“Martha,” he said to his wife, “young Harrington is a hard man.  He has me in his power, and he will not scruple to ruin me.  I think I would better go and talk with him, telling him how little I have.  It may be he will pity two old people, and allow us better terms.”

“But husband, you are not used to traveling; Harrowtown is a hundred miles away, and you are old and feeble too.”

“True, wife; but I can talk much better than I can write, and besides, Luke Conway lives there, you remember.  I took an interest in him when he was a poor boy; perhaps he will advise and help us, now that we are in trouble.”

At last, since he felt that he must go, Mrs. Randal reluctantly consented, and fitted him out for the journey with great care.

The next morning was warm and sunny for November, and the old man started for Harrowtown.

“Gideon,” called Mrs. Randal as he walked slowly down the road, “be sure to take tight hold of the railing, when you get in and out of the cars.”

“I’ll be careful, Martha,” and with one more “good bye” wave of his hand, the old man hurried on to take the stage, which was to carry him to the station.  But misfortune met him at the very outset.  The stage was heavily loaded, and on the way, one of the wheels broke down; this caused such a delay that Mr. Randal missed the morning train, and the next did not come for several hours.

It was afternoon when he finally started.  He became anxious and weary from long waiting, and after three stations were passed, he became nervous, and worried.

“How long before we reach Harrowtown?” he inquired, stopping the busy conductor.

“At half past eight.”

[Illustration:  “How long before we reach Harrowtown?”]

Another question was upon Mr. Randal’s lips, but the conductor was gone.  “Not reach there until evening!” he exclaimed to himself in dismay, “and pitch dark, for there’s no moon now; I shall not know where to go!”

Presently the conductor passed again.  “Mr. Conductor, will you kindly tell me when to get out?  I’ve never been to Harrowtown, and I don’t want to stop at the wrong place.”

“Give yourself no uneasiness,” was the polite reply, “I’ll let you know; I will not forget you.”

Soothed by this assurance, the old man settled back in his seat and finally went to sleep.

In the seat behind him sat a tall, handsome boy.  His name was Albert Gregory.  He was bright and intelligent, but there was an expression of cruelty about his mouth, and a look about his eyes that was cold and unfeeling.  This lad saw the old man fall asleep, and he nudged his companion:—­

“See here, John, by and by I’ll play a good joke on that old country greeny, and you’ll see fun.”

On rushed the train; mile after mile was passed.  Daylight faded, and the lamps were lighted in the cars, and still the old man slept, watched by his purposed tormentor and the other boy, who wanted to see “the fun.”