EKING HIS FORTUNE.

BY MRS. W. J. HAYS.

A boy sat whistling on a fence. He was a lad of twelve years, and worked
at all sorts of odd chores on the river farm, which sent most of its
produce down to the city on the barges which one sees on the Hudson
River, headed by little steam-tugs, and which are commonly called
"tows." This boy, Tom Van Wyck, was a poor boy, and worked hard; he did
not much care for the beautiful hills which encompassed the winding,
gleaming river, nor the fair and fertile fields beyond, but he had an
adventurous and daring spirit, which just now was working up in the
manner of yeast when it is pushing its way through the mass of unbaked
bread. All sorts of bubbles were bothering his brain, and foremost was
the wish to leave his country home, and go to the great city of which he
had heard so much, but about which he knew little. Aunt Maria, he was
sure, would never say "yes" to his project. She looked upon the city as
a great den of thieves, and she did not want Tom to go there; but he was
tired of being a farm hand, and thought it would be fine to stand behind
a counter, to wear kid gloves on a Sunday, to be able to buy good
broadcloth and shining boots--indeed, with one bound to be a merchant
prince whose grandeur should be the town talk.

He had not very clear ideas as to how all this was to be attained, but
he knew he could work hard; he had read how many a poor boy had
struggled up to fame, and he meant to try, anyhow. And now, as he sat on
the fence whistling, he was considering a plan of action. There was no
use in being too tender-hearted. He would have to leave Aunt Maria
without asking permission. True, the little red house by the hill was a
snug little home, and his aunt toiled hard to make it so; but would he
not come home to her with silks and diamonds which should so outshine
her best alpaca that it would only do for common use? Often down at the
dock he had talked with the men on the boats, but he knew none of them
other than as Jack and Bill. His proposed plan was to leave some night
quietly, get on a barge, go to the city, and secure work; then write
home to Aunt Maria, and make his peace with her. Perhaps if Aunt Maria
had known all these thoughts, she might have been less harsh when Tom
scolded about farm-work, and called it drudgery; but she had a scornful
way of sniffing at him and his ideas, which made Tom more and more close
and reserved. On this very day, when the momento