“Where are you going?” he asked timidly, looking about him apprehensively.

“You’ll know soon enough,” was the rough reply.

“When are you going to take me home, Mr. Ford?” asked the boy, in a pleading tone.

“Don’t trouble yourself about that.”

“Papa will be so anxious about me—­papa and Grant!”

The young man’s brow contracted.

“Don’t mention the name of that boy!  I hate him.”

“He was always good to me.  I liked so much to be with him.”

“He did all he could to injure me.  I swore to be even with him, and I will!”

“But I have never injured you, Mr. Ford.”

“How could you—­a baby like you?” said Ford, contemptuously.

“Then why did you take me from home, and make me so unhappy?”

“Because it was the only way in which I could strike a blow at your father and Grant Thornton.  When your father dismissed me, without a recommendation, not caring whether I starved or not, he made me his enemy.”

“But he wouldn’t if you hadn’t—­”

“Hadn’t what?” demanded Ford, sternly.

“Taken Mrs. Estabrook’s bonds.”

“Dare to say that again, and I will beat you,” said Willis Ford, brutally.

Herbert trembled, for he had a timid nature, and an exquisite susceptibility to pain.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said.

“You’d better not.  Wait here a minutes, while I look around for some one of whom I can make inquiries.  Here, sit dowp on that settee, and, mind you, don’t stir till I come back.  Will you obey me?”

“Yes,” answered the boy, submissively.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE RIDE TO BARTON’S

Willis Ford went to the station master, who stood at the door with a cheap cigar in his mouth.

“Is there a man named Joel Barton living hereabouts?” he asked.

The station master took his cigar from his mouth and surveyed his questioner with some curiosity.

“Does he owe you money?” he inquired.

“No,” answered Ford, impatiently.  “Will you answer my question?”

“You needn’t be in such a pesky hurry,” drawled the station master.  “Yes, he lives up the road a piece.”

“How far is a piece?”

“Well, maybe a mile.”

“Straighten?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any way of riding?”

“Well, stranger, I’ve got a team myself.  Is that boy with you?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take you over for half a dollar.”

“Can you go at once?”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s a bargain.”

The station master, whose house was only three minutes’ walk away, appeared in a reasonable time with a farm wagon, drawn by an old horse that had seen better days, it is to be hoped, for she was a miserable-looking mare.

“Jump in, Herbert,” said Ford.