“What is to be my pay?” asked Tom, still veiling his growing inclination to accept the proposal of the merchant.

“Not much at first.  Five dollars a week, which shall be made six at the end of a month if you suit.  An increase will be given at the end of every half year; I don’t say provided you earn it, for, if you don’t, I won’t keep you.  What do you say, young man?”

“I’ll try it; when do you wish me?”

“To-day is Friday.  Come Monday morning.  Don’t be later than eight o’clock.  Good-night, all.”

Mr. Warmore had risen to his feet and raised his hat politely to all three.  The farmer, who had hardly spoken a word during the interview, also arose and walked to the gate with his caller, where they talked for a few minutes.

“Yes, I like his looks,” remarked the merchant in a low voice, as he untied his horse and flung the strap under the seat.  “There is something good in his face.  He looks honest; he is well put together; he is not afraid of work.  Is he fully recovered from his injured leg?”

“I never saw one get well so quick.  You wouldn’t know that anything had ever happened to him.  Of course one would say that coming to my house in the strange manner he did, I haven’t had much chance to judge him.  That would be the case with a man, but a boy can’t play the hypocrite for long.  My wife and I are very fond of him, and he will still be able to board with us.”

“There is no reason why he should not.  It is hardly a mile from here to the store, and it won’t trouble him to walk it summer and winter.  Now and then, when we are busy, I shall have to keep him in the evenings, but from what I hear, he has learned how to take care of himself.  Well, Joseph, we are liable to make mistakes, and it may be we have done so in this case, but we’ll chance it.  Good-night again.”

The merchant sprang lightly into his buggy, and drove down the road at a rapid pace, while the farmer, gazing for a moment or two in the direction of the cloud of dust, rejoined his wife and Tom on the porch.

Chapter XX.

And now let’s take a big jump forward.  Hold your breath while we gather our muscles for the effort, for when we land, it is at a point four years from the day when Tom Gordon entered the employ of Josiah Warmore, the leading merchant in the town of Bellemore, on the Hudson.

There have been many changes in those years, but in some respects slight differences could be noted.  It would be hard to tell from looking at Mr. Warmore that he was one day older than when he stopped at the home of Farmer Pitcairn and hired Tom Gordon.  His hair and whiskers were so white at that time that they could not grow any whiter.  The face wears the same kindly expression, the shoulders are no more stooped than they were then, and his walk is as brisk and sprightly as ever.  Few of his clerks are more alert of movement than he.