htened at this intelligence.

"That's just the kind of place I'd like to get," he said.

"Where does Mr. Leavitt live?"

"A quarter of a mile from here--over the bridge. You'll know it well
enough. It's a cottage house, with a shoe shop in the backyard."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry. "I'll go there and try my luck."

"Wait a minute," said the postmaster. "There's a letter here for Mr.
Leavitt. If you're going there, you may as well carry it along. It's
from Boston. I shouldn't wonder if it's about the place Bob Leavitt
wants."

"I'll take it with pleasure," said Harry.

It occurred to him that it would be a good introduction for him, and
pave the way for his application.

"I hope I may get a chance to work for this Mr. Leavitt," he said to
himself. "I like the looks of this village. I should like to live here
for a while."

He walked up the street, crossing the bridge referred to by the
postmaster, and looked carefully on each side of him for the cottage and
shop. At length he came to a place which answered the description, and
entered the yard. As he neared the shop he heard a noise which indicated
that work was going on inside. He opened the door, and entered.

CHAPTER XII. THE NEW BOARDER

Harry found himself in a room about twenty-five feet by twenty. The
floor was covered with scraps of leather. Here stood a deep wooden box
containing a case of shoes ready to send off. There was a stove in the
center, in which, however, as it was a warm day, no fire was burning.
There were three persons present. One, a man of middle age, was Mr.
James Leavitt, the proprietor of the shop. His son Robert, about
seventeen, worked at an adjoining bench. Tom Gavitt, a journeyman, a
short, thick-set man of thirty, employed by Mr. Leavitt, was the third.

The three looked up as Harry entered the shop.

"I have a letter for Mr. Leavitt," said our hero.

"That is my name," said the eldest of the party.

Harry advanced, and placed it in his hands.

"Where did you get this letter?"

"At the post office."

"I can't call you by name. Do you live about here?"

"No, I came from Granton."

No further questions were asked just then, as Mr. Leavitt, suspending
work, opened the letter.

"It's from your Uncle Benjamin," he said, addressing Robert. "Let us see
what he has to say."

He read the letter in silence.

"What does he say, father?" asked Robert.

"He says he shall be ready to take you the first of Sept