"Just as I thought," he said to himself, "Chester Rand ought never to have left Wyncombe. He ain't calc'lated to succeed in the city. He'd orter have stayed in my store. In two or three years he might have been earnin' four or five dollars a week, and he could have boarded at home. It costs a sight to live in the city. I ain't sure that I could afford it myself."

 

Mr. Tripp decided¹ to offer Chester his old place at two dollars and a half a week. Abel Wood was again in his employ, but he didn't like him as well as Chester.

 

The latter he had always found reliable, while Abel was rather apt to forget what Silas told him. Once he had stopped in the street and played ball, losing ten or fifteen minutes in that way. Mr. Tripp was obliged to confess that he never had a more satisfactory boy than Chester.

 

The store closed at nine, and Silas, instead of going into the house, walked over to Mrs. Rand's cottage.

 

She was rather surprised when she saw who her visitor was.

 

"Good-evening, Mr. Tripp," she said, politely. "Won't you come in?"

 

"Thank you, widder. It's rather late to call, but I thought you might like to hear about York, seein' Chester is there."

 

"Have you been to New York to-day?"

 

"Yes; I went up on a little business."

 

"Did you see Chester?"

 

"No, I didn't see him," answered Silas, significantly.

 

"Did you hear anything of him?" Mrs. Rand naturally asked.

 

Mr. Tripp coughed.

 

"Well, yes, I heered somethin' about him."

 

"Is he—sick?" asked the mother, anxiously, made apprehensive² by his tone.

 

"Not that I know of. Hain't he writ³ anything special to you?"

 

"I had a letter yesterday, but there was nothing special in it."

 

"I suppose he didn't say nothin' about his place?"

 

"Yes; he likes it very much."

 

"I don't like to say it, widder, but he's deceivin' you. I saw his employer myself, and he said that he had to discharge Chester."

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