to have gone to my
father."

"How did that happen?"

"He prejudiced my grandfather against my father, and so the estate was
willed to him."

"The mean scoundrel!" exclaimed Luke indignantly. "I'd like to have
him in my hands for a few minutes; I'd give him a lesson."

"I should pity him if ever you got hold of him, Luke," said Joe Marks.
"But we must consider what we can do for the boy."

"I wish we could get hold of that thief of a tramp!"

"Probably we shall. He'll find his way back here sooner or later."

But the burial of Peter Brant was the first consideration. No
undertaker was called, for in that small settlement one would not have
been supported. The ceremonies of death were few and simple. A rude
wooden box was put together, and Peter was placed in it, dressed as he
was at the time of his death. There was an itinerant minister who
preached in the village once in four weeks, but he was away now, and
so there could be no religious ceremony beyond reading a chapter from
the New Testament. Joe Marks, who had received a decent education,
officiated as reader. Then the interment took place. In the forenoon
of the second day Peter's body was laid away, and Ernest was left
practically alone in the world.

Meanwhile some account must be given of Tom Burns, the tramp.

When he found it impossible to obtain whisky with the gold he had
stolen, he felt very despondent. His throat was parched, and his
craving became intolerable. He felt that he had been decidedly
ill-used. What was the use of money unless it could be converted into
what his soul desired? But there was no way of changing the coin
except at the store of Joe Marks. To ask any of the villagers would
only have excited surprise and suspicion. Besides, the tramp felt sure
that Ernest would soon discover that he had been robbed. He would
naturally be suspected, especially as Joe Marks had knowledge of a
gold piece being in his possession.

There was a small settlement about five miles off, called Daneboro. It
was probably the nearest place where he could get a glass of whisky.
He must walk there. It was not a pleasant prospect, for the tramp was
lazy and not fond of walking, though he had been compelled to do a
good deal of it. Still, it seemed to be a necessity, and when he left
the store of Joe Marks he set out for Daneboro.

Thirst was not the only trouble with Tom Burns. He had not eaten
anything for about twenty-four hours, and his neglected stoma