is this Munroe Hill?" asked Abel, when he was left alone with Gerald.
"His father is a lawyer."
"Is he well off?"
"I presume so. He lives in a nice house."
"And John Holman?"
"He works in a shoe shop. His father is dead, and he has to help support the family."
"I thought he was poor. Did you notice that his pants were patched?"
"Yes," said Gerald, gravely; "the poor fellow hasn't much money to spend on clothing."
"Is he a friend of yours?"
"Yes," replied Gerald, warmly; "he is a capital fellow."
"Humph! I sha'n't care to associate with him. Mother likes to have me particular."
"Do you think he is any the worse for his poor clothes?"
"Of course he isn't a gentleman."
"You and I have a different idea as to what constitutes a gentleman."
The time was when Abel had not been able to dress much better than John Holman; but, as this was unknown to Gerald, he posed as one who was "born in the purple."
"I shall try to get better acquainted with Munroe," proceeded Abel. "He seems like a gentleman."
"Everybody likes him; but he is also a friend of John Holman."
"It seems to me that society is rather mixed here."
"We don't judge each other by clothes or a good bank account," said Gerald, manfully.
"I do. I prefer to associate with those who are in my own social position."
"Abel appears to be a snob," thought Gerald. "I am sure I sha'n't like him."
On their way 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
