was
a poor man's son, I made up my mind that I would push ahead harder than
ever; but now"--he spoke with a good deal of determination and force for
a boy--"I will succeed if I have to work day and night to accomplish
it."

XI.

The village of Mapleton had but three manufacturing industries: a lumber
mill, where logs were sawed up into various dimensions; a box shop, in
which were made wooden boxes of many different sizes and shapes; and a
large woolen factory. After leaving home, Fred went directly to the
agent of the lumber mill and tried to get a chance to work for him, but
in this he was unsuccessful. At the box shop he likewise received no
encouragement, for there they needed no help. So there was but one more
place left to try--that was the woolen factory, where he might still
find a vacancy.

The idea of becoming a factory hand, after having been behind the
counter as clerk, was repulsive to him; still he must do something;
anything was better than idleness. Consequently he went to the mill, and
climbed four long flights of stairs, which took him to the top of the
building. Here he opened a large, heavy iron door, and entered the
spinning room, down which he passed until he came to the overseer's
desk.

The latter--a large, gruff, red faced man--was not there at the time,
but on spying Fred he hurriedly came forward and demanded to know the
boy's business. On being informed that employment was wanted, he said he
needed no help, and indicated by his manner that he wished to be
bothered no further.

Young Worthington now dropped down a flight and tried to get work in the
card room, but with no success. On the next floor below was the weaving
room, and here he soon learned that the overseer considered that he
could get along very successfully without his help.

But two more departments--the finishing and the dyeing rooms--remained
to be visited, and then the ordeal would be over.

As the boy descended the stairs to the former, he had very little hope
of accomplishing his purpose, for thus far he had received no
encouragement whatever.

Fred knew the gentleman in charge of the department perfectly well, for
he was his Sunday school teacher, and moreover, was the father of his
friend Dave; nevertheless he passed down the long hall with many a
misgiving, and approaching the overseer timidly, said:

"Good morning, Mr. Farrington."

"Good morning, Fred," said the latter cordially. "What brings you h