e she herself was able to earn, they lived comfortably. It was hard
work for Harry, but he enjoyed it, for he was an active boy, and it was
a source of great satisfaction to him that he was able to help his
mother so materially.

He was now fifteen years old, about the average height for a boy of that
age, with a strong frame and a bright, cheerful manner that made him a
general favorite.

The part of his duty which he liked best was to drive the store wagon
for the delivery of goods to customers. Most boys of his age like to
drive a horse, and Harry was no exception to the rule.

When he reached the store Mr. Mead, his employer, said:

"Harness up the horse as soon as you can, Harry. There are some goods to
be carried out."

"All right, sir," answered Harry, cheerfully, and made his way to the
stable, which stood in the rear of the store. It was but a few minutes
before he was loaded up and was on his way.

He had called at several places and left the greater part of the goods,
when he found himself in a narrow road, scarcely wider than a lane. Why
it had been made so narrow was unaccountable, for there was certainly
land enough to be had, and that of little value, which could have been
used. It was probably owing to a want of foresight on the part of the
road commissioners.

Just at the narrowest part of the road Harry saw approaching him an open
buggy of rather a pretentious character, driven by a schoolmate, Philip
Ross, the son of Colonel Ross, a wealthy resident of the village.

I have said that Philip was, or rather had been, a schoolmate of Harry.
I cannot call him a friend. Philip was of a haughty, arrogant temper.
The horse and buggy he drove were his own--that is, they had been given
him by his father on his last birthday--and he was proud of them, not
without some reason, for the buggy was a handsome one, and the horse was
spirited and of fine appearance.

As soon as Harry saw Philip approaching, he proceeded to turn his horse
to one side of the road.

Philip, however, made no such move, but kept in the middle.

"Isn't he going to turn out?" thought Harry. "How does he expect to get
by?"

"Why don't you turn out, Philip?" he called out.

"Turn out yourself!" retorted Philip, haughtily.

"That's what I'm doing," said Harry, rather provoked.

"Then turn out more!" said the young gentleman, arrogantly.

"I have turned out my share," said Harry, stopping his horse. "Do you
expect to keep righ