rable.

XXV.

For a time everything at the factory ran well, and Fred turned off his
work quite as satisfactorily as could have been expected, since he was a
new hand and unaccustomed to the duties. He learned them readily,
however, but not soon enough to escape the fault finding of Christopher
Hanks, who seemed to delight in making it uncomfortable for the boys, as
he was one of those disagreeable and contemptible men who take delight
in tyrannizing over those below them in authority, especially if they
are boys, and consequently not able to match them in strength and
courage.

It is just possible, however, that Christopher overestimated his own
powers in this latter respect, or still more probable that he had a
decidedly faulty conception of our young friend's muscular development,
as may hereafter be shown.

Fred had the good sense, however, to keep from having any trouble with
him on first going into the mill, as he was already under a cloud, and
he knew that it would be for his advantage to submit for a time to what
was anything but agreeable to one of his spirit. "A fuss with Hanks at
this time," thought he, "might turn Mr. Farrington against me, and then
I should have no strong friend left."

Fred looked upon Mr. Farrington as one who would do everything possible
to help him advance and aid him in re-establishing his innocence. It may
as well be said here that this latter consideration was more to him than
anything else, for he felt most keenly the attitude of many of his
former friends whenever he chanced to meet them. Moreover, he hoped to
be promoted as soon as a vacancy should occur, provided he conducted
himself so as to merit it.

For these several reasons Fred put up with the mean treatment of Hanks,
that he might become well established before asserting his manliness and
independence.

He did the heavy work that really belonged to Hanks, so that Carl might
escape it. He did even more than had been done by either boy before he
came, for the carrying of the cloth had been imposed upon him. Fred did
not know this for some time, until Jack Hickey, the "Jolly Scourer,"
said to him one day:

"Me b'y, why do ye let that ould spalpane crowd ye so?"

"Why, what do you mean?" inquired young Worthington, who wanted to draw
out his friend of the Emerald Isle.

"I mane about luggin' the cloth. Sure, an' no b'y but ye has ever done
it."

"I thought it was a part of my work; he told me to do it th