“I ought to know,” he persisted.  “I’m old enough to run the engine at the works.  Surely you and father ought to trust me to know what troubles you.  Father has gone?”

“Yes, Larry.”

“When is he coming back?”

“I don’t know.  He doesn’t know himself.  But I hope it will not be long before we see him again.”

“The superintendent will ask me about it, and I don’t like to act as if my folks didn’t trust me.  If you can’t trust me, he won’t wish to.”

“Your father told you what to answer if you are questioned.”

“Mr. Gardner may be satisfied with that for a day or two, but if he stays away longer than that—­”

“Well, well!” Mrs. Kendall interrupted, so impatiently that Larry was silenced.  “If he stays more than a day or two, and they want to know more about it we’ll see what can be done.  Now hurry along, dear, and don’t worry.”

She reached up her lips and kissed him—­for he was much the taller—­and then he hurried back to the shop with a heavy heart.

As he entered the yard, he noticed a knot of the workmen near the entrance, holding what appeared to be a very secret conference.

CHAPTER III.

Larry in a Quandary.

What lent the air of secrecy to the conference of the workmen was the fact that they suddenly dispersed with significant winks and nods as Larry approached.

Another suspicious circumstance was the fact that all, or nearly all, were hands who had been employed in the works only a few months.

Early in the previous spring fifty or sixty of the Tioga Iron Company’s hands had gone out on a strike, and were promptly discharged, and a new gang that appeared in town rather opportunely, as it seemed, were hired to take their places.

The most of those who were talking together so secretly were members of this gang; and quite prominent among them was Steve Croly.

Joe Cuttle was firing up, the red glare from the glowing furnaces lighting up his homely face.

“What were those men talking about out by the entrance just now?” Larry asked, as Joe looked up.

“What men, lad?”

And the single eye was expressionless as it met the questioning glance of the young engineer.

“Steve Croly was one; most of them were the new hands.”

“He might be telling of them how he coom oot of here when A toald him to goo,” said the fireman, with his hideous grin.

“Not very likely, Joe,” Larry replied, as he passed on into the engine-room.

The boy was troubled and mystified now from a new cause.

Joe Cuttle was one of the new men, and, although he had been uniformly faithful, Larry was sure that he was standing in the doorway of the fire-room when he first came inside the gates, and that Joe must have seen those who were only a few yards distant conversing so mysteriously.