Tode's fancy for attaching himself to Mr. Hastings still continued in full force, and brought him bright and early on Friday morning around to the hotel, where he had last seen him. Not one minute too early, however, and but for Mr. Hastings' own tardiness too late. He had just missed a car, and no other was in sight. Tode took in the situation at a glance, and hopped across the street.

"Carry your baggage, sir?"

Mr. Hastings had a valise, a package, a cane, an umbrella, and the great fur-lined cloak. He appreciated Tode's a.s.sistance.

"Yes," he said. "Take this, and this."

Away they went down town to head off another car, which was presently signaled.

"Jump in, boy, and be ready to help me at the other end, if you're a mind to," said Mr. Hastings, graciously, noticing the wistful look on the boy's face, and thinking he wanted a ride.

Tode obeyed in great glee; he considered this a streak of luck. He sat beside Mr. Hastings and watched with great satisfaction while that gentleman counted out double fare. For the first time, Tode thought they had a.s.sumed proper positions toward each other. Of course Mr. Hastings ought to pay his fare since he belonged to him.

Arrived at the depot, and Mr. Hastings' baggage properly disposed of, himself paid, and supposed to be dismissed, Tode was in a quandary. Here was the train, and on it he meant to travel; but how to manage it was another question. It was broad daylight; sleep and Wolfie couldn't serve him now. He stuffed his hands into his pocket, and studied ways and means; eyes bent on the ground, and the ground helped him, rather a bit of pasteboard did. He picked it up, and read, first in bewilderment then in delight: "New York to Castleton." A ticket! all properly stamped, and paid for, undoubtedly. Did Tode hesitate, have great qualms of conscience, consider what he ought to do, how to set about to find the owner? He never once thought of any thing. Poor Tode hardly knew so much as that there were such articles as consciences, much less that he had anything to do with them. Somebody had lost his ticket, and _he_ had found it, and it was precisely what he wanted. Once at Castleton, it would be an easy matter to get to Albany. He thrust the precious card into his pocket, swung himself on the train, and selected his seat at leisure. Tode had never been to Sabbath-school, had never in his life knelt at the family altar and been prayed for. There are boys, I fear me, who having been shielded by both these things, placed in like position would have followed his example.

The seat he selected was as far as possible removed from the one which Mr. Hastings occupied. It was no part of Tode's plan to be discovered by that gentleman just at present. On the whole, this part of his journey was voted "tame." He had to sit up in his seat, and show his ticket like any one else; and it required no skill at all to forget to jump off at Castleton, and so of necessity be carried on. He sauntered over in Mr.

Hastings' vicinity once, and heard an important conversation.

"Can you tell me, sir," inquired that gentleman of his next neighbor, "whether by taking the midnight train at Albany I shall reach Buffalo in time to connect with a train on the Lake Sh.o.r.e Road?"

"You will, sir; but it is a slow train. By keeping right on now you can connect with the Lake Sh.o.r.e Express."

"I know; but I have business that will detain me in Albany."

"So have I," muttered Tode, well pleased with the arrangement, and went back to his seat.

"Halloo, Tode! where you been?" called out a sixteen-year old comrade from a cellar grocery window, as Tode turned out of Broadway that same evening.

"Been traveling for my health. Say, Jerry, seen anything of father lately?"

"He's gone off on a frolic. Went night before last--bag and baggage."

"Where did he go?"

Jerry shook his head.

"More than I know. Doubt if he knew himself about the time he started; but he'll bring up all right after a spell, likely."

Landed in Albany, the only home he knew, Tode had his first touch of loneliness and depression. The cellar was closed, his father gone, no one knew where nor for how long an absence, nor even if he meant to return at all. Tode was cold and dreary. Up to this time he had followed out his whim of belonging to the owner of the fur cloak, merely _as_ a whim, with no definite purpose at all; but now, queerly enough, parted with the man with whom he had journeyed, and over whom he kept so close a watch during these four days, he had a feeling of loneliness as if he had lost something--he begun to wish he did belong to him in very truth.

Suppose he did, worked for him say, and earned a warm place to sleep in of nights--this was the hight of his present ambition. The warm place to sleep suggested to him the good night's rest under the cloak, and also the fact that there was another bitter night shutting down rapidly over the earth, and that he had no spot for shelter.

