iram
through his spectacles.

"I mean that when I came to work for you seven months ago, you promised
that, if I suited after six months, you would raise my wages. And you
haven't done so," said the young fellow, firmly.

For a moment the proprietor of the Emporium was dumb. It was true. He
had promised just that. He had got the boy cheaper by so doing. But
never before had he hired a boy who stayed as long as six months, so he
had never had to raise his wages.

"Well, well!"

He stammered for a moment; then a shrewd thought came to his mind.
He actually smiled. When Mr. Dwight smiled it was worse than when he
didn't.

"I told you that if you suited me I'd raise your pay, did I?" he
snarled. "Well, you don't suit me. You never have suited me. Therefore,
you get no raise, young man."

Hiram was not astonished; he was only indignant. Another boy might have
expressed his anger by flaring up and tendering his resignation on the
spot.

But Hiram had that fear of debt in his breast which is almost always a
characteristic of the frugal, country-bred person. He had saved little.
He had no prospect of another job. And every Saturday night he was
expected to pay Mrs. Atterson three dollars and a half.

"At any rate, Mr. Dwight," he said, quietly, after a minute's silence,
"I want an hour to myself this morning."

"And I'll dock ye ten cents for it," declared the old man.

"You can do as you like about that," returned Hiram, and he walked into
the back room, took off his apron, and got into his coat.

He had it in mind to go to the big market, where the farmers drove in
from out of town, and see if he could meet one of his old neighbors,
or anybody else who could tell him of prospect of work for the coming
season. It was early yet for farmers to be looking for extra hands; but
Hiram hoped that he might see something in prospect for the future. He
had made up his mind that, if possible, he would not take another job in
town.

"And I can see pretty plainly that I've got about through at the
Emporium," he thought, as he approached the open space devoted by the
City of Crawberry to a market for the truckmen and farmers who drove in
with their wares from the surrounding country.

At this time of day the bustle of market was over. The farmers would
have had their breakfasts in the little restaurants which encircled the
market-place, or would be preparing to drive home again. The hucksters
and push-cart merchants were p