“But they will stop biting when the sun gets a little warmer; so we had better make the most of our time,” observed George.

By this time the other boys had rigged their poles, and soon two more large perch lay floundering in the boat.  For almost two hours they enjoyed fine sport, as Frank had said they would, and they were too much engaged to think of being hungry.  But soon the fish began to stop biting, and Harry, who had waited impatiently for almost five minutes for a “nibble,” drew up his line and opened a locker in the stern of the boat, and, taking out a basket containing their dinner, was about to make an inroad on its contents, when he discovered a boat, rowed by a boy about his own age, shoot rapidly around a point that extended for a considerable distance out into the river, and turn toward the spot where they were anchored.

“Boys,” he exclaimed, “here comes Charley Morgan!”

“Charley Morgan,” repeated Frank.  “Who is he?”

“Why, he is the new-comer,” answered George.  “He lives in the large brick house on the hill.”

Charley Morgan had formerly lived in New York.  His father was a speculator, and was looked upon by some as a wealthy man; but it was hinted by those who knew him best that if his debts were all paid he would have but little ready money left.  Be that as it may, Mr. Morgan and his family, at any rate, lived in style, and seemed desirous of outshining all their neighbors and acquaintances.  Becoming weary of city life, they had decided to move into the country, and, purchasing a fine village lot in Lawrence, commenced building a house upon it.  Although the village could boast of many fine dwellings, the one on Tower Hill, owned by Mr. Morgan, surpassed them all, and, as is always the case in such places, every one was eager to discover who was to occupy the elegant mansion.  When the house was completed, Mr. Morgan returned to New York to bring on his family, leaving three or four “servants,” as he called them, to look after his affairs; and the Julia Burton landed at the wharf, one pleasant morning, a splendid open carriage, drawn by a span of jet-black horses.  The carriage contained Mr. Morgan and his family, consisting of his wife and one son—­the latter about seventeen years old.  At the time of his introduction to the reader they had been in the village about a week.  Charles, by his haughty, overbearing manner, had already driven away from him the most sensible of the village boys who had become acquainted with him; but there are those every-where who seem, by some strange fatality, to choose the most unworthy of their acquaintances for their associates; and there were several boys in Lawrence who looked upon Charles as a first-rate fellow and a very desirable companion.

George and Harry, although they had frequently seen the “new-comer,” had not had an opportunity to get acquainted with him; and Frank who, as we have said, lived in the outskirts of the village, and who had been very busy at work for the last week on his boat, had not seen him at all.