From Farm to Fortune; or, Nat Nason's Strange Experience. Alger Horatio Jr.

you burnt much?"

      "More'n I want to be. Jest wait till I catch Nat!"

      "Do you think–" began the housekeeper.

      "O' course I do!" snorted Abner Balberry. "Didn't I see him a-runnin' away from the barn?"

      "I never thought Nat would be wicked enough to set a barn on fire."

      "He was mad because I wouldn't give him no supper. He's a young rascal, he is!"

      "But to burn a barn!"

      "Thet boy has got to be taken in hand, Mrs. Felton. I've let him have his own way too much. I'm goin' to lay down the law good an' hard after this."

      "Maybe he won't come back," suggested the housekeeper.

      This thought startled the farmer and he lost no time in finishing his washing.

      "I'm goin' after him," he announced. "If he thinks to run away I'll put a spoke in his wheel putty quick."

      Taking another look around, to make certain that the fire was really out, Abner Balberry brought out one of his horses and hitched the animal to a buckboard, in the meantime sending the housekeeper back to the house to get his hat and coat.

      "Where do you suppose you'll find him?" asked Mrs. Felton.

      "Somewhere along the road most likely."

      "Maybe he'll hide on you."

      "He had better not. If he does that, I'll call on the squire about him."

      "Can you do that?"

      "O' course I can. Didn't he try to burn down the barn? The squire can make out a warrant for his arrest."

      "It would be awful to have him arrested."

      "Well, he brought it on himself," answered Abner Balberry, doggedly. "He had no right to try to set the barn afire. Next thing you know, Mrs. Felton, he'll be a-trying to burn us up in our beds."

      "Oh, I don't think Nat would be as bad as that."

      "You don't know thet boy as well as I do. He's sly an' stubborn, and he'll do 'most anything when he's crossed. But I'll fix him! Jest you wait an' see!"

      "How far will you follow him?"

      "As far as it's necessary. If he thinks he can git away from me he'll find out, sooner or later, he is mistaken."

      "You don't know when you'll be back?"

      "No. It may be I'll have to wait in town till the squire opens his office—that is, if I can't find Nat."

      "But you are going to look for him yourself first?"

      "Yes."

      With this answer Abner Balberry drove off in the darkness. Mrs. Felton watched him and heaved a long and deep sigh.

      "Too bad!" she murmured. "If he catches Nat it will surely go hard with that boy. Well, I didn't think he was bad enough to set fire to a barn!"

      CHAPTER V

      THE SALE OF A COW

      Totally unconscious of what had taken place at the farm after his departure, Nat, in company with his friend, Sam Price, proceeded on his way to Brookville.

      On the journey Nat told his friend of many things that had happened to him and of his uncle's meanness.

      "I don't wonder you want a change," said Sam. "I'd want a change myself."

      At last they came in sight of Brookville, and Nat drove the cow to the yard of Jackson the butcher.

      The butcher was a fat, good-natured man of middle age. But he was a shrewd business man and first-class at driving a bargain.

      "What do you want, boy?" he asked of Nat.

      "Do you want to buy a cow, Mr. Jackson? Sam says you were out looking for cows day before yesterday."

      "I did want cows then, but I've got nearly all I want now."

      "Oh, then I'll go elsewhere," answered Nat.

      "Hold on, not so fast. What do you want for your cow?"

      "Thirty dollars."

      "Phew! you don't want much."

      "She's worth it. You can milk her or use her for meat, just as you choose."

      "Whose cow is she?"

      "Mine."

      "Yours?" And the butcher gazed at Nat curiously.

      "Yes. I've owned her ever since she was a little calf."

      "And now you are tired of her?"

      "Not exactly that, but I want to use the money. Will you buy her?"

      "Yes, but not for thirty dollars."

      "How much will you give?"

      "Twenty dollars."

      "I don't care to sell for twenty dollars."

      "That's the best I can do."

      "Then I'll have to go elsewhere. Come, Jennie," and Nat turned to drive the cow from the butcher's yard again.

      "Hold on!" cried the meat man. "I'll give you twenty-two dollars."

      "Make it twenty-five and I'll accept. I can't take less. I ought to get thirty dollars."

      There was some more talk, and in the end, the butcher agreed to pay twenty-five dollars and did so. He wanted a receipt, and Nat wrote it out for him.

      "So you are Nat Nason," said the butcher. "I used to know your father. A very nice man."

      "He was a nice man."

      "Live with your uncle now, don't you?"

      "I have been living with him, yes. Good-day, and much obliged," returned the boy, and to avoid being questioned further he left the yard at once, followed by Sam.

      "You made a good bargain on the cow," said Sam. "I reckon you got every cent she was worth."

      "She was a good cow, Sam. I'm rather sorry to part with her. She was almost like a friend."

      "What are you going to do next?"

      "Strike out for the city."

      "I wish you luck."

      "You won't tell my uncle?"

      "Not a word. But, say."

      "Well?"

      "When you get to the city write and tell me how you like it."

      "I will, Sam, and you must tell me the news from home, and how my uncle gets along without me."

      So it was arranged; and a few minutes later the two lads separated, and Sam Price started for home.

      Brookville was on a small branch railroad running to Cleveland, and by consulting a time-table Nat learned that a train for Cleveland would leave in ten minutes. He lost no time in purchasing a ticket, and spent the rest of the time in eating some of the lunch he had brought along. With over twenty-three dollars still in his pocket he felt rich, and bought some peanuts and a cake of sweet chocolate.

      When the train came along there were scarcely any passengers aboard, so he had little difficulty in getting the seat he wanted. He sat down by a window, with his bundle beside him, and gave himself up to thinking and to looking at the scenery as it whirled past.

      Nat had traveled but little on the cars, so the ride to Cleveland was intensely enjoyable. The different places passed were so interesting that he soon forgot to think about his prospects, or of what he was to do when he arrived at the city on the lake.

      "Next stop is Cleveland!" cried the conductor, standing at the open doorway. "All change, for trains east and west!"

      A moment later the train rolled into the smoky station, and bundle in hand, Nat left the car and stepped onto the platform. From there he walked to the street, where he gazed in some bewilderment at the crowds of people and the swiftly moving street cars.

      "Paper!" cried a newsboy. "Morning paper?"

      "No, I don't want any paper," answered Nat.

      "All