and proceeded to Mr. Crawford’s. His heart was heavy and sad, and he dreaded to open the subject to him.

“Good evening, Abe! Got through with the book so quick?” said Mr. Crawford.

“Good evening,” responded Abraham, in his usual manly way. “I have brought the book back, although I have not finished it.”

“Keep it, then, keep it,” replied Mr. Crawford, before the lad could tell his story. “I told you to keep it as long as you wanted it.”

“Perhaps you won’t want I should keep it when you hear what has happened to it.” And he proceeded to untie the handkerchief in which it was wrapped.

“There,” continued Abraham, exhibiting the book; “it is ruined. I laid it down last night where the rain beat in and wet it through, and it is spoiled. I’m very sorry indeed, and want to pay you for it in some way.”

Josiah Crawford was a hard man by nature, and an excess of whiskey made him harder. He was not a relative of Andrew Crawford, the teacher, although he was like him in one particular—he had an ungovernable temper. At sight of the ruined volume his countenance changed, and he snapped out in his wrath:

“Carelessness! Pretty mess for a borrowed book.”

Had he not been a good friend of Abraham, there is no telling what abuse he might have heaped upon the boy. As it was, with all his regard for Abraham as an uncommon youth, he poured out large vials of wrath upon him, the boy all the while declaring that he was willing to pay for it.

“I’ve ruined the book, and I’ll do any work you say to pay for it. Have you any work I can do?”

Crawford’s wrath abated somewhat when he heard the word work. The idea of getting work out of the lad was tempting to him; for he was an unscrupulous, avaricious, stingy man, and now was his time to take advantage of Abraham’s generosity.

“Yis, work enough,” he growled, angry as a panther that prowled about the forest at night.

“How much was the book worth?” asked Abraham.

“Mor’n I’ll ever git,” Crawford growled again.

“I’ll work to pay its full value, and keep it for my own, if you say so,” continued Abraham.

After further parleying, Crawford, seeing his opportunity to make something out of Abraham, cooled down to ordinary heat, and proceeded to say,—

“I tell you what it is, Abe, I’m in great trouble about my corn. You see the whole of my corn has been stripped of the blades as high as the ear, and is now ready to have the tops cut off for winter fodder; but my hands are full of other work, and how it is to be done is more than I can tell. Now, if you can help me out of this scrape, we can square the account about the book.”

“I’ll do it,” replied Abraham, with emphasis. “How much of it shall I cut?”

“All of it, of course,” answered Crawford, unpleasantly; “you can’t expect to get such a book for nothin’.”

Abraham was taken somewhat by surprise by this exorbitant demand; nevertheless, he was equal to the occasion, and promptly responded,—

“Well, then, I’ll cut the whole of it; when shall I begin?”