“Won’t you go up to the Town Hall with me, mother?” asked Ben.  I am sure you would enjoy it.”

“Thank you, Ben, for wishing me to have a share in your amusements,” his mother replied, “but I have a little headache this evening, and I shall be better off at home.”

“It isn’t on account of the expense you decline, mother, is it?  You know Mr. Crawford gave me a dollar, and the tickets are but twenty-five cents.”

“No, it isn’t that, Ben.  If it were a concert I might be tempted to go in spite of my headache, but a magical entertainment would not amuse me as much as it will you.”

“Just as you think best, mother; but I should like to have you go.  You won’t feel lonely, will you?”

“I am used to being alone till nine o’clock, when you are at the store.”

This conversation took place at the supper table.  Ben went directly from the store to the Town Hall, where he enjoyed himself as much as he anticipated.  If he could have foreseen how his mother was to pass that evening, it would have destroyed all is enjoyment.

CHAPTER III MRS. BARCLAY’S CALLERS

About half-past eight o’clock Mrs. Barclay sat with her work in her hand.  Her headache was better, but she did not regret not having accompanied Ben to the Town Hall.

“I am glad Ben is enjoying himself,” she thought, “but I would rather stay quietly at home.  Poor boy! he works hard enough, and needs recreation now and then.”

Just then a knock was heard at the outside door.

“I wonder who it can be?” thought the widow.  “I supposed everybody would be at the Town Hall.  It may be Mrs. Perkins come to borrow something.”

Mrs. Perkins was a neighbor much addicted to borrowing, which was rather disagreeable, but might have been more easily tolerated but that she seldom returned the articles lent.

Mrs. Barclay went to the door and opened it, fully expecting to see her borrowing neighbor.  A very different person met her view.  The ragged hat, the ill-looking face, the neglected attire, led her to recognize the tramp whom Ben had described to her as having attempted to rob him in the afternoon.  Terrified, Mrs. Barclay’s first impulse was to shut the door and bolt it.  But her unwelcome visitor was too quick for her.  Thrusting his foot into the doorway, he interposed an effectual obstacle in the way of shutting the door.

“No, you don’t, ma’am!” he said, with as laugh.  “I understand your little game.  You want to shut me out.”

“What do you want?” asked the widow apprehensively.

“What do I want?” returned the tramp.  “Well, to begin with, I want something to eat—­and drink,” he added, after a pause.

“Why don’t you go to the tavern?” asked Mrs. Barclay, anxious for him to depart.

“Well, I can’t afford it.  All the money I’ve got is a bogus dollar your rogue of a son gave me this afternoon.”