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CHAPTER XXIII.
BERT FORMS A RESOLUTION

"Mother," said Bert abruptly, as he entered the cottage at the close of his engagement with the farmer, "when did father die?"

Mrs. Barton sank into a chair, and looked searchingly in her son's face.

"Why—do—you—ask?" she said slowly.

"I have been told to-day that he was living only a year since."

"Who told you?"

"Phineas Wilson, the farmer's son."

"Did he see him a year ago?"

"Yes, in some town in Canada—near Toronto, I believe. But, mother, you don't seem surprised."

"No, Bert, for I knew your father was living."

"Then why don't he come home. Why don't he live with us? Is there some mystery?"

"Yes, Bert, and a painful one for your unfortunate father. It is the fear of a prison that has kept him away from home."

"Surely, mother," said Bert, painfully shocked, "my father was not a criminal?"

"No, but circumstances made him appear such."

"Tell me the story."

"It is time that you heard it. Ten years ago your father and Albert Marlowe were employed by Weeks Brothers, large shoe manufacturers in a Massachusetts town. Both were skilled workmen–"

"Did Squire Marlowe work at the bench?"

"Yes, his position was precisely the same as your father's, no worse and no better. Both received the same pay—two dollars a day."

"Does Percy know this?"

"Probably not. Albert Marlowe is not fond of speaking of his early days when he was a common workman. At that time our families were intimate and associated on equal terms. Our circumstances and ways of living were the same. We lived in a double house, Albert occupying one tenement, we the other."

"Were you and Mrs. Marlowe friendly then?"

"Yes; she had not yet become a fine lady, but did her own work, dispensing with a servant. We lived plainly, and, if anything, your father was the more prosperous of the two, as we managed to save from fifty to seventy-five dollars a year, while I don't believe Albert saved anything. But one day a terrible thing happened. Mr. Weeks, the senior partner, was a trustee and guardian for some minor children. A part of their property was invested in United States bonds, 5-20's as they are called. He kept them in his safe in the factory. One morning when he opened the safe they were missing. You can imagine the dismay of the guardian and his indignation against the unknown thief. The loss was publicly proclaimed, and a reward of one hundred dollars was offered to any one who could and would give any information that would lead to the discovery of the thief. Some one—a young man named Harding—entered the office of the firm and informed them that he had seen your father thrusting a paper, looking like a government bond, into the inside pocket of his overcoat—it was in the middle of winter. The workmen kept their coats in a small room near the entrance of the factory. Of course the room was visited, your father's coat was examined, and in one of the pockets was found one of the missing bonds, one for five hundred dollars. Your father was summoned, charged with the theft, and required to tell what he had done with the remaining bonds. He was thunder-struck at the accusation, and denied in the most positive terms any knowledge of the stolen property. His statement was not credited. He was arrested, tried for the offense, and sentenced to a term of imprisonment."

"Bert's face flushed with indignation, and he clinched his fist almost unconsciously.

"Did he go to prison?" he asked hoarsely.

"No; some of his friends, who believed in his innocence, helped him to escape, and supplied him with funds to get out of the country. Now you know why he has remained absent all these years."

"But why was I never told of this, mother? Why did I not know at the time?"

"You were only six years of age, and were sent away during the excitement to the house of a friend living at some distance. I moved away from the town in which my misfortunes were known, and eventually came here, learning that Albert Marlowe had established himself in business here. You readily believed that your father was dead."

"I understand now, mother. But is it not terrible that the happiness of a family should be broken up in this way?"

"Yes, Bert. Providence permits it for some wise purpose, no doubt, though it is hard for us to understand why it should be."

"One thing I don't understand, mother. You say that Squire Marlowe was a common workman, like my father, and a poor man?"

"Yes, Bert."

"How is it that he is now a rich manufacturer? Where did he get the necessary capital?"

"Nobody knew. He took all his friends by surprise when he went into business for himself on a large scale. Whatever the amount of his capital, he has never been financially embarrassed, and has gone on prospering."

