“Mr. Beckford is not in,” said the clerk.  “Mr. Keyes is standing at that desk.”

Herbert went up to the desk, and said inquiringly, “Mr. Keyes?”

“That is my name,” said that gentleman, pleasantly.  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I am in search of a place,” said our hero, “and I thought you might have a vacancy here.”

“We have none just at present,” said Mr. Keyes, who was favorably impressed by Herbert’s appearance; “but it is possible we may have in a few weeks.  Where do you live?  Not in the village, I suppose?”

“No, sir,” said Herbert, and a shadow passed over his face, “My mother died three weeks since, and I am now stopping at the house of Dr. Kent.”

“Dr. Kent—­ah, yes, I know the doctor.  He is an excellent man.”

“He is,” said Herbert, warmly.  “He has been very kind to me.”

“What is your name?”

“Herbert Mason.”

“Then, Herbert, I will promise to bear you in mind.  I will note down your name and address, and as soon as we have a vacancy I will write to you.  Come into the store whenever you come this way.”

“Thank you,” said Herbert.

He left the store feeling quite encouraged.  Even if the chance never amounted to anything, the kind words and manner of the storekeeper gave him courage to hope that he would meet with equal kindness from others.  Kind words cost nothing, but they have a marvelous power in lightening the burdens of the sorrowful and cheering the desponding.

Herbert left the store, feeling that he should consider himself truly fortunate if he could obtain a place in such an establishment.  But there was a rough experience before him, of which at present he guessed nothing.

After sauntering about the village a little longer, and buying a stick of candy for little Mary Kent, the doctor’s only daughter, who was quite attached to Herbert, our hero got back to the mill in time to receive his bags of meal, with which he was soon on his way homeward.

About the place where he met Mr. Holden he was hailed by a man at work in the field—­the same who had taken back that gentleman’s horse to the stable.

“Well, boy, you had a kind of scrimmage, didn’t you, coming over?”

“Did you see it?” asked Herbert.

“Yes,” said the other, grinning.  “I seed the other feller in the mud puddle.  He was considerably riled about it.”

“It was his own fault.  I gave him half the road.”

“I know it; but there’s some folks that want more than their share.”

“Was his buggy broken?  I don’t know but I ought to have stopped to help him, but he had been so unreasonable that I didn’t feel much like it.”

“His wheel got broken.  I drawed the buggy into the bushes.  There ’tis now.  It’ll cost him a matter of ten dollars to fix it.”

“I’m sorry for that,” said Herbert; “but I can’t see that I was to blame in the matter.  If I had turned out as he wanted me to, I should have tipped over, and, as the wagon didn’t belong to me, I didn’t think it right to risk it.”