he turned his steps towards the house, which he entered.
"Where's my mother?" he inquired of the servant.
"She's upstairs in her own room, Mr. Benjamin," was the answer.
Ben hurried upstairs, and opened the door at the head of the staircase. It was a spacious chamber, covered with a rich carpet, and handsomely furnished. At the time of his mother's marriage to Squire Oakley, she had induced him to discard the old furniture, and refurnish it to suit her taste. There were some who thought that what had been good enough for the first Mrs. Oakley, who was an elegant and refined lady, ought to have been good enough for one, who, until her second marriage, had been a house-keeper. But, by some means,—certainly not her beauty, for she was by no means handsome,—she had acquired an ascendency over the squire, and he went to considerable expense to gratify her whim.
Mrs. Oakley sat at the window, engaged in needlework. She was tall and thin, with a sallow complexion, and pale, colorless lips. Her eyes were gray and cold. There was a strong personal resemblance between Ben and herself, and there was reason to think that he was like her in his character and disposition as well as in outward appearance. She was dressed in black, for the husband who had just died.
"Why have you not gone out to ride, Ben?" she asked, as her son entered the room.
"Because that young brute prevented me."
"Whom do you mean?" asked his mother.
"I mean John Oakley, of course."
"How could he prevent you?"
"He came up just as I was going to start, and told me to get off the horse,—that it was his."
"And you were coward enough to do it?" said his mother, scornfully.
"No. I told him it was not his any longer; that you had given it to me."
"What did he say then?"
"That you had no business to give it away, as it was his."
"Did he say that?" demanded Mrs. Oakley, her gray eyes flashing angrily.
"Yes, he did."
"Why didn't you ride off without minding him?"
"Because he took the horse by the bridle, and made him contrary; I didn't want to be thrown, so I jumped off."
"Did you have the whip in your hand?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you lay it over his back? That might have taught him better manners."
"So I did."
"You did right," said his mother, with satisfaction; for she had never liked her husband's son. His frank, brave, generous nature differed too much from her own to lead to any affection between them. She felt that he outshone her own son, and far exceeded him in personal gifts and popularity with the young people of the neighborhood, and it made her angry with him. Besides, she had a suspicion that Ben was deficient in courage, and it pleased her to think that he had on this occasion acted manfully.
"Then I don't see why you didn't jump on the horse again and ride away," she continued.
"Because," said Ben, reluctantly, "John got the whip away from me."
"Did he strike you with it?" asked Mrs. Oakley, quickly.
"Yes," said Ben, vindictively. "He struck me twice, the ruffian! But I'll be even with him yet!"
"You shall be even with him," said Mrs. Oakley, pressing her thin lips firmly together. "But I'm ashamed of you for standing still and bearing the insult like a whipped dog."
"I tried to get at him," said Ben; "but he kept flourishing the whip, so that I couldn't get a chance."
"Where is he now?"
"He's gone to ride."
"Gone to ride! You let him do it?"
"I couldn't help it; he was too quick for me. He jumped on the horse before I knew what he was going to do, and dashed out of the yard at full speed."
"He is an impertinent young rebel!" said Mrs. Oakley, angrily. "I am ashamed of you for letting him get the advantage of you; but I am very angry with him. So he said that I had no business to give you the horse, did he?"
"Yes; he has no more respect for you than for a servant," said Ben, artfully, knowing well that nothing would be so likely to make his mother angry as this. Having once been in a subordinate position, she was naturally suspicious, and apprehensive that she would not be treated with a proper amount of respect by those around her. It was Ben's object to incense his mother against John, feeling that in this way he would best promote his own selfish ends.
"So he has no respect for me?" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley, angrily.
"None at all," said Ben, decisively. "He says you have no right here, nor I either."
This last statement was an utter fabrication, as Ben well knew; for John, though he had never liked his father's second wife, had always treated her with the outward respect which propriety required. He was not an impudent nor a disrespectful boy; but he had a proper spirit, and did not choose to be bullied by Ben, whom he would have liked if he had possessed any attractive qualities. It had never entered his mind to grudge him the equal advantages which Squire Oakley, for his mother's sake, had bestowed upon her son. He knew that his father was a man of property, and that there was enough for both. When, however, Ben manifested a disposition to encroach upon his rights, John felt that the time for forbearance had ceased, and he gave him distinctly to understand that there was a limit beyond which he must not pass. Very soon after Ben first entered the family John gave him a thrashing,—in self-defence, however,—of which he complained to his mother. Though very angry, she feared to diminish her influence with his father by moving much in the matter, and therefore contented herself by cautioning Ben to avoid him as much as possible.
"Some time or other he shall be punished," she said; "but at present it is most prudent for us to keep quiet and bide our time."
Now, however, Mrs. Oakley felt that the power was in her own hands. She had no further necessity for veiling her real nature, or refraining from gratifying her resentment. The object for which she had schemed—her husband's property—was hers, and John Oakley was dependent upon her for everything. If she treated him ungenerously, it would create unfavorable comments in the neighborhood; but for this she did not care. The property was hers by her husband's will, and no amount of censure would deprive her of it. She would now be able to enrich Ben at John's expense, and she meant to do it. Henceforth Ben would be elevated to the position of heir, and John must take a subordinate position as a younger son, or, perhaps, to speak still more accurately, as a poor relation with a scanty claim upon her bounty.
"I'll break that boy's proud spirit," she said to herself. "He has been able to triumph over Ben; but he will find that I am rather more difficult to deal with."
There was an expression of resolution upon her face, and a vicious snapping of the eyes, which boded ill to our hero. Mrs. Oakley undoubtedly had the power to make him uncomfortable, and she meant to do it, unless he would submit meekly to her sway. That this was not very likely may be judged from what we have already seen of him.
Mrs. Oakley's first act was to bestow on Ben the horse, Prince, which had been given to John a year before by his father. John had been accustomed to take a
