the train which reached portville at four o'clock was full, and half a dozen persons were standing up. one seat, however, was not taken. at a window sat a boy of sixteen—a sallow-complexioned boy, with a face that was neither good-looking nor amiable. on the seat beside him was a valise.

"is this seat taken?" asked a pale, tired-looking woman, who had made her way up from the other end of the car.

"yes," answered abel, gruffly, for this was the son of mrs. lane, now on his way to his mother's home.

the woman sighed, for she was in poor health and very tired.

a man sitting just behind said, indignantly:

"no, madam, it is not taken. remove your valise, boy, and let the lady sit down."

"i am expecting a friend to get in at the next station," said abel, crossly.

"that makes no difference. this lady is here, and is better entitled to a seat than a passenger in the next town."

"i don't see what business it is of yours," said abel, irritably.

he made no offer to remove the valise.

"then i will show you."

the gentleman took abel's bag and set it down in the aisle.

"now sit down, madam," he said.

"thank you, sir, but i don't want to incommode the young gentleman."

"he has no right to feel incommoded. take the seat. it is your right."

she sank into the seat with a sigh of relief.

abel felt and looked very indignant. he was a boy who had always been accustomed to consult his own comfort and convenience, and he was vexed that he had been compelled to yield in the present instance.

the woman coughed. she evidently had a severe cold. abel had opened the window, and a strong east wind entered. it would have been uncomfortable even to a person perfectly well, but to one having a cough it was very trying.

"would you mind putting down the window?" she asked, timidly. "i have a terrible cold."

"i prefer it open," said abel, rudely.

the passenger behind was cognizant of all that passed.

"madam," he said, "will you exchange seats with me?"

she rose and took the rear seat while the gentleman seated himself beside abel. he was a stout man, and filled more than half the seat. abel looked disgusted.

"now, young man, close that window!" said the stout man, in a tone of command.

abel obeyed, but it was with great unwillingness. he did not dare to do otherwise.

"it is very close," he grumbled. "i like a little air."

"there is no other open window on this side the car. if the others can stand it, you can."

"i wish people would mind their own business," grumbled abel, peevishly.

"look here, young man, if you give me any more of your impudence i will give you a thrashing!" said the stout man, sternly.

he looked quite capable of carrying out his threat, and abel, thoroughly cowed, relapsed into silence.

at length they reached portville, and abel, picking up his valise, stepped out of the car.

he looked about him on the platform, thinking he might see his mother, but she was not quite sure as to the train by which abel would come, and had not come to meet him.

abel looked about and espied a boy rather younger than himself. it was john holman.

"boy," he said, "can you tell me where mrs. lane lives?"

"the widow lane?"

"yes, she is a widow."

"about half a mile away. you go up this road and take two turns."

"oh, bother, why didn't she come to meet me? how can i find the way?"

"come along with me. i am going that way."

"all right! won't you take my valise, too? that's a good fellow. i will pay you five cents."

"i will take it to oblige you. i won't charge you anything."

"you'd better take the nickel. you look like a poor boy."

"i am not in any special need of five cents," said john, not pleased with the patronizing tone of his new companion.

abel was pleased, however, with the idea of not having to pay for the service.

"do you know mrs. lane?" asked abel.

"yes. gerald lane is my intimate friend."

"gerald? oh, yes! that is mr. lane's son. what sort of a boy is he?"

"he is a tip-top boy. everybody likes him."

"humph! isn't he rather independent?"

"why shouldn't he be? his family was one of the most prominent in the village."

"ah, just so!" said abel, complacently, for he felt that this made his mother's position the stronger.

"i suppose you wonder who i am," said abel, after a pause.

"i suppose you are a friend of the family."

"i should say i was. i am mrs. lane's son."

this surprised john, for gerald had neglected to tell him the information he had only just obtained himself.

"i never heard gerald speak of you," he said, half incredulous.

"gerald knew nothing about me."

"how is that?"

"mother and mr. lane thought it best not to tell him."

"but, of course, he will know now."

"certainly. i am going to live here."

john made no comments, but he thought it rather a strange state of things. however, they had by this time reached the lane residence, and john, indicating it, gave the valise to abel.

from the window mrs. lane saw the arrival of her son and opened the door for him. "oh, my darling boy!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms about his neck. "so you have come home at last!"

"don't choke me, mother," said abel, impatiently. "it doesn't look well to hug a fellow in public."

"i can't help it, abel. i am so delighted to see you. come right in and sit down. are you tired?"

"rather. i say, mother, you are pretty well fixed here."

"yes, abel; you like the house, don't you?"

"yes; it is ever so much better than that old, tumble-down house we lived in before you came to portville."

"hush! don't let any one hear you refer to that."

"who is there to hear?"

"the servant might overhear you some day. besides, there is gerald."

"where is he?"

"out somewhere. he will be home to supper."

"did he get any of the property?"

"no, abel; it is all mine."

"good. you played your cards pretty well."

"don't express yourself in that coarse way."

"it's true, though. isn't it rather strange old lane shut out his own son?"

"don't call him old lane. it doesn't sound well."

"i say, mother, how much does the property amount to?"

"about fifty thousand dollars, abel."

"well, mother, you have been smart. i suppose you'll settle half of it on me."

"there is no occasion to talk of that. of course, when i die i shall leave all to you."

"and none to gerald?"

"well, perhaps a little, just for appearance' sake."

"you needn't leave him over a hundred dollars. but i say, mother, you'll give me a good allowance, won't you?"

"yes, i will think of that."

"have you got a nice room for me?"

"come up, and i will show you."

on the second floor at the rear were two rooms—a large square room and a hall bedroom beside it.

"you will sleep in the small room to-night, abel."

"but who has the large room?"

"it is occupied by gerald."

"that's not fair. why shouldn't i have it?"

"you shall have it after awhile. gerald has always occupied it, and he may make a fuss."

"suppose he does. you ain't afraid of him, are you?"

"what a question! as if i should be afraid of a boy who is wholly under my control."

"i hope you will give me the room to-morrow."

"i will see what can be done."

"i was thinking what mr. lane would say if he should see me here. he didn't know you had a son, did he?"

"no; i deemed it best to keep it from him."

"perhaps if you had told him he might have left me some of his money."

"he left it to me, which amounts to the same thing."

"not quite, unless you give me a large slice right off. have you told gerald about me?"

"i told him this morning."

"how did he take it?"

"he seemed surprised."

"did he think it strange he had not heard of me?"

"probably he did. i told him mr. lane knew about you."

"that's all right."

at this moment mrs. lane heard the front door open.

"that's gerald," she said. "come down-stairs, and i will introduce you."