"I don't know what I shall do. I
am in a strange place, and have no friends."

Bobby's sympathies were aroused, and without reflection, he promised to
be a friend in his extremity.

"I will stick by you this time, Bob, come what will. I will do just as
you say, now."

Our merchant was a little flattered by this unreserved display of
confidence. He did not give weight enough to the fact that it was
adversity alone which made Tom so humble. He was in trouble, and gave
him all the guarantee he could ask for his future good behavior. He
could not desert him now he was in difficulty.

"You shall help me sell my books, and then we will return to Boston
together. Have you money enough left to pay your employer?"

Tom hesitated; something evidently hung heavily upon his mind.

"I don't know how it will be after I have paid my expenses to Boston,"
he replied, averting his face.

Bobby was perplexed by this evasive answer; but as Tom seemed so
reluctant to go into details, he reserved his inquiries for a more
convenient season.

"Now, Tom, you take the houses on that side of the street, and I will
take those upon this side. You shall have the profits on all you sell."

"You are a first rate fellow, Bob; and I only wish I had done as you
wanted me to do."

"Can't be helped now, and we will do the next best thing," replied
Bobby, as he left his companion to enter a house.

Tom did very well, and by the middle of the afternoon they had sold all
the books but four. "The Wayfarer" had been liberally advertised in
that vicinity, and the work was in great demand. Bobby's heart grew
lighter as the volumes disappeared from his valise, and already he had
begun to picture the scene which would ensue upon his return to the
little black house. How glad his mother would be to see him, and, he
dared believe, how happy Annie would be as she listened to the account
of his journey in the State of Maine! Wouldn't she be astonished when
he told her about the steamboat, about the fog, and about the wild
region at the mouth of the beautiful Kennebec!

Poor Bobby! the brightest dream often ends in sadness; and a greater
trial than any he had been called upon to endure was yet in store for
him.

As he walked along, thinking of Riverdale and its loved ones, Tom came
out of a grocery store where he had just sold a book.

"Here, Bob, is a ten dollar bill. I believe I have sold ten books for
you," said Tom, after they had walk