letter. Ben did not take the trouble to be angry.
He evidently despised his enmity, and defied him. Sam felt that
he hated Ben worse.

"What's that letter you are scowling over, Sam?" asked James
Watson.

"It's a letter from a miserable puppy," hissed Sam.

"Is it? Do you correspond with miserable puppies?"

"I can't help their writing to me. If you want to know who it is, it's
your friend, Ben Bradford."

"How long have you corresponded?" asked James.

"I wouldn't lower myself by writing to him," said Sam wrathfully.
"I'll show you what I think of his letter."

As he spoke, he tore the letter to pieces.

"You're a strange boy, Sam," said James.

"Why am I?"

"Haven't you been working hard to get Ben back to Milltown?"

"I wish he'd come back."

"And yet you can't bear the sight of him."

"I hate him worse than any fellow I know."

"Come, now, Sam, just listen to a little advice. If you had always
treated Ben right you would like him as well as I do. Why should
you cherish malice against him? He has good qualities, and so
have you, if you'd only give 'em a chance to show themselves."

"That's all gammon," said Sam impatiently.

"What, about your having good qualities?"

"About my ever liking Ben Bradford. Before I'd make a friend of
him, I would go without friends."

"You may think differently some time."

On the first of January Ben wrote to his aunt:

"My Dear Aunt: Congratulate me on my good luck. Mr. Porter, this
morning, called me into the countingroom, and informed me that
henceforth my wages would be eight dollars a week--two dollars
more that I have been receiving. I owe this partly to my good luck.
I am a favorite of the bookkeeper, who is Mr. Porter's nephew;
otherwise, if I had been advanced at all, it would have been only one
dollar a week. Don't you think it would have been rather foolish if I
had come back and gone into the mill, as you wished me to?"

"After all, I think Ben did right to stay," said Aunt Jane, when she
read the letter.

"I wish he'd come home," said Tony. "Then he could play with me."

Chapter XXIX

The Cunard Steamer

Early one morning a gentleman came into Jones & Porter's bookstore,
and selected some books, which he paid for. There were eighteen in all.

"Where shall we send them, sir?"

"Can you send them to the Cunard steamer at East Boston? I sail
for Europe today."

"Certainly, sir. When does the steamer start?"

"At tw