“Well, well; you won’t have to do it.”

“It would put me on a level with Ben Barclay, if I stepped into his shoes.  Won’t he be down in the month when he hears he has lost his place?” and Tom chuckled at the thought.

“That is no concern of mine,” said the squire.  “I suppose he can hire out to a farmer.”

“Just the business for him”, said Tom, “unless he should prefer to go to New York and set up as a bootblack.  I believe I’ll suggest that to him!”

“Probably he won’t thank you for the suggestion.”

“I guess not.  He’s as proud as he is poor.  It’s amusing to see what airs he puts on.”

Squire Davenport, however, was not so much interested in that phase of the subject as Tom, and did not reply.

“I think I’ll go down street,” thought Tom.  “Perhaps I may come across Ben.  I shall enjoy seeing how he takes it.”

Tom had scarcely walked a hundred yards when he met, not the one of whom he had thought, but another to whom he felt glad to speak on the same subject.  This was Rose Gardiner, the prettiest girl in the village, who had already deeply offended Tom by accepting Ben as her escort from the magical entertainment in place of him.  He had made advances since, being desirous of ousting Ben from his position of favorite, but the young lady had treated him coldly, much to his anger and mortification.

“Good-morning, Miss Rose,” said Tom.

“Good-morning,” answered Rose civilly.

“Have you heard the news?”

“To what news do you refer?”

“Crawford has sold out his business.”

“Indeed!” said Rose, in surprise; “who has bought it?”

“My father.  Of course, he won’t keep store himself.  He will put in a connection of ours, Mr. Kirk.”

“This is news, indeed!  Where is Mr. Crawford going?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.  I thought you’d be more apt to inquire about somebody else?”

“I am not good at guessing enigmas,” said Rose.

“Your friend, Ben Barclay,” returned Tom, with a sneer.  “Father won’t have him in the store!”

“Oh, I see; you are going to take his place,” said Rose mischievously.

“I?  What do you take me for?” said Tom, haughtily.  “I suppose Ben Barclay will have to go to work on a farm.”

“That is a very honorable employment,” said Rose calmly.

“Yes; he can be a hired man when he grows up.  Perhaps, though, he will prefer to go to the city and become a bootblack.”

“Ben ought to be very much obliged to you for the interest you feel in his welfare,” said Rose, looking steadily and scornfully at Tom.  “Good-morning.”

“She feels sore about it,” thought Tom complacently.  “She won’t be quite so ready to accept Ben’s attentions when he is a farm laborer.”

Tom, however, did not understand Rose Gardiner.  She was a girl of good sense, and her estimate of others was founded on something else than social position.