door.

"Thank you," replied Richard. "Excuse me if I look at it at once. I want to see if it contains anything important."

Richard tore the letter open and began to read. His eyes had glanced over scarcely a dozen lines when he uttered a cry of dismay.

And no wonder, for the communication contained the startling intelligence that fire had visited Mossvale, the Dare cottage was burned to the ground, and his mother and sisters were left without a home.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

TOM CLOVER'S STATEMENT.

The news from Mossvale was certainly a cruel blow to Richard, and, as he read the letter written by his sister Nancy, his cheeks paled.

"What is it?" asked Frank, seeing that something was wrong. "No one dead, I hope."

"No, not as bad as that," replied Richard faintly; "but bad enough.

Read it."

Frank took the letter and glanced at it hastily. The important pa.s.sages ran as follows:

"It is awful news. Our home is burned to the ground, and I am writing this at Mrs. Wood's where we are all staying. The fire started in the barn (we think a tramp must have done it), and the wind carried the sparks over to the house, and in ten minutes it was all ablaze. It was one o'clock at night, and no one was around to help us. Mother, Grace and I saved all we could, but that was not much, because we did not have time, and it got so awfully hot. When the fire was out, Charlie made us all go over to his house, and sent a team over for what stuff we had saved.

"Mother is awfully excited, and Grace is sick over it. Madge is all right, and so am I. But I think it's awful, and I don't know what we are going to do. Mrs. Wood and Charley, are very kind, but we can't stay here very long, even if Grace is engaged to Charley.

"Mother says there is an insurance on the house and furniture for nine hundred dollars, but she hasn't been able to find the papers yet, and maybe they have been burned, too. If you can, come down right away.

I suppose they don't like to let clerks off in New York, but they ought to make an exception in a case like this."

Frank handed the letter over to his sister Mattie.

"I'm sorry for you and your folks, d.i.c.k," he said earnestly. "Of course you'll go at once."

"How can I?" replied Richard helplessly. "Mr. Martin will--"

"Never mind Mr. Martin," interrupted Frank. "Your first duty is to your family. I'll get along as best I can, and I'll explain to Mr.

Martin if he gets back before you do."

"But what will you do for meals? You must have time to get them?" went on Richard, anxious lest his friend should be a.s.suming too much.

"He can take lunch along, and I'll bring him his dinner," put in Mattie.

"You go, d.i.c.k; your mother and your sisters need you."

Richard needed no further urging. Whatever Mattie said must certainly be right. He glanced at the clock.

"Quarter to ten. I wonder when I can get a train?" he cried.

A consultation of a time-table showed that no train for Mossvale could be had until nine-thirty the next morning.

"It's too bad!" he groaned. "I could have taken one just an hour ago if I had known."

There was nothing to do, however, but wait, and so Richard retired with the rest.

He pa.s.sed a sleepless night, thinking over what had happened, and trying to form some plan for the future. But he could arrive at no conclusion, and found that he must wait until he had talked the matter over with the others.

He was the first one up in the morning, and, having over three hours yet to wait, took a walk around to the store to see what Phil was doing.

"There is a telegram for you; just came," said the boy, and he handed it over.

"More news from home," thought Richard. "But we have no telegraph office. Wonder what it means?"

And he tore the telegram open.

It ran as follows:

"PHILADELPHIA, _June_ 28.

"RICHARD DARE:

"My son is dead. Close store until further orders.

"JONAS MARTIN."

Richard had just finished reading the dispatch when Frank came up.

"You are ahead of me," said Frank. "What have you there?"