lly with the
pleasant face of Mrs. Nelson, he said to himself that, faded or not, the
latter was still better looking than his wife had been in the days of
her youth. Of course it would not do to say so, for Mrs. Hudson was not
amiable.

"Mark Nelson has given me security," said the squire, returning to the
point under discussion. "I hold a mortgage on his farm for the whole
amount he owes me."

"Do you think you shall have to foreclose, father?" asked Sinclair.

"If Tom does not succeed in California, I probably shall," said the
squire.

"Do you think he will succeed?"

"He may be able to make a living, but I don't think he will be able to
help his father any."

"Then why did you lend him the money?"

"He wanted to go, and was willing to take the risk. I lent the money as
a business operation."

"Suppose Mr. Nelson loses his farm, what will he do?" inquired Sinclair.

"I really don't know," answered the squire, shrugging his shoulders.
"That is no concern of mine."

"Tom wouldn't put on so many airs if his father had to go to the
poorhouse," said Sinclair.

"Does he put on airs?"

"He seems to think he is as good as I am," said Squire Hudson's heir.

"That is perfectly ridiculous," said Mrs. Hudson. "The boy must be a
fool."

"He is no fool," said the squire, who did not allow prejudice to carry
him so far as his wife and son. "He is a boy of very fair abilities; but
I apprehend he will find it harder to make his fortune than he
anticipated. However, time will show."

"Most likely he'll come home in rags, and grow up a day-laborer," said
Sinclair complacently. "When I'm a rich man I'll give him work. He won't
feel like putting on airs, then."

"What a good heart Sinclair has!" said Mrs. Hudson admiringly.

Squire Hudson said nothing. Possibly the goodness of his son's heart was
not so manifest to him.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE YOUNG MAN FROM BOSTON.

Soon after leaving St. Joe, the emigrant train which Tom had joined,
entered the territory of Kansas. At that early day the settlement of
this now prosperous State had scarcely begun. Its rich soil was as yet
unvexed by the plow and the spade, and the tall prairie grass and virgin
forest stretched for many and many a mile westward in undisturbed
loneliness.

One afternoon, toward the setting of the sun, the caravan halted on the
site of the present capital of the State, Topeka. The patient oxen,
wearied with the twenty miles they had travele