The payment of a thousand dollars to Randall had been a severe blow to old Peter Manson, and this consideration materially lessened the satisfaction which he felt in Charlie's removal.

We re-introduce him to our readers, engaged, as usual, in counting over his hoards. Preparatory to doing so, he carefully secured the outer door, and also the door of the apartment which he occupied.

Then lifting up a plank from the floor, he raised from beneath a large box containing gold coins. It was very heavy, and it was not without difficulty that the old man, who was very feeble, succeeded in lifting it to a level with the floor.

The box was, perhaps, four fifths full.

[107]

The old man surveyed the deficiency with a groan.

"It might have been full," he muttered, "if I hadn't been obliged to pay away such a sight of money to that determined man. One thousand dollars! two hundred bright, sparkling coins! How many, many weary days it will take before I can supply their place. It was all but full. It wanted only ten more coins to make five thousand dollars. Oh gold, gold, gold! How beautiful you are! To me you are food and drink and clothing and friends and relations. I care for nothing but you."

While Peter was indulging in this soliloquy, he was engaged in counting the coins in the box.

The result of the count showed one less than he had anticipated.

The old man turned pale.

"Some one has robbed me," he muttered. "Or, perchance, I have counted wrong. I will go over it again."

This he did with eager haste and a feeling of nervous anxiety, and, to his no small dismay, the count resulted as before.

[108]

"They have taken my money!" exclaimed Peter, tearing his white hair in anguish. "They will make me a beggar, and I shall be reduced to want in my old age. Oh, oh!"

In the midst of his lamentations he suddenly discovered the missing coin, which had rolled away, without his observing it, to the opposite side of the room.

Chuckling with delight, he picked it up and replaced it in the box.

His duty satisfactorily performed, the miser put on his cloak, and prepared for another task. This was, to raise Mrs. Codman's rent, and so compel her to leave the rooms which she rented of him. This, however, was unnecessary, since, deprived of Charlie's earnings, his mother would have found it impossible to pay the rent previously demanded.

Peter Manson resolved to call upon his tenant in person. He was not afraid of recognition. He felt that the changes which twenty years had wrought in his appearance, would be a sufficient protection. Indeed, this had already been tested; for Peter had already called several times on the same[109] errand, without attracting a glance which could be construed into recognition.

It was the morning after Charlie had disappeared. He had been absent twenty-four hours, and his mother had heard nothing of him. She was in a terrible state of apprehension and anxiety, for few boys were more regular than he in repairing home as soon as his daily duties were over.

Mrs. Codman had sat up late into the night, hoping against her fears that he would return. At length, exhausted by her vigils, she sank upon the bed, but not to sleep. In the morning she rose, unrefreshed, to prepare her solitary meal. But it was in vain. Sorrow and anxiety had taken away her appetite, and she was unable to eat anything.

Soon afterwards a knock was heard at the door. She hastened to open it, hoping to hear some tidings of her lost boy. What was her disappointment to meet the bent form and wrinkled face of Peter Manson, her landlord.

The old man gave her a stealthy glance.

"Why did I not know her before?" he[110] thought. "She is not so very much changed. But I—ha, ha! she don't know who I am."

Mrs. Codman went to a drawer in her bureau, and took therefrom six dollars.

"This is the amount of your rent, I believe," she said.

The old man greedily closed his fingers upon the money, and then, after intimating that it was very small, avowed his determination to raise the rent to two dollars per week.

The miser watched with gleeful exultation the look of dismay which came over the face of his tenant.

Two dollars a week was not only beyond Mrs. Codman's means, but was, at that time, an exorbitant rent for the rooms which she occupied. She would scarcely have been justified in paying it while she had Charlie's earnings as well as her own to depend on. Yet there seemed now an imperative necessity for remaining where she was, for a time at least. It was possible that Charlie would come back, and if she should remove, where would he find her? Of course, he would[111] come back! The thought that there was even a possibility of her son being lost to her was so full of shuddering terror, that Mrs. Codman would not for a moment indulge it. Life without Charlie would be so full of sadness, that she could not believe him lost.

She resolved to make an effort to arouse the old man's compassion. She did not dream of the spite and hatred which he felt towards her. There are none whom the wicked hate so heartily as those whom they have injured. That is something beyond forgiveness.

Mrs. Codman knew that Peter Manson was avaricious, and to this she attributed the increase in the rent. She had no suspicion that he had a particular object in distressing her.

"Surely, Mr. Manson," she remonstrated, "You do not think these rooms worth two dollars a week. It is all we are able to do to raise the rent we now pay."

"Humph!" muttered Peter, avoiding the eye of his tenant, "they are worth all I can get for them."

[112]

"Have you raised the rent on the other rooms in this house?"

"No, but I—I shall soon."

"Then I tremble for your tenants. Mr. Manson, if you were poor yourself, perhaps you would have a heart to sympathize with and pity the poor."

"If I were poor!" exclaimed the old man, betrayed into his customary whi............