"I'll push on," he said at last, in a decisive tone. "I'd as lief go to Buffalo as anywhere else--the thing is to get there; but then I can get _on_ the cars, and get _off_ at Buffalo if I can, and before if I _have_ to."

This matter settled, his spirits began to rise at once; and by the time Mr. Hastings and he crowded their way through the midnight train, the cars contained no such gleeful spirit as Tode Mall's.

More skill was needed than on the preceding journey, for the fur-lined cloak was thrown over the back of the seat fronting him this time, and Mr. Hastings sat erect and wide awake, and looked extremely cross.

"I have the most extraordinary luck," he was telling a man, as Tode entered. "Nothing but delay and confusion since I left home. Never had such an experience before."

But the car was warm and the air was heavy, and Mr. Hastings' erect head began to nod in a suspicious manner. Tode watched and waited, and was finally rewarded. The gentleman made deliberate preparations for a nap, and was soon taking it.

Now for the young scamp's trial of skill! He slipped into the vacant seat--he curled himself into a ball--he pulled and twitched softly and dextrously at the fur cloak, to make it come down and lie over him in such a manner that it would look like pure accident; and at last he was settled for the night. He felt the soft, delicious, furry warmth once more, and he hugged his friend and fairly shook with delight and triumph.

"Oh, ho! Ha! Hum!" he chuckled. "How _are_ you, Wolfie? How've you been?

You and me is friends, we is. We're travelers, we are. Now, we'll have a tall sleep. Ain't this just the jolliest thing, though?"

Then Tode went to sleep. By and by he felt a jerking. He roused up, the car lamps were burning dim. Mr. Hastings was pulling at his cloak and eyed _him_ severely, but Tode innocently and earnestly helped him to right it, and treated its tumble over on to _him_ as a very natural accident. The train was at a stand-still. Tode thought best to find out his whereabouts. He went out to the platform.

"What station is this?" he inquired of a boy who, like himself, was peering into the darkness.

"Oh, this is a way-station. We'll be in Syracuse in about half an hour.

We've got to change cars there."

"We don't if we're going to Buffalo," answered Tode, in a business-like tone. He knew nothing whatever about the matter.

"Yes we do, too. Got to wait an hour. I just asked the conductor."

Tode walked in and took his seat; he saw his way clear. Presently came the conductor, and halted before him. Tode's hand sought his pocket.

"How much to Syracuse?" he questioned; and being naturally told the rate of fare from their last stopping place to Syracuse, he counted it out and sat back at his leisure.

At Syracuse Mr. Hastings went into the hotel to get his breakfast. Tode walked the piazza and whistled for his; besides he had something to do.

He didn't see his way clear, but the more difficult the way grew the more delightful it looked to Tode, and the more determined was he to tread it. The hour sped on. Mr. Hastings' breakfast was concluded. He was in the depot now talking with an acquaintance. Tode was just behind him thinking still.

"All aboard!" shouted the official. "Pa.s.sengers for Buffalo this way!"

And Mr. Hastings caught up valise, bundle, umbrella, cane, and vanished--all those, but the fur-lined cloak lay innocently cuddled in a warm heap on the seat. Tode seized upon it in an instant and hugged it close.

"Oh, Wolfie, Wolfie!" he chuckled, "You're the best friend I got in the world. You went and got left on my account, didn't you?"

It was but the work of a moment to hustle himself and his prize into the train--_not_ into the car that Mr. Hastings had taken--and once more they were off.

When they were fairly under way he presented himself before the astonished eyes of Mr. Hastings with this brief sentence:

"Here he is, sir, safe and sound."

"Here who is?"

"Wolfie, sir. You left him lying on a seat in Syracuse, and I got him and jumped on."

"Why, is it possible I left my cloak? Why, bless me! I never did such a careless thing before in my life; and so you jumped on, and have got carried off by the means. Well, sir, you're an honest boy; and now what shall I give you to make it all right?"

"I want to get to Buffalo like sixty," answered Tode, meekly. "And I haven't a cent to my name."

"You do, eh? And you would like to have me pay your fare? Well, that's not an unreasonable demand, seeing this is a very valuable cloak."

And Mr. Hastings counted out the fare to Buffalo and a few pennies over; and Tode thankfully received it, and went out and sat down in a corner and whistled.