Driven from Home; Or, Carl Crawford's Experience. Alger Horatio Jr.

only took away a little underclothing in a gripsack. He would like his woolen clothes put in his trunk, and to have it sent–”

      “Where?”

      “Perhaps it had better be sent to my house. There are one or two things in his room also that he asked me to get.”

      “Why didn’t he come himself?”

      “Because he thought it would be unpleasant for him to meet Mrs. Crawford. They would be sure to quarrel.”

      “Well, perhaps he is right,” said Dr. Crawford, with an air of relief. “About the allowance, I shall have to consult my wife. Will you come with me to the house?”

      “Yes, sir; I should like to have the matter settled to-day, so that Carl will know what to depend upon.”

      Gilbert rather dreaded the interview he was likely to have with Mrs. Crawford; but he was acting for Carl, and his feelings of friendship were strong.

      So he walked beside Dr. Crawford till they reached the tasteful dwelling occupied as a residence by Carl and his father.

      “How happy Carl could be here, if he had a stepmother like mine,” Gilbert thought.

      They went up to the front door, which was opened for them by a servant.

      “Jane, is Mrs. Crawford in?” asked the doctor.

      “No, sir; not just now. She went to the village to do some shopping.”

      “Is Peter in?”

      “No, sir.”

      “Then you will have to wait till they return.”

      “Can’t I go up to Carl’s room and be packing his things?”

      “Yes, I think you may. I don’t think Mrs. Crawford would object.”

      “Good heavens! Hasn’t the man a mind of his own?” thought Gilbert.

      “Jane, you may show this young gentleman up to Master Carl’s room, and give him the key of his trunk. He is going to pack his clothes.”

      “When is Master Carl coming back?” asked Jane.

      “I—I don’t know. I think he will be away for a time.”

      “I wish it was Peter instead of him,” said Jane, in a low voice, only audible to Gilbert.

      She showed Gilbert the way upstairs, while the doctor went to his study.

      “Are you a friend of Master Carl’s?” asked Jane, as soon as they were alone.

      “Yes, Jane.”

      “And where is he?”

      “At my house.”

      “Is he goin’ to stay there?”

      “For a short time. He wants to go out into the world and make his own living.”

      “And no wonder—poor boy! It’s hard times he had here.”

      “Didn’t Mrs. Crawford treat him well?” asked Gilbert, with curiosity

      “Is it trate him well? She was a-jawin’ an’ a-jawin’ him from mornin’ till night. Ugh, but she’s an ugly cr’atur’!”

      “How about Peter?”

      “He’s just as bad—the m’anest bye I iver set eyes on. It would do me good to see him flogged.”

      She chatted a little longer with Gilbert, helping him to find Carl’s clothes, when suddenly a shrill voice was heard calling her from below.

      “Shure, it’s the madam!” said Jane, shrugging her shoulders. “I expect she’s in a temper;” and she rose from her knees and hurried downstairs.

      CHAPTER V

      CARL’S STEPMOTHER

      Five minutes later, as Gilbert was closing the trunk, Jane reappeared.

      “The doctor and Mrs. Crawford would like to see you downstairs,” she said.

      Gilbert followed Jane into the library, where Dr. Crawford and his wife were seated. He looked with interest at the woman who had made home so disagreeable to Carl, and was instantly prejudiced against her. She was light complexioned, with very light-brown hair, cold, gray eyes, and a disagreeable expression which seemed natural to her.

      “My dear,” said the doctor, “this is the young man who has come from Carl.”

      Mrs. Crawford surveyed Gilbert with an expression by no means friendly.

      “What is your name?” she asked.

      “Gilbert Vance.”

      “Did Carl Crawford send you here?”

      “No; I volunteered to come.”

      “Did he tell you that he was disobedient and disrespectful to me?”

      “No; he told me that you treated him so badly that he was unwilling to live in the same house with you,” answered Gilbert, boldly.

      “Well, upon my word!” exclaimed Mrs. Crawford, fanning herself vigorously. “Dr. Crawford, did you hear that?”

      “Yes.”

      “And what do you think of it?”

      “Well, I think you may have been too hard upon Carl.”

      “Too hard? Why, then, did he not treat me respectfully? This boy seems inclined to be impertinent.”

      “I answered your questions, madam,” said Gilbert, coldly.

      “I suppose you side with your friend Carl?”

      “I certainly do.”

      Mrs. Crawford bit her lip.

      “What is the object of your coming? Does Carl wish to return?”

      “I thought Dr. Crawford might have told you.”

      “Carl wants his clothes sent to him,” said the doctor. “He only carried a few with him.”

      “I shall not consent to it. He deserves no favors at our hands.”

      This was too much even for Dr. Crawford.

      “You go too far, Mrs. Crawford,” he said. “I am sensible of the boy’s faults, but I certainly will not allow his clothes to be withheld from him.”

      “Oh, well! spoil him if you choose!” said the lady, sullenly. “Take his part against your wife!”

      “I have never done that, but I will not allow him to be defrauded of his clothes.”

      “I have no more to say,” said Mrs. Crawford, her eyes snapping. She was clearly mortified at her failure to carry her point.

      “Do you wish the trunk to be sent to your house?” asked the doctor.

      “Yes, sir; I have packed the clothes and locked the trunk.”

      “I should like to examine it before it goes,” put in Mrs. Crawford, spitefully.

      “Why?”

      “To make sure that nothing has been put in that does not belong to Carl.”

      “Do you mean to accuse me of stealing, madam?” demanded Gilbert, indignantly.

      Mrs. Crawford tossed her head.

      “I don’t know anything about you,” she replied.

      “Dr. Crawford, am I to open the trunk?” asked Gilbert.

      “No,” answered the doctor, with unwonted decision.

      “I hate that boy! He has twice subjected me to mortification,” thought Mrs. Crawford.

      “You know very well,” she said, turning to her husband, “that I have grounds for my request. I blush to mention it, but I have reason to believe that your son took a wallet containing twenty-five dollars from my bureau drawer.”

      “I deny it!” said Gilbert.

      “What