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the passage quoted above. "He doesn't send his love to you," said Frank mischievously. "I don't care for his love," returned Rolan

r; you want to place them with a safe deposit company. I will give you a note to one that I
can recommend." This advice see
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d, tossing his head. "I'm

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glad he is going to a dist

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ance." "Why?" "So he

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needn't disgrace the family." "Are you really afraid of that?" asked Frank, in rather a sarcastic tone. "Yes; he's a bad fellow, and you'll find it out sooner or later." "I don't agree with you; I think Oliver a fine, manly fellow." "O

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h, I know you have always stuck up for him!" said Roland, annoyed. "You are deceived—that is

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all." "Carrie is deceived, too, then," said Frank, knowing that this would tease Roland. "S

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he has just as high an opinion of Oliver as I have." "She'll find him out sometime," said R

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oland, and walked moodily away. Reaching home, he told his father the news. "Oliver gone

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to Chicago!" repeated Mr. Kenyon, with evident pleasure. "I am glad of it. I hope he'll never

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come back to annoy us." "I hope so, too." "But I am afraid he will get out of money and

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write for help." "He's found some flat who has taken a fancy to him, and is paying his exp

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enses. Very likely he'll get tired of him, though." "Who is it?" asked Mr. Kenyon, with som

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e curiosity. "It's a rough sort of a man. Frank Dudley met him one day at Staten Island. An old miner from California, I believe, named Bundy." "What!" exclaimed his father hastily and in visible agitation. "What is the man's name?" "Bundy." "What is his first name?" "Nicholas, I believe." "Is it possible?" exclaimed Mr. Kenyon, moved in some unaccountable manner. "How strange the boy should have fallen in with him!" "Why, do you know him, father?" asked Roland, whose turn it was now to be surprised. "I have heard

med good to Mr. Bundy. He presented himself at
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of him," answered Mr. Kenyon, in an embarrassed voice; "not lately—years ago." "What sort of a man is he?" asked Roland, who was endowed with a full share of curiosity. "His character was bad," answered his father briefly. "He was discharged

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from his place for dishonesty. I knew very little of him." "Then he's good company for Oliver," said Roland, shrugging his shoulders. "They are well matched. I'll tell Frank Dudley what sort of a guardian his dear friend has chosen." "I desi

  • here is in it I want you to see
  • carried out." "All right, s
  • ir." The next day they started

Peter Bruke

for Chicago.
  • CHAPTER XXVI. WHO RUPERT JONES
  • WAS. J UST before leaving Ne
  • w York Oliver wrote a letter to Fr

Jack alfred

ank Dudley, an
  • nouncing the plan he had in view
  • . My new guardian, Mr. Bund
  • y, goes to Chicago on business [he

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wrote] and I
  • am to go with him. I don't know
  • how long we shall be away. I s
  • hall be well provided for, and exp

Neal Potter

ect to have a

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re you will do nothing of the kind," said his father hastily. "Why not?" asked Roland, in surprise. "I don't care to have it known that I ever heard of the man. Frank Dudley might write to Oliver what I have said, and then it would get to the

  • good time. I may write
  • you from the West. Re
  • member me to Carrie, a

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ears of this man Bundy. I have nothing against him, remember. In fact I am grateful to him for taking the boy off my hands. If we are wise, we shall say nothing to separate them." "I see," said Roland. "I guess you're right, father. I'd like to

tell Frank, but I won't." "How strange things turn out in this world!" said Kenyon to himself, when Roland had left him. "Of all men in the world Oliver has drifted into the care of the man

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nd believe me to be your

who hates me most. It is fortunate that I have changed my name. He will never suspect that the step-father of the boy he is befriending is the man he once knew as—Rupert Jones." CHAPTER XXVII.

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affectionate friend,

A STARTLING TELEGRAM. M EANWHILE, in her Southern prison-house, Mrs. Kenyon languished in hopeless captivity. There was only one thing to add to her unhappiness, and that was supplied by the c

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Oliver Conrad. "So O

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ruel ingenuity of her unprincipled husband. Tell her [wrote Mr. Kenyon to Dr. Fox] that her son Oliver is dead. He has just died of typhoid fever, after a week's illness. We did all we could to save him, but the disease obtained too great headwa

y to be resisted, and he finally succumbed to it. "If she's not ins

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