Paul Prescott's Charge. Alger Horatio Jr.

the only one,” said Paul, a little sadly.

      “No, she isn’t,” said John, quickly; “I’ll be your friend, Paul. Sometime, perhaps, I shall go to New York, myself, and then I will come and see you. Where do you expect to be?”

      “I don’t know anything about the city,” said Paul, “but if you come, I shall be sure to see you somewhere. I wish you were going now.”

      Neither Paul nor his companion had much idea of the extent of the great metropolis, or they would not have taken it so much as a matter of course that, being in the same place, they should meet each other.

      Their conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell from a farmhouse within sight.

      “That’s our breakfast-bell,” said John rising from the grass. “It is meant for me. I suppose they wonder what keeps me so long. Won’t you come and take breakfast with me, Paul?”

      “I guess not,” said Paul, who would have been glad to do so had he followed the promptings of his appetite. “I’m afraid your folks would ask me questions, and then it would be found out that I am running away.”

      “I didn’t think of that,” returned John, after a pause. “You haven’t got any dinner with you?” he said a moment after.

      “No.”

      “Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do. Come with me as far as the fence, and lie down there till I’ve finished breakfast. Then I’ll bring something out for you, and maybe I’ll walk along a little way with you.”

      “You are very kind,” said Paul, gratefully.

      “Oh, nonsense,” said John, “that’s nothing. Besides, you know we are going to be friends.”

      “John! breakfast’s ready.”

      “There’s Nelson calling me,” said John, hurriedly. “I must leave you; there’s the fence; lie down there, and I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

      “John, I say, why don’t you come?”

      “I’m coming. You mustn’t think everybody’s got such a thundering great appetite as you, Nelson.”

      “I guess you’ve got enough to keep you from pining away,” said Nelson, good-naturedly, “you’re twice as fat as I am.”

      “That’s because I work harder,” said John, rather illogically.

      The brothers went in to breakfast.

      But a few minutes elapsed before John reappeared, bearing under his arm a parcel wrapped up in an old newspaper. He came up panting with the haste he had made.

      “It didn’t take you long to eat breakfast,” said Paul.

      “No, I hurried through it; I thought you would get tired of waiting. And now I’ll walk along with you a little ways. But wait here’s something for you.”

      So saying he unrolled the newspaper and displayed a loaf of bread, fresh and warm, which looked particularly inviting to Paul, whose scanty breakfast had by no means satisfied his appetite. Besides this, there was a loaf of molasses ginger-bread, with which all who were born in the country, or know anything of New England housekeeping, are familiar.

      “There,” said John, “I guess that’ll be enough for your dinner.”