Making His Mark. Alger Horatio Jr.

through the village they passed a drug-store.

      "I suppose no soda water is to be had in a town like this," said Abel, with a quiet smile.

      "Yes; we can get some in the drug-store. If you will come in I shall be glad to offer you some."

      "I don't mind," replied Abel, who seldom declined a treat.

      They entered the store and were speedily supplied. Gerald drew a dollar bill from his vest-pocket and paid the bill.

      "I wonder how much money he carries round with him?" thought Abel. "I must ask mother."

      "Now I guess we'll go home. I feel tired after my journey."

      "Very well."

      "Where did you go?" asked Mrs. Lane, when they re-entered the house.

      "I took Abel round the village, Mrs. Lane."

      "And what do you think of it, Abel?" asked his mother.

      "Oh, it'll do; but I'd rather live in the city."

      "The city would naturally be more attractive to a young person. You prefer it to Fulton, I hope?"

      "Yes; I hope I shall never go back there. I hate boarding-school."

      "I hope you don't hate study. At your age you can hardly have a sufficient education. There is a good academy here. I should like to have you attend next term."

      "Perhaps I will," said Abel, vaguely; "but I want to rest a while."

      When Gerald left the room he said:

      "Gerald treated me to some soda water."

      "Did he?"

      "Yes, and he took out a dollar bill to pay for it. Do you allow him much money?"

      "No; he won't have as much as you."

      "I should hope not. He's only your stepson."

      "I am quite aware of that, and so is he."

      "Does he attend the academy?"

      "He has been doing so; but I have decided to withdraw him and put him to work."

      "Where? In a shoe shop?"

      "No. Mr. Tubbs, a grocer in the village, has agreed to take him."

      "That's a good arrangement. He hasn't any money, and ought to work for a living like that Holman boy I met."

      "Did you meet John Holman?"

      "Yes. Who is he?"

      "His mother is one of my tenants; but if she doesn't pay a month's rent on Monday I shall turn her out."

      "That's right, mother. Business is business. I wish I were going to sleep in that large room to-night."

      "You shall go into it to-morrow."

      "I expect Gerald will make a fuss," chuckled Abel.

      "No doubt he will."

      "But you won't give in to him, will you, mother? You won't forget that I am to have the best of everything?"

      "Yes, my darling; I will see that you are well provided for," said Mrs. Lane, fondly.

      CHAPTER VII

      A PLEBEIAN RELATIVE

      On Sunday the family attended church. Many curious glances were fixed on the Lane's pew, and there was a general wonder who the new boy was. Abel was not at all troubled by this scrutiny, but held up his head and assumed airs of importance.

      "Who is that new boy, Gerald?" asked Harry Lovell.

      "It is Abel Tyler—Mrs. Lane's son."

      "I never knew she had a son."

      "Nor did I till lately."

      "Is he going to live here?"

      "I suppose so."

      "I don't think I shall like him."

      "Why not?" Gerald asked.

      "He looks disagreeable. Do you like him?"

      "I haven't made up my mind. He only came yesterday. We must give him a chance."

      Toward evening Mrs. Lane said:

      "Gerald, I am going to transfer you to the small room, and give your present room to Abel."

      Gerald had a good temper ordinarily, but his eyes flashed with indignation.

      "Why is this, Mrs. Lane?" he demanded.

      "I don't acknowledge your right to question or criticise my arrangements," said his stepmother, coldly.

      "Mrs. Lane, that room has always been mine. My father gave it to me when I was eight years old, and I have occupied it ever since. Abel is a stranger in the house. Why should my room be given to him?"

      "When your father was alive he made such arrangements as he chose for you. He is dead, and his authority has descended to me."

      "There is no justice in this change," said Gerald, bitterly, for he was attached to his chamber, and it was endeared to him by many associations.

      "I don't want to hear any more on the subject," said Mrs. Lane, decisively. "I have made the change for good and sufficient reasons and nothing that you can say will alter my plan."

      "That's right, ma," put in Abel. "Of course it is for you to say. I wouldn't stand any impudence."

      "Nor will I," retorted Gerald, and he looked so fierce and determined that Abel shrank back in momentary fear of an attack.

      "Enough of this," said Mrs. Lane, coldly. "Gerald, you will find that your trunk and clothing have been carried into the small room. You will get used to it in time."

      "If this injustice continues," Gerald said to himself, "I may decide to leave my old home and strike out for myself."

      He resolved, however, not to act hastily, but for the present to accommodate himself to the new arrangements. It was hard to bear Abel's triumphant glance as he walked into the larger room, which had so long been his own.

      During the week following Gerald did not attend school. If, as seemed likely, a long season of hard work lay before him, he would have a preliminary vacation. A good deal of his time he spent in his dory, as he was very fond of the water and was a skilful oarsman. Two or three times Abel accompanied him and showed an ambition to use the oars; but, not being accustomed to rowing, he one day upset the boat, and might have been drowned but for the timely assistance rendered by Gerald. This seemed to disgust him with the water, and he gave up the idea of asking his mother for a sail-boat. Gerald was not sorry to lose his company, especially as his place was frequently taken by John Holman, who was now back again in the shoe shop, but only working on half-time.

      One afternoon, after leaving the boat, Gerald was on his way home when he was accosted by a stranger—a stout, muscular man, roughly dressed, who looked like a laboring man.

      "Are you acquainted hereabout, young man?" he asked.

      "Yes, sir."

      "I have a sister living here somewhere, but as I have never been in Portville before I don't know where to find her."

      "Perhaps I can direct you," said Gerald, politely. "What is her name?"

      "Her first husband was a Tyler, but I hear she married a rich man in this town—his name was Lane, I'm told."

      Gerald was amazed. Was it possible that this rough-looking man was the brother of his stepmother and the uncle of Abel? It must be so, for Abel's last name, as he recalled, was Tyler.

      "You have come to the right person for information," he said. "Your sister married my father."

      "You don't say! Well, that beats all. Is it true that my sister is again a widder?"

      "Yes; my father is dead," said Gerald, gravely.

      "And did he leave Melindy well fixed?" asked the stranger, vaguely.

      "Yes."

      Gerald did not feel like going into particulars. He felt too bitterly the injustice of his father's will to speak of its provisions before a stranger.

      "Well,