"Till now he is a rich man, living in luxury, while we are living from hand to mouth, and poor father is an exile somewhere."

"Yes, Bert."

"Don't you receive letters from father?"

"If I should, it would draw attention to him, and might imperil his safety."

"I might meet him sometime, and not know him."

"Have you no recollection of him?"

"Not the least? Haven't you any picture of him, mother?"

"Yes, I have a daguerreotype upstairs—an old-style picture."

"Why have you never shown it to me?"

"Because it would have led you to ask questions which would have been embarrassing for me to answer. You might have mentioned the existence of the picture before some visitor, and compelled me to produce it. Suppose this had been the case, and it had been recognized, it might have got your father into trouble."

"Now that I know all the circumstances, won't you show me the picture, mother?"

"Yes, Bert; the only objection I had is now removed."

Mrs. Barton went upstairs, and soon returned with one of those old-fashioned pictures of which many of my readers may have specimens in their homes—a daguerreotype.

Bert scanned it attentively, and he first looked bewildered, then surprised.

"I have seen a face like that," he said after a pause.

"Where, Bert?"

"I don't remember. Is it possible that I can remember so far back?"

"It may be an accidental resemblance."

"No, the face is like in every respect. Can't you explain it to me, mother?"

"Think a little, Bert. Perhaps you will recall where you saw a face like this."

"I have it now," said Bert, his face brightening up. "It is like Mr. Robinson—the friend of father, who called here a few weeks since."

"Bert," said his mother slowly, "Mr. Robinson was not your father's friend. It was your father himself."

Bert looked the picture of astonishment.

"Why did you not tell me, mother?"

"How could I? You did not even know that he was alive. Ever since then I have been seeking an opportunity to tell you the truth."

"I am glad to know. What did father have to say?"

"He thinks he has found out—at any rate he has strong suspicions—who was the real thief for whom he suffered."

"Who is it, mother? Is it any one I ever knew?"

"Yes, Bert."

"Tell me quick."

"Then you must promise to keep it secret till we are in a condition to prove the truth of our suspicions. It was Albert Marlowe."

"The squire?"

"Yes."

"That must explain his being able to go into business for himself."

"Yes. Your father is on the track of a man who was his accomplice, or rather his tool, in the matter—the young man named Harding, on whose information your father was arrested. Of course he is placed under a disadvantage in making these inquiries, being under the ban of the law."

"Mother," said Bert solemnly, "I am going to solve the mystery, if possible, make my father's evidence clear, and expose the real criminal. I am only a boy, and I don't know how I shall accomplish it, but I won't rest till I have done it."

"May Heaven grant you success, my dear boy!" responded Mrs. Barton fervently.

CHAPTER XXIV.
THE OFFICE OF THE MAGNET MINE

Bert took the morning train to New York, and arrived about half-past seven o'clock. He met with no adventures on the way, and as soon as he reached the Grand Central Depot took a Fourth Avenue car down, as instructed by Uncle Jacob. In a large building of many stories on Nassau Street, on the sixth floor, was an office on the door of which Bert read

MAGNET MINING CO

This, as he understood, was the office where Jacob Marlowe was employed.

Bert was considering whether he ought to knock or not, when a brisk-looking gentleman stepped up, and, opening the door, entered. Bert followed him in.

"Whom did you wish to see?" asked the brisk-looking man.

"Mr. Jacob Marlowe. Is this the office where he is employed?"

"Yes," answered the man, with a smile.

Bert hardly needed this assurance, however, as he had already discovered Uncle Jacob sitting in an inner room, at a desk, conversing on business, apparently, with an elderly man of dignified appearance.

"He will soon be at leisure," said the one who had just entered, and seated himself at another desk in the outer room.

"That must be Uncle Jacob's employer," thought Bert.

"What news do you hear of the mine?" he heard the elderly man ask.

"Excellent," answered Uncle Jacob. "It has gone up five points within two weeks. The output is steadily increasing."

"Do you know anything of it from your own knowledge?"

