I have as much money," answered Grit quietly.
"Oho! That's a good joke," said Phil.
"No joke at all," said Grit. "I don't know how much money you have in your pocketbook, but I presume I can show more."
Phil's face grew red with anger. He was one of those disagreeable boys who are purse-proud, and he was provoked at hearing such a ridiculous assertion from a poor boy who had to earn his own living.
Even Marion regarded Grit with some wonder, for she happened to know how much money her cousin carried, and it seemed to her very improbable that the young boatman should have as much in his possession.
"Don't make a fool of yourself, Grit!" said Phil sharply.
"Thank you; I don't propose to."
"But you are doing it."
"How?"
"Didn't you say you had more money than I?"
"I think I have."
"Hear him talk!" said Phil, with a glance of derision.
By this time the young boatman's grit was up, if I may use the expression, and he resolved to surprise and mortify his young adversary.
"If you are not afraid to test it," he said, "I will leave it to the young lady to decide. Let her count the money in your pocketbook, and I will then give her my wallet for the same purpose."
"Done!" said Phil promptly.
Marion, wondering a little at Grit's confidence, took her cousin's pocketbook, and counted the contents.
"Well, Marion, how much is there?" said Phil exultingly.
"Seventeen dollars and thirty-seven cents," was the announcement of the fair umpire.
Phil smiled triumphantly.
"You didn't think I had so much—eh, Grit?" he said.
"No, I didn't," Grit admitted.
"Now hand over your wallet."
"With pleasure, if Miss Marion will take the trouble," answered the young boatman, with a polite bow.
When Marion opened the wallet, and saw the roll of bills, both she and Phil looked astonished. She proceeded to count the bills, however, and in a tone of serious surprise announced:
"I find sixty dollars here."
"That is right," said Grit quietly, as he received back his wallet, and thrust it into his pocket.
Phil hardly knew whether he was more surprised or mortified at this unexpected result. But a thought struck him.
"Whose money is that?" he demanded abruptly.
"It is mine."
"I don't believe it. You are carrying it over to some one in Chester."
"Perhaps I am; but, if so, that some one is my mother."
"You don't mean to say that you have sixty dollars of your own?"
"Yes, I do. You didn't think I had so much money—eh, Phil?" he retorted, with a smile.
"I don't believe a word of it," returned Phil crossly. "It is ridiculous that a boy like you should have so much money. It can't be yours."
"Do you doubt it, Miss Marion?" asked Grit, turning to the young lady.
"No; I believe that it is yours since you say so."
"Thank you."
"If it is yours, where did you get it?" asked Phil, whose curiosity overcame his mortification sufficiently to induce him to ask the question.
"I don't feel called upon to tell you," answered Grit.
"Then I can guess."
"Very well. If you guess right, I will admit it."
"You found it, and won't be long before finding the owner."
"You are wrong. The money is mine, and was paid me in the course of business."
Phil did not know what to say, but Marion said pleasantly:
"Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Grit, on being so well off. You are richer than either of your passengers. I never had sixty dollars of my own in my life."
By this time they had reached the other side of the river, and the two passengers disembarked.
"Well, Phil, you came off second best," said his cousin.
"I can't understand how the boy came into possession of such a sum of money," said Phil, frowning.
"Nor I; but I am sure of one thing."
"What is that?"
"That he came by it honestly."
"Don't be too sure of that," said Phil, shaking his head.
"Phil, you are too bad," said Marion warmly. "You seem to have taken an unaccountable prejudice against Grit. I am sure he seems to me a very nice boy."
"You're welcome to the young boatman's society," said Phil, with a sneer. "You seem to be fond of low company."
"If you call him low company, then perhaps I am. I never met Grit before this morning, but he seems a very polite, spirited boy, and it is certainly to his credit that he supports his mother."
"I can tell you something about him that may chill your ardor? His father is in jail."
"I heard that it was his stepfather."
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter which."
"In one sense, no. The boy isn't to blame for it."
"No, but it shows of what stock he comes."
Meanwhile, Grit, having fastened his boat, made his way to the cottage on the bluff. He wanted to tell his mother of his good fortune.
CHAPTER VIII.
GRIT PUTS HIS MONEY AWAY
"You seem to be in good spirits, Grit," said his mother, as our hero opened the outside door and entered the room where she sat sewing.
"Yes, mother, I have reason to be. Is—is Mr. Brandon home?"
"Yes; he is up-stairs lying down," answered Mrs. Brandon, with a sigh.
Grit rose and closed the door.
"I don't want him to hear what I'm going to tell you," he said. "Mother, I have been very lucky to-day."
"I suppose Mr. Jackson was liberal."
"I should say he was. Guess how much money I have in this wallet, mother."
"Five dollars."
"Multiply
