know all that, uncle, but I can work if I am a boy."
"I know you're willin' to work, Ben, but it'll cost a sight of money to get out to Californy to start with."
"I know that. It will take two hundred dollars."
"And that's more'n half of all you've got. It seems to me temptin' Providence to spend such a sight of money for the chance of earning some on t'other side of the world, when you can get a livin' here and put all your money in the bank."
"In five years it would only amount to five hundred dollars, and if I go to California, I expect to be worth a good deal more than that before two years are past."
"I'm afraid you've got large idees, Ben."
"You won't interfere with my going, Uncle Job?" asked Ben anxiously.
"I won't actooly interfere, but I'll do all I can to have you give it up."
"But if my mind is set upon it, you'll let me go, won't you, uncle?"
"I suppose I must," said Job Stanton. "A wilful lad must have his way. But you mustn't blame me if things turn out unlucky."
"No, I shall only blame myself."
"There's one promise you must make me," said his uncle.
"What is that?"
"Take a week to consider whether you hadn't better take my advice and stay at home."
"Yes, uncle, I'll promise that."
"And you'll think it over in all its bearin's?"
"Yes, uncle."
"It ain't best to take any important step without reflection, Ben."
"You're right, uncle."
This conversation took place in Job Stanton's little shoe-shop, only a rod distant from the small, plain house which he had occupied ever since he had been married. It was interrupted by the appearance of a pretty girl of fourteen, who, presenting herself at the door of the shop, called out:
"Supper's ready, father."
"So are we, Jennie," said Ben, promptly.
"You are always ready to eat, Ben," said his cousin, smiling.
"That's what Mrs. Pitkin used to think, Jennie. She used to watch every mouthful I took."
CHAPTER II
DEACON PITKIN'S OFFER
Ben's father had died three months before. He had lost his mother when ten years old, and having neither brother nor sister was left quite alone in the world. At one time his father had possessed a few thousand dollars, but by unlucky investments he had lost nearly all, so that Ben's inheritance amounted to less than four hundred dollars.
This thought troubled Mr. Stanton, and on his death-bed he spoke about it to his son.
"I shall leave you almost destitute, Ben," he said. "If I had acted more wisely it would have been different."
"Don't trouble yourself about that, father," said Ben promptly. "I am young and strong, and I shall be sure to get along."
"You will have to work hard, and the world is a hard taskmaster."
"I don't feel afraid, father. I am sure I shall succeed."
The dying father was cheered by Ben's confident words. Our hero was strong and sturdy, his limbs active, and his face ruddy with health. He looked like a boy who could get along. He was not a sensitive plant, and not to be discouraged by rebuffs. The father's brow cleared.
"I am glad you are not afraid to meet what is in store for you," he said. "I believe you will do your part, and God helps those who help themselves."
After his father's death, Ben became an inmate of his uncle's family while the estate was being settled. He paid for his board partly by work in the shop, and partly by doing chores. This brings us to the day when the conversation detailed in the first chapter took place.
On the following morning Ben was sent on an errand to the village store. On his way he overtook Deacon Pitkin.
"Good mornin', Ben!" said the deacon. "Where are you goin'?"
"To the store, sir."
"So am I. Ef you ain't in a hurry, le'ss walk along together."
"All right, sir," answered Ben. "I think I know what's comin," he said to himself.
"You're stayin' at your Uncle Job's, ain't you?" asked Deacon Pitkin.
"Yes, sir."
"You don't calc'late to keep on there, do you?"
"No, sir; he would like to have me stay and work in the shop, but I don't fancy shoemaking."
"Jest so. I wouldn't ef I was you. It's an onsartin business.
There's nothin' like farmin' for stiddy work."
"The old man kept me at work pretty stiddy," thought Ben. "He'd always find something for me to do."
"'Ive been thinkin' that I need a boy about your age to help me on my farm. I ain't so young as I was, and I've got a crick in my back. I don't want a man-"
"You'd have to pay him too high wages," Ben said to himself.
"A strong, capable boy like you could give me all the help I need."
"I expect I could," said Ben demurely.
"I was sayin' to Mrs. Pitkin this mornin' that I thought it would be a good plan to take you till you was twenty-one."
"What did she say?" asked Ben, interested.
"Waal, she didn't say much," answered the deacon slowly; "but I guess she hasn't no objections."
"Didn't she say that I had an awful appetite?" asked Ben, smiling.
"She said you was pretty hearty," answered the deacon, rather surprised at Ben's penetration. "Boys should curb their appetites."
"I don't think I could curb mine," said Ben thoughtfully.
"I guess there wouldn't be any trouble about that," returned the deacon, whose meanness ran in a different channel from his wife's, and who took less note of what was eaten at his table. "Ef you think you'd like to engage, and we could make a bargain, you might begin next week."
"Jest so," said Ben.
The deacon looked at him rather sharply, but Ben didn't appear to intend any disrespect in repeating his favorite phrase.
"Did your father leave you much?" inquired Deacon Pitkin.
"A few hundred dollars," said Ben carelessly.
"Indeed!" said the deacon, gratified. "What are you goin' to do with it?"
"Uncle Job thinks it would be best to put it in the bank."
"Jest