"Certainly; I ought to, for I was myself its discoverer."

This rather surprised Bert.

"It was a rich find," continued Uncle Jacob, "and I have no hesitation in putting it on the New York market."

"There are so many wild-cat mines, you know, that a man needs to be very cautious."

"Quite true. In such mines it is only the men who capitalize them who make money. I would not lend myself to any such scheme of deception. I have a reputation to sustain, and I value that more than money. Our mine has found favor with some of the most conservative investors in the city." Here Uncle Jacob mentioned several names, so prominent that they were familiar to Bert, country boy though he was.

"You may put me down for five hundred shares," said the elderly man, apparently convinced. "I will send you round a check to-morrow. To whom shall I make it payable?"

"To me."

"Very well."

The old gentleman rose, drew on his gloves, and went out, Uncle Jacob accompanying him to the door. This brought him face to face with Bert.

"So you have come, Bert," he said with a pleasant smile. "How did you leave your mother?"

"Very well, uncle."

"At what time did you breakfast?"

"At half-past six."

"Then you must be hungry. It is rather early for my lunch, but I will go out with you now. Mr. Bascom, I shall be back within an hour. If any one calls to see me, try to keep him."

"Yes, sir," answered Bascom deferentially.

"He can't be Uncle Jacob's employer," thought Bert. "He is too respectful. I had no idea uncle was such a man of business. He doesn't appear to be afraid of anybody."

They descended in the elevator, rather to Bert's surprise, who had climbed up by the staircase. Crossing the street they entered a dairy restaurant, which in spite of the name supplied the usual variety of dishes. They found a table at which no others were seated, and Uncle Jacob ordered a substantial meal of roast beef and vegetables.

"Did you find me easily, Bert?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes, uncle. I had to inquire the way once only. Do you like your place?"

"Very well, indeed, Bert."

"Is it a good man you work for?"

Uncle Jacob smiled.

"I have no fault to find with him," he answered.

"I thought perhaps that man with black hair and whiskers might be the boss."

"No, he is a clerk."

"Like you?"

"Yes," answered Jacob, with another smile.

"Does the boss often come in?"

"He doesn't interfere much. You see he has a good deal of confidence in Mr. Bascom and myself."

"So I thought."

"What made you think so?"

"You seem to talk and act as if you were independent."

"It's a way I have, Bert. As I understand the business thoroughly, more than anybody else, there is no reason why I shouldn't, is there?"

"Oh, no!"

"That is why I enjoy my position so well."

"Do you get paid your wages every Saturday night?"

"Oftener, if I please," answered Jacob Marlowe, seeming amused. "If I happen to get short in the middle of the week, I can draw in advance."

"You seem to have a very good position, Uncle Jacob. It is a great deal better than opening a cigar store in Lakeville."

"Yes, I think so myself—Albert Marlowe was right in advising me against it. Have you seen him lately?"

"I see him about every day, but not to speak to."

"It was mean in him to discharge you from the factory."

"So I thought, Uncle Jacob."

"I wrote asking him to take you back."

"What did he say?" asked Bert, with interest.

"He in effect told me to mind my own business. I hope you and your mother have not suffered for want of money?"

"No, thanks to you, Uncle Jacob. Mother thought you ought not to have sent so much."

"I don't think I shall miss it, Bert," said Uncle Jacob. "I am glad that it helped you."

"The twenty-dollar bill got me into trouble."

"How was that?"

Bert told the story of his arrest on the charge of robbing Mr. Jones, and gave an account of his trial.

"And you were tried before Albert Marlowe?"

"Yes."

"I suppose Percy rejoiced in your humiliation?"

"No, he didn't. He behaved like a brick. He walked to the court-room with me, and told me he was sure I was not guilty."

"I am certainly surprised, but I am pleased also. That is a point in Percy's favor, an unexpected one. He shan't lose by it."

"I am afraid I shouldn't have got off if it hadn't been for a young lawyer from New York, named Conway, who volunteered to defend me."

