style="font-size:15px;"> "Have you anything for me to do, aunt?"
"Not at present, Robert."
"Then I'll study a little."
There was an unpainted wooden shelf which Robert had made himself and on it were half a dozen books – his sole library.
From this shelf he took down a tattered arithmetic and a slate and pencil, and, going out of doors, flung himself down on the cliff and opened the arithmetic well toward the end.
"I'll try this sum in cube root," he said to himself. "I got it wrong the last time I tried."
He worked for fifteen minutes and a smile of triumph lit up his face.
"It comes right," he said. "I think I understand cube root pretty well now. It was a good idea working by myself. When I left school I had only got through fractions. That's seventy-five pages back and I understand all that I have tried since. I won't be satisfied till I have gone to the end of the very last page."
Here his aunt came to the door of the cabin and called "Robert."
"All right, aunt; I'm coming."
The boy rose to his feet and answered the summons.
CHAPTER II
ROBERT AND MRS. JONES
"Are you willing to go to the village for me, Robert?" asked his aunt.
"To be sure I am, aunt," answered the boy promptly. "I hope you don't doubt it?"
"I thought you might be tired, as you were out all the forenoon in the boat."
"That's sport, Aunt Jane. That doesn't tire me."
"It would if you were not very strong for a boy."
"Yes, I am pretty strong," said Robert complacently, extending his muscular arms. "I can row the boat when the tide is very strong. What errand have you got for me to the village, aunt?"
"I have been doing a little sewing for Mrs. Jones."
"You mean the landlord's wife?" questioned Robert.
"Yes; I don't feel very friendly toward her husband, for it's he that sells strong drink to my husband and keeps his earnings from me, but I couldn't refuse work from her when she offered it to me."
Mrs. Trafton spoke half apologetically, for it had cost her a pang to work for her enemy's family, but Robert took a practical view of the matter.
"Her money is as good as anybody's," he said. "I don't see why you shouldn't take it. She has enough of our money."
"That's true, Robert," said his aunt, her doubts removed by her young nephew's logic.
"Is the bundle ready. Aunt Jane?"
"Here it is, Robert," and the fisherman's wife handed him a small parcel, wrapped in a fragment of newspaper.
"How much is she to pay for the work?"
"I hardly know what to ask. I guess twenty-five cents will be about right."
"Very well, Aunt Jane. Any other errands?"
"If you get the money, Robert, you may stop at the store and buy a quarter of a pound of their cheapest tea. I am afraid it's extravagant in me to buy tea when there's so little coming in, but it cheers me up when I get low-spirited and helps me to bear what I have to bear."
"Of course you must have some tea, Aunt Jane," said Robert quickly.
"Nobody can charge you with extravagance. Anything more?"
"You may stop at the baker's and buy a loaf of bread. Then to-morrow – please God – we'll have a good breakfast."
"All right, aunt!" and Robert began to walk rapidly toward the village, about a mile inland.
Poor woman! Her idea of a good breakfast was a cup of tea, without milk or sugar, and bread, without butter.
It had not always been so, but her husband's intemperance had changed her ideas and made her accept thankfully what once she would have disdained.
It must be said of Robert that, though he had the hearty appetite of a growing boy, he never increased his aunt's sorrow by complaining of their meager fare, but always preserved a cheerful demeanor in the midst of their privations.
I have said that the settlement, which was known as Cook's Harbor, was a fishing village, but this is not wholly correct. A mile inland was a village of fair size, which included the houses of several summer residents from the city, and these were more or less pretentious.
Several comfortable houses belonged to sea captains who had retired from active duties and anchored in the village where they first saw the light.
The cabins of the fishermen were nearer the sea, and of these there were some twenty, but they were not grouped together.
I have said that the main village was a mile away. Here was the tavern, the grocery store and the shops of the tailor and shoemaker. Here was centered the social life of Cook's Harbor. Here, unfortunately, the steps of John Trafton too often tended, for he always brought up at the tavern and seldom came home with a cent in his pocket.
Robert was no laggard, and it did not take him long to reach the village.
Just in the center stood the tavern, a rambling building of two stories, with an L, which had been added within a few years.
During the summer there were generally boarders from the city, who considered that the invigorating sea air, with its healthful influences, counterbalanced the rather primitive accommodations and homely fare with which they must perforce be content.
By hook or crook Nahum Jones – or Nick Jones as he was called – had managed to accumulate a snug competence, but much of it was gained by his profit on liquor.
He was a thrifty man, whose thrift extended to meanness, and his wife was thoroughly selfish. They had but one child – a daughter – who bade fair to be an old maid.
Though Robert had made no objection to carry the work to the tavern, he didn't enjoy his visit in anticipation.
He disliked both Mr. and Mrs. Jones, but felt that this must not interfere with his aunt's business.
He went round to a side door and knocked. The door was opened by the daughter – Selina Jones.
"Well, Robert," she said abruptly, "what's wanted?"
"Is your mother at home?"
"I suppose she is."
"Can I see her?"
"I don't know – I guess she's busy. Won't I do as well?"
"I would rather see your mother."
Upon this Selina summoned her mother, not thinking it necessary to invite our hero into the house.
"Oh, I see!" said Mrs. Jones as she glanced at the bundle in Robert's hand. "You've brought back the work I gave your aunt."
"Yes,
