," said Mrs. Fenton. "But it was not that that
worried me most. I was afraid you might meet with some accident."

"I've come home safe and sound, mother, as you see. But you don't ask
me whether I succeeded in my mission."

"I don't know what your mission was."

"No; it was a secret of Mr. Wainwright's, and I was bound to keep it
secret. I can tell you now. I was sent to Canada to recover over ten
thousand dollars' worth of stolen bonds."

Mrs. Fenton looked amazed.

"A boy like you!" she said.

"I don't wonder you are surprised. I was surprised myself."

"But who had the bonds, and how did you recover them?"

"Two men were in the conspiracy. One of them was sorry for the theft,
and ready to help me. The other meant to keep them. He had taken them
away from his partner and hidden them in the forest."

"And you found them?"

"Yes; sit down and I will tell you the story."

Fred did so, and when it was finished he added: "How much do you think
Mr. Wainwright paid me for my trouble?"

"He ought to pay you handsomely."

"What would you consider paying me handsomely?"

"Fifty dollars," answered his mother.

"He gave me a thousand dollars!"

"A thousand!" ejaculated Mrs. Fenton, incredulous.

"Yes."

"Where's the money?" asked Albert.

"He gave it to me in a check. I shall collect it to-morrow, and invest
it in some safe way."

"I can't realize it, Fred," said Mrs. Fenton. "Why, it will make us
rich."

"But that isn't all. My salary is raised to twenty-five dollars a
week."

"I never heard of such wages being given to a boy like you."

"It was my second offer this morning. A merchant, a friend of Mr.
Wainwright, offered me twenty dollars to go into his office."

"That is better than being a train boy, Fred."

"Yes; but I was glad to work on the trains when I had nothing better to
do."

Just then the peculiar whistle of the postman was heard.

"Run down-stairs, Albert, and see if there are any letters for us,"
said Fred.

The little boy returned in a moment with an envelope directed to Fred
Fenton, and postmarked Central City, Colorado. He opened it hastily,
and exclaimed: "This is from Mr. Sloan, who visited us a few months
since."

"Read it, Fred."

The letter was written in rather an illegible hand, and the spelling
was rather eccentric, for Mr. Sloan was not a scholar. As corrected it
ran thus:

FRIEND FRED--I suppose you haven't forgotten your old friend Tom Sloan.
I have often t