"Go on. Give me an account of it. Can you give me the address of Mr. Conway?"

"Yes, uncle. I have it here."

"I may be able to throw a little business in his way. One good turn deserves another."

"I wish you would, Uncle Jacob. Mr. Conway refused to accept a fee, knowing that I could not afford to pay him."

Uncle Jacob asked other questions as the dinner proceeded. Finally Bert brought out his most important piece of news.

"I have just found out that my father is still alive," he said.

"Yes, I knew that," returned Uncle Jacob calmly.

"You knew it?"

"Yes, he has been to see me."

"He has! When?"

"Last week."

"You don't think him guilty of the charge which was brought against him?"

"No; I think him a badly-used man."

"I wish I could be the means of proving his innocence."

"I mean that you shall be."

Bert surveyed his uncle in surprise.

"In fact, it is for that reason I have sent for you. Your father has put his case into my hands, and I propose to see him righted. This evening, when I am free from business cares, I will speak further with you on this subject."

Uncle Jacob called for his check, paid it, and they returned to the office.

CHAPTER XXV.
AN ADVERTISEMENT AND WHAT CAME OF IT

Uncle Jacob left the office at five o'clock, and Bert, who had been exploring the lower part of New York, went uptown with him on the Sixth Avenue road. They got out at Twenty-third Street, and Jacob Marlowe led the way to a large, roomy house near Seventh Avenue. He took out a night-key, and opening the outer door proceeded to a large, handsomely furnished apartment on the second floor, with a bedroom attached.

"This is where I live, Bert," he remarked, as he took off his hat and hung it up in a closet.

Bert looked around him. To him the room looked quite luxurious, being furnished in a style which would compare favorably even with Squire Marlowe's, the best house in Lakeville.

Bert knew nothing of room rents in New York; but, inexperienced as he was, he was surprised that his uncle, on a salary of twelve dollars a week, should be able to live so well. He would have been even more amazed had he known that the weekly rent of the room he was in was twelve dollars.

"You've got a splendid room, Uncle Jacob," he said. "I shouldn't think you could afford to live in such style."

"Some of my friends think I am extravagant," observed Jacob Marlowe with a smile. "Perhaps they are right."

"I am afraid you can't save anything," went on Bert gravely. "What if you should get sick?"

"I see, Bert, you are more prudent than I am. However I have invested some of my money in the Magnet Mine, and it is likely to double. So I feel justified in making myself comfortable."

"I am glad to hear that, Uncle Jacob. You deserve to succeed, you are so kind to others."

"I am glad you think so, Bert. I want to do some good while I live. It gives a man something to live for."

After supper, which was taken at a restaurant near by, Uncle Jacob said: "Now let us come to business. I promised your father that I would do what I could to prove him innocent of the charge made against him ten years since."

"Where is my father? Is he in the city?"

"No; it is not safe for him to stay here, as he is subject to arrest, and might be recognized. He has gone back to Canada. Do you know the particulars of his story?"

"Yes; mother told me all about it last night."

"You know, then, that a young man named Ralph Harding informed against him, and that it was his testimony that led to your father's arrest."

"Yes."

"Your father is under the impression that this Harding was in league with Albert Marlowe, and was employed by him to throw suspicion upon your father. The weak point of the prosecution was that your father could only be connected with the five-hundred dollar bond found in his overcoat pocket, while a large balance was wholly unaccounted for. That made it seem like a cunning conspiracy, as undoubtedly it was."

"Were the other bonds never traced?"

"I understand not. No list of the numbers had been kept, and, not being registered, they could easily be sold. Your father thinks that upon these the present prosperity of Albert Marlowe was built up."

"How are we to prove that?"

"It will be difficult. One thing is absolutely essential. We must find this Ralph Harding, and persuade him, if we can, to exonerate your father and place the guilt where it properly belongs."

"Does father know where to find Harding?"

"No; if he did, the greatest difficulty in our way would be removed."

"Then I don't see that we can do anything," said Bert, disappointed.

