d the few household chattels had been sold
to pay the debts that had accumulated during his last illness, there was
very little money left for Hiram.

There was nobody to say him nay when he packed his bag and started for
Crawberry, which was the metropolis of his part of the country. He had
set out boldly, believing that he could get ahead faster, and become
master of his own fortune more quickly in town than in the locality
where he was born.

He was a rugged, well-set-up youth of seventeen, not over-tall, but
sturdy and able to do a man's work. Indeed, he had long done a man's
work before he left the farm.

Hiram's hands were calloused, he shuffled a bit when walked, and his
shoulders were just a little bowed from holding the plow handles since
he had been big enough to bridle his father's old mare.

Yes, the work on the farm had been hard--especially for a growing boy.
Many farm boys work under better conditions than Hiram had.

Nevertheless, after a two years' trial of what the city has in store for
most country boys who cut loose from their old environment, Hiram Strong
felt to-day as though he must get back to the land.

"There's nothing for me in town. Clerking in Dwight's Emporium will
never get me anywhere," he thought, turning finally away from the open
country and starting down the steep hill.

"Why, there are college boys working on our street cars here--waiting
for some better job to turn up. What chance does a fellow stand who's
only got a country school education?

"And there isn't any clean fun for a fellow in Crawberry--fun that
doesn't cost money. And goodness knows I can't make more than enough to
pay Mrs. Atterson, and for my laundry, and buy a new suit of overalls
and a pair of shoes occasionally.

"No, sir!" concluded Hiram. "There's nothing in it. Not for a fellow
like me, at any rate. I'd better be back on the farm--and I wish I was
there now."

He had been to church that morning; but after the late dinner at his
boarding house had set out on this lonely walk. Now he had nothing to
look forward to as he returned but the stuffy parlor of Mrs. Atterson's
boarding house, the cold supper in the dining-room, which was attended
in a desultory fashion by such of the boarders as were at home, and then
a long, dull evening in his room, or bed after attending the evening
service at the church around the corner.

Hiram even shrank from meeting the same faces at the boarding house
table, heari