ong, however, was not thinking at the present time of the top
of the ladder. His mind was entirely set upon relieving the worry of his
sick chum and providing the necessary comforts for Mrs. Jackson. Only on
Saturdays had he time to go to the hospital and see Nat; but he wrote
long letters--jolly, cheery letters, which he dashed off every night
before going to bed.

"About every man in the tannery has inquired for you, Nat," he wrote,
"and pretty soon I am going to charge a fee for information. Your mother
is all right, and declares that she now has two sons instead of one. You
better hurry up and come home, or she may decide she likes me better
than she does you!"

How Nat laughed when he read that message! The very idea!

Of all this busy life and its varied interests Peter's family knew
nothing. His father and mother had gone for a month's trip to the
Catskills and there was no one but the servants at home to tell his
troubles to had he wished to unburden his worries. So he plodded
bravely on alone. How glad he was that the beamhouse was left behind,
and that during those warm September days he could work in a large,
well-ventilated room where there was fresher air. Perhaps, however, he
grew a little thin under his unaccustomed load of anxiety, for when his
father and mother returned from their vacation Peter was conscious more
than once of his father's fixed gaze, and one evening when the boy was
going to bed there was a knock at the door and Mr. Coddington entered
the room. For a few seconds he roamed uneasily about, straightening a
picture here and an ornament there; then he said abruptly:

"Well, Peter--the summer is almost over. Here it is nearly the middle of
September! I fancy the weeks have gone pretty slowly with your friend
Strong. What do you say to quitting the tannery and going back to
school?"

Peter's breath almost stopped. He had not dreamed of leaving his work.
Such a myriad of thoughts arose at the bare suggestion that he could not
answer.

Mr. Coddington misunderstood his silence.

"Of course you are astonished, my boy, and not a little glad, I imagine.
When I sent you to the tannery, however, I did not intend to keep you
there permanently. I simply wanted to wake you up to doing something and
make you prove the stuff you were made of. You have done that and more
too. I have heard nothing but the best reports, and I am proud of you,
Peter. The tannery has served its purpose for the present.