"The task is difficult, but not impossible. All we know is, that only two months after the robbery Harding disappeared. It was reported that he went to the West, but this was by no means certain. From that day to this, nothing is positively known as to his whereabouts."

"Then I don't see what can be done," repeated Bert.

"There is one thing to guide us," continued Uncle Jacob; "the man's occupation. There is a fair probability that he is working in some shoe town, that is, if he is still alive."

"There are a good many shoe towns," objected Bert.

"True; the clew is only a faint one, yet sometimes a faint clew leads to important discoveries."

"Have you taken any steps yet, Uncle Jacob?"

"Yes; your father remembered that Harding was a Pennsylvanian by birth, and this made it possible, at least, that he had gone back to his native State. Accordingly, last week, I inserted an advertisement in two daily papers printed in Philadelphia, calling for information touching the man of whom we are in search. I will show you a copy of it."

Uncle Jacob took from his wallet a newspaper clipping and showed it to Bert.

It ran thus:

Wanted.—Information as to the present residence of Ralph Harding, who in the year 1873 was employed in the shoe manufactory of Weeks Brothers, in Lynn, Mass. He will hear something to his advantage.

"Have you had any answer to this advertisement?" asked Bert.

"Not till this morning, when I received a letter from Harrisburg, written in a feminine hand. Here it is."

He placed in Bert's hands the following letter:

Dear Sir: I have read in the Philadelphia Ledger your advertisement for a man named Ralph Harding. A man by that name boarded with me two months ago. He was working in a shoe shop in this city, so he may be the one you are after. You say you know of something to his advantage. If there is any money coming to him I want you to see that I am paid a just debt. Mr. Harding was owing me eight weeks' board when he left the house, at four dollars a week, and dirt cheap that is; for, if I do say it myself, there are not many boarding-houses in Harrisburg where so good a table is kept for four dollars as I give. I inclose my bill, and will be very glad if you will send me the money by return of mail, taking it out of any money that is to come to Mr. Harding. I work hard for my money, and I can't afford to lose thirty-two dollars, and it isn't right that I should.

Hoping to hear from you very soon, I remain,

Yours respectfully,

Amelia Stubbs.

P. S. You can send me a check, as I can get it cashed by my grocer.

"Mrs. Stubbs means business," remarked Bert with a smile. "Have you sent her the money?"

"Not yet. I don't hold myself liable for Ralph Harding's debts, even if this is the man I am after. However, I am willing to pay Mrs. Stubbs for information, if she can furnish any that will help us."

"Have you written to her?"

"I am going to send a letter to her by you."

"Am I to go to Harrisburg?" exclaimed Bert, pleasantly surprised.

"Yes; I shall send you there to-morrow."

"I should like to go. What am I to do when I get there?"

"First of all you must call on Mrs. Stubbs. It may be well for you to engage board at her house for a week, paying in advance, as that will put you in her good graces. You will, of course, learn all you can from her, but it will be necessary also to seek information outside. I shall have to leave a good deal to your discretion."

"I hope your confidence in me won't prove to be misplaced, Uncle Jacob."

"I know you will do your best, Bert, but it is quite possible you may fail. As the poet says: ''Tis not in mortals to command success.' I am sure you will deserve it."

"Isn't it going to cost considerable to make this journey, Uncle Jacob?"

"I think we can find money enough for it."

"I am afraid your money will soon melt away, uncle. Think how much you have spent for us already."

"You remember what I told you as to my lucky investment in the Magnet Mine. At any rate it will be worth something to vindicate your father, who, for ten long and tedious years, has been compelled to pass his life in exile under the ban of a crime which he never committed."

"Yes, Uncle Jacob, but it ought not to come out of you."

"Make yourself easy, Bert. The money we spend for worthy purposes is well invested, and we are often repaid tenfold. And now, as you are unacquainted with New York, I will take you out for a walk and show you how it looks by gaslight."

Nothing could have pleased Bert better than this proposal. They returned at nine o'clock, and both he and Uncle Jacob retired at an early hour.