othing for
that adult locality scant provision seemed to have been made for a
boy of Clarence's years, and he was with difficulty fitted from an
old condemned Government stores with "a boy's" seaman suit and a
brass-buttoned pea-jacket. To this outfit Mr. Peyton added a small sum
of money for his expenses, and a letter of explanation to his cousin.
The stage-coach was to start at noon. It only remained for Clarence to
take leave of the party. The final parting with Susy had been discounted
on the two previous days with some tears, small frights and clingings,
and the expressed determination on the child's part "to go with him;"
but in the excitement of the arrival at Stockton it was still
further mitigated, and under the influence of a little present from
Clarence--his first disbursement of his small capital--had at last taken
the form and promise of merely temporary separation. Nevertheless, when
the boy's scanty pack was deposited under the stage-coach seat, and he
had been left alone, he ran rapidly back to the train for one moment
more with Susy. Panting and a little frightened, he reached Mrs.
Peyton's car.

"Goodness! You're not gone yet," said Mrs. Peyton sharply. "Do you want
to lose the stage?"

An instant before, in his loneliness, he might have answered, "Yes."
But under the cruel sting of Mrs. Peyton's evident annoyance at his
reappearance he felt his legs suddenly tremble, and his voice left him.
He did not dare to look at Susy. But her voice rose comfortably from the
depths of the wagon where she was sitting.

"The stage will be gone away, Kla'uns."

She too! Shame at his foolish weakness sent the yearning blood that had
settled round his heart flying back into his face.

"I was looking for--for--for Jim, ma'am," he said at last, boldly.

He saw a look of disgust pass over Mrs. Peyton's face, and felt a
malicious satisfaction as he turned and ran back to the stage. But here,
to his surprise, he actually found Jim, whom he really hadn't thought
of, darkly watching the last strapping of luggage. With a manner
calculated to convey the impression to the other passengers that he was
parting from a brother criminal, probably on his way to a state prison,
Jim shook hands gloomily with Clarence, and eyed the other passengers
furtively between his mated locks.

"Ef ye hear o' anythin' happenin', ye'll know what's up," he said, in a
low, hoarse, but perfectly audible whisper. "Me and them's bound to part
co