"If I had only accepted Mont's aid," she thought, "I wonder where I could find him?"

Presently the constable brought down the very last of the goods, and locking up the rooms, went away.

"Why, Deb, I declare, I didn't know you were going to move. You didn't say anything of it last Sunday. How lucky I came before you were gone!

or, perhaps, how unlucky to come when you are all upside down. Never mind, go right ahead, and don't pay any attention to me. It's an awful job, isn't it? I haven't experienced moving in ten years, but I remember well that I didn't get straightened out for two months, and then it took twice that long to get accustomed to the new place. Where did you say you were moving to?"

And having thus delivered herself in one breath, the speaker, a middle-aged lady, who wore blue gla.s.ses, and was slightly deaf, took Deb's hand in a quick, nervous grasp, and peered into the care-worn face.

"Oh, Miss Parks, we are not moving at all!" cried out the girl, laying her head on her Sunday-school teacher's shoulder.

"Glad I called?" queried Miss Parks, misunderstanding her. "Well, now, seeing things as they are, I didn't expect it. But, maybe I can help you. I'm not overdressed, so just tell me what to do, and I'll go right to work. Hasn't the truck-man come yet?"

"We--are--not--moving," repeated Deb, putting her mouth close to Miss Parks's ear.

"No? Why--why--then something dreadful has happened, all your furniture out here on the sidewalk, with the dust a-blowing on 'em. What is it--fire? That's a dreadful thing. Even if things are not burned up, the smoke gets in 'em, and you can't get it out."

"It isn't fire," returned the unhappy girl, "it's because we can't pay the rent."

"Oh, dear!" Miss Parks was all sympathy at once. "I thought your brother was doing pretty well now," she added.

"So he was. But the tool works have shut down, and we can't get a cent from the bank."

The elderly maiden caught at the words.

"The bank! Isn't it awful. They wouldn't give me mine, yesterday, and I wanted it the worst way, too. But tell me about your trouble."

In a few words, spoken as plainly as possible, Deb poured her tale into the lady's ear.

"I heard about your brother being arrested for the fire," remarked Miss Parks. "But I didn't believe it. Mr. Long says Jack is such a good fellow, and such an excellent scholar."

"I'm glad you think so," burst out the girl. "Oh, Miss Parks, if people only knew Jack as well as I do, they wouldn't say such horrid things about him."

"Well, dear, we all have our trials, and must ask Him to help us bear them," replied the elderly maiden, with sincere piety. "But about the rent. How much is it?"

"Six dollars."

"Not much, truly. But it's more than I have, or I'd pay it in a minute.

Have you any money at all?"

"Not over three dollars."

Miss Parks drew out her pocketbook, and examined the contents.

"Just a dollar," she exclaimed. "I declare we are both poor, with money in the bank, too." She paused a moment in deep thought. "I'll tell you what you might do."

"What?" asked Deb, eagerly.

"Move your things down to my house. I'll let you have the back bedroom and attic, and when you're settled we'll see what is to be done. Jack will be back before a great while, I'm certain."

Miss Parks was entirely alone in the world. The house that she occupied was her own, left her by an invalid uncle, whom she had nursed constantly during the last four years of his life. She was a dress-maker, and a lady's companion, and earned a fair living--a goodly portion of which found its way to charity and the church--for she was a devout Christian, and an earnest worker in the cause.

"Oh, thank you!" cried Deb, a heavy weight taken from her mind. "But won't it be inconvenient for you?"

"Not a bit. In fact I think I'll enjoy company."

"Then I'll accept your offer," continued the girl, "And I think it is real good of you to let me come."

Miss Parks bent down and kissed the tired cheeks.

"You're a good girl, Deb," she said. "You don't deserve such a trial as this."

A little later a truckman was engaged who speedily transferred the household goods to Deb's new home.

CHAPTER XI.

ON THE RIVER ROAD

Mont Gray hastened to the Corney postoffice with all possible speed.

For his own sake, as well as for Deb's he wished to dispatch his business as quickly as possible, so as to devote the remainder of the day to hunting up Jack.

He was afraid that something out of the ordinary had befallen his friend. He had not wished to add to Deb's already deep anxiety, but he knew Jack too well to imagine that the young machinist would willfully keep his sister in ignorance of his whereabouts.

This feeling upon the young man's part might not have been so strong had all other surroundings been more tranquil. But since the shut-down at the tool works the air had been filled with murmurs of dissatisfaction--augmented largely by the suspension of the bank, and everywhere there prevailed a vague feeling that something was about to happen.

One thing was certain. Not a single one of his employes were satisfied with Mr. Felix Gray's management, and there were plenty of hot-headed men who wished him joy over his burnt mansion.

It did not take Mont long to post the letters, and then he struck out at once for the Farrell place.

It was a glorious morning, bright and clear, and when he reached the Redrock road he found the birds singing as merrily as could be.

In spite of the unpleasant things that had happened, Mont felt wonderfully light-hearted, the secret of which was that he was doing something for Deb--a service which he knew she would appreciate, and one which, therefore, he was more than willing to do.

As the young man walked along the river bank whistling cheerily to himself he espied a man coming toward him.

A moment later he recognized the individual as Andy Mosey.

"Wonder what he is doing out here," said Mont to himself. "Perhaps the prison keeper was right, and Jack is on his track--may be watching his chance to get evidence to convict him." When the discovery took place Mont was at a spot where the road ran close to the bank, and here he waited for the Irishman to come up.

As Mosey approached, it was easy to see that he had been drinking heavily. In truth it was but the continuance of his potations of the previous day.

"He had better take care, or he'll go over the bank, sure," was the young man's mental observation, as he watched the reeling form.

As Mosey drew nearer Mont noticed that his eyes were deeply sunken, and that despite the drink, his face looked pale and haggard.