r his years, Fred was wise; he realized that this man undoubtedly had
more or less pride, and might hesitate to accept assistance when he had
no means of returning favors.

To his surprise the other started, and looked keenly at him.

"Riverport, you say, young man?" he muttered. "I don't seem to know you.
Might I ask your name, please?"

"Fred Fenton, sir. But as we only came to the place a year ago last
spring, of course you wouldn't be apt to know me."

"No, I haven't been in Riverport for quite a number of years. We do what
little trading we have in Grafton, which is just as near, though not so
large a town. But you spoke of interesting some people in our condition.
For her sake I would even sink my pride and accept their help. But you
must make me one promise, boy!"

"As many as you like, sir; what might this particular one be?" asked
Fred, cheerfully.

"Don't, under any circumstances, let Sparks Lemington have anything to
do with the assistance you bring me; or I would utterly refuse to touch
the slightest thing, even if we both starved for it!" was the
astonishing reply of the sick man, as a look of anger showed in his
face, and he shut his jaws hard.

Evidently, then, he had some good cause for detesting the rich and
unscrupulous Squire Lemington. Well, Fred found reason to believe there
were a good many others besides this farmer who felt the same.

"Oh! Fred, come out here!" called Bristles, just then, before Fred could
ask any further questions.

Believing that his chum might be having some difficulty in finding
things, and wanted help, Fred hurried into the adjoining room, which was
the kitchen. There was also a dining room next, which they had entered
first, and apparently a couple of sleeping rooms up stairs, for the girl
had gone above.

Bristles was busily engaged. He had succeeded in getting a fire started,
and was rummaging through a cupboard, looking for eatables. Accustomed
to seeing a well stocked larder in his own home, Bristles was shocked at
the lack of everything a hungry boy would think ought to be found in a
kitchen pantry.

"Shucks, Fred," he remarked, in a low voice, for the door between the
rooms was open a trifle. "There isn't enough stuff here to feed a canary
bird, let alone two human beings. Why, whatever do they live on? They
must be as poor as Job's turkey. I can't just place that man, somehow;
seems as if I must have known him once; but he's changed a heap. Help me
skir