“I can lock it up in my trunk, Luke.”

“I think that will be a good idea.”

“I hope he will pay you for your trouble when he takes away the tin box.”

“He has already.  I forgot to mention it,” and Luke drew from his vest pocket, the bank-note he had thrust in as soon as received.  “Why, it’s a ten-dollar bill!” he exclaimed.  “I wonder whether he knew he was giving me as much?”

“I presume so, Luke,” said his mother, brightening up.  “You are in luck!”

“Take it, mother.  You will find a use for it.”

“But, Luke, this money is yours.”

“No, it is yours, for you are going to take care of the box.”

It was, indeed, quite a windfall, and both mother and son retired to rest in a cheerful frame of mind, in spite of Luke’s failure in the race.

“I have been thinking, Luke,” said his mother, at the breakfast-table, “that I should like to have you buy a Waterbury watch out of this money.  It will only cost three dollars and a half, and that is only one-third.”

“Thank you, mother, but I can get along without the watch.  I cared for it chiefly because it was to be a prize given to the best skater.  All the boys know that I would have won but for the accident, and that satisfies me.”

“I should like you to have a watch, Luke.”

“There is another objection, mother.  I don’t want any one to know about the box or the money.  If it were known that we had so much property in the house, some attempt might be made to rob us.”

“That is true, Luke.  But I hope it won’t be long before you have a watch of your own.”

When Luke was walking, after breakfast, he met Randolph Duncan, with a chain attached to the prize watch ostentatiously displayed on the outside of his vest.  He smiled complacently, and rather triumphantly, when he met Luke.  But Luke looked neither depressed nor angry.

“I hope your watch keeps good time, Randolph,” he said.

“Yes; it hasn’t varied a minute so far.  I think it will keep as good time as my silver watch.”

“You are fortunate to have two watches.”

“My father has promised me a gold watch when I am eighteen,” said Randolph, pompously.

“I don’t know if I shall have any watch at all when I am eighteen.”

“Oh, well, you are a poor boy.  It doesn’t matter to you.”

“I don’t know about that, Randolph.  Time is likely to be of as much importance to a poor boy as to a rich boy.”

“Oh, ah! yes, of course, but a poor boy isn’t expected to wear a watch.”

Here the conversation ended.  Luke walked on with an amused smile on his face.

“I wonder how it would seem to be as complacent and self-satisfied as Randolph?” he thought.  “On the whole, I would rather be as I am.”

“Good morning, Luke!”

It was a girl’s voice that addressed him.  Looking up, he met the pleasant glance of Florence Grant, considered by many the prettiest girl in Groveton.  Her mother was a widow in easy circumstances, who had removed from Chicago three years before, and occupied a handsome cottage nearly opposite Mr. Duncan’s residence.  She was a general favorite, not only for her good looks, but on account of her pleasant manner and sweet disposition.