d you have done me a good turn
to-night, which I shall never forget."

"I'm glad I helped you, sir. I would have done as much as that for
anybody."

"It is bad, very bad," added he, apparently thinking of the
consequences.

"I know it is, sir. That was a pretty narrow plank on the steamboat."

"It wasn't the narrow plank," he replied, bitterly.

"I suppose you had been taking a little too much," I added, willing to
help him out.

"Did you think I was intoxicated?"

"I don't know much about it, but I did think so."

"I would rather give a thousand dollars than have it known that I drank
too much and fell into the river. The story would ruin me, and spoil all
my prospects."

Squire Fishley was a stranger in Riverport. He had not been to
Torrentville since I lived with the captain, and I was sure no one knew
who it was that had fallen into the river. I comforted him, and assured
him it would be all right.

"If your friends on board of the steamer don't expose you, no one else
will," I continued.

"They will not; they are going to New Orleans, and will not return for
months. If you should happen to say anything to my brother or his
family--"

"I will not breathe it," I interposed.

"I will do something handsome for you, Buck, and be your best friend."

"I don't mind that," I replied.

"I am not in the habit of drinking ardent spirits, or even wine, to
excess, when I am at home, though I don't belong to the temperance
society," said he. "I didn't take much, and my friends would not let me
off. I don't know that I ever was really intoxicated before in my life."

"It is a bad habit."

"But it is not my habit, and I mean to stop drinking entirely," he
replied, earnestly; and I could not help thinking how humiliating it
must be for a great man like him to confess his folly to such a poor boy
as I was.

"We are nearly home now, sir," said I, after we had ridden a while in
silence.

"You will remember your promise--won't you, Buck?"

"Certainly I will, sir."

"Take this," he added, crowding something into my hand.

"What is it, sir?" I asked.

"No matter now; it may help your memory."

It was a little roll of wet paper, and I thrust it into my pocket as I
drove into the yard.

CHAPTER VII.

AFTER MIDNIGHT.

Although it was after eleven o'clock, Captain Fishley and his wife were
still up, waiting for the arrival of the distinguished guest.

"Now, remember," said Squire Fishley, as I d