ch
rebelled. He tightened a girdle about his waist, and walked on in
great discomfort. He had perhaps gone two miles when he came to a
cabin similar in appearance to that of old Peter Brant. A woman stood
in the door-way.

"My good lady," said Tom, putting on a pitiful expression, "I am a
very unfortunate man."

"Are you?" said the woman, scanning him critically. "You look like a
tramp."

"I do, madam, yet I was once a thriving merchant."

"You don't look like it."

"I don't; I acknowledge it."

"How did you lose your property, if you ever had any?"

"By signin' notes for my brother. It swept off all my possessions."

"Then I pity you. That's the way my man lost five hundred dollars,
nearly all he had. What can I do for you?"

"Madam, I am hungry, very hungry."

"Set right down on the settle, and I'll give you what's left of our
breakfast."

Tom Burns obeyed with alacrity.

A plate of cold bacon, a cold potato, and some corn bread were placed
before him, and he ate them almost voraciously. There had been times
in his life when he would have turned up his nose at such fare, but
not now.

"My good lady," he said, "you have saved my life."

"Well, you must 'a' been hungry," said the woman. "A man that'll eat
cold vittles, especially cold potato, ain't shammin'."

"I wish I had money to offer you--"

"Oh, never mind that, you're welcome. Can I do anything more for you?"

"I feel sick, and sometimes, though I am a temperance man, I take
whisky for my health. If you had just a sup--"

"Well, we haven't, and if we had I wouldn't give you any."

"You misjudge me, madam. You must not think I am a drinker."

"It's no matter what I think. You can't get any whisky here."

At Daneboro Tom fared better. He changed his gold piece, drank a pint
of whisky, and the next day retraced his steps to old Peter's cabin.
He felt satisfied that somewhere near the cabin there were treasures
concealed, and he meant to secure them.

CHAPTER V.

THE TRAMP TURNS UP AGAIN.

When Peter Brant was laid away under a tree not far from the cabin
where he had ended his days, Ernest felt that he was at liberty to
begin the new life that lay before him. Despite the natural sadness
which he felt at parting with his old friend, he looked forward not
without pleasant anticipations to the future and what it might have in
store for him.

Oak Forks had few attractions for him. Time had often dragged wearily
with him. He had a