The Young Bridge-Tender.

by Arthur M. Winfield.

CHAPTER I.

A QUESTION OF PROPERTY.

"It's a shame, mother! The property belonged to father and the village has no right to its use without paying for it."

"I agree with you, Ralph," replied Mrs. Nelson. "But what are we to do in the matter?"

"Why don't you speak to Squire Paget? He is the president of the village board."

"I have spoken to him, but he will give me no satisfaction. He claims that the village has the right to nearly all the water front within its limits,"

replied Mrs. Nelson, with a sigh.

"It hasn't a right to the land father bought and paid for."

"That is what I said."

"And what did he answer to that?" questioned Ralph Nelson, with increasing interest.

"He said he doubted if your father had really bought the land. He asked me to show him the papers in the case."

"And those you haven't got."

"No, I cannot find them. Your father placed them away, and when he died so suddenly, he said nothing about where they had been placed. I have an idea he gave them to somebody for safe keeping."

"It's a pity we haven't the papers, mother. The property on which this end of the swinging bridge rests, and the land right around it, is going to be very valuable some day; I heard Mr. Hooker say so at the post office only yesterday."

"I have no doubt of it, Ralph, when Westville becomes a city instead of a village. But that is many years off, I imagine."

"I suppose it is--the village folks are so slow to make improvements. It's a wonder they ever put up the bridge across to Eastport."

"They wouldn't have done it had it not been for Eastport capitalists, who furnished nearly all of the money."

"And now, that the bridge has been up several years, and the tolls are coming in daily, I suppose they are glad they let the structure go up."

"To be sure. Folks like to see a paying improvement."

"Well, about this property business, mother; do you think we can find those missing papers?" went on Ralph, after a pause.

"I am sure I hope so, my son. But where to start to look for them, I haven't the least idea."

"We might advertise for them."

"Yes, we might, but I doubt if it would do any good. If any one around here had them they would give them to us without the advertising."

"They would unless they hoped to make something out of it," replied Ralph, suddenly, struck with a new idea.

"Make something, Ralph? What do you mean."

"Perhaps the one holding the papers intends to keep them and some day claim the land as his own."

"Oh, I do not believe any one would be so dishonest," cried Mrs. Nelson.

"I do, mother. There are just as mean folks in Westville as anywhere else."

"But they would not dare to defraud us openly."

"Some folks would dare do anything for money," replied Ralph Nelson, with a decided nod of his curly head.

Ralph was the only son of his widowed mother. His father, Randolph Nelson, had been in former years a boatman on Keniscot Lake. When the swinging bridge had been built between Westville and Eastport, Mr. Nelson had been appointed bridge tender.

The old boatman had occupied his position at the bridge, taking tolls and opening the structure for pa.s.sing vessels for exactly two years. Then, one bl.u.s.tery and rainy day he had slipped into the water, and before he could manage to save himself, had been struck by the bow of a steamboat and seriously hurt.

Mr. Nelson had been taken from the water almost immediately after being wounded, and all that could be done was done for him, but without avail.

He was unconscious, and only came to himself long enough to bid his weeping wife and only child a tender farewell. Thirty-six hours after the accident he was dead, and his funeral occurred three days later.

For a time Mrs. Nelson and Ralph were nearly prostrated by the calamity that had taken place. But stern necessity soon compelled them to put aside their grief. Although Mr. Nelson owned a small cottage close to the bridge, he had left but a small amount--less than a hundred dollars--in cash behind him. They must work to support themselves.

Ralph's father had been appointed bridge tender for a period of three years, and the son applied for the balance of his parent's term. His application was objected to by Squire Paget, who wished to put Dan Pickley, a village idler, in the place, but the bridge board overruled him, and Mrs.

Nelson was appointed to fill her husband's situation--every one knowing that Ralph was to do the work.

The pay was not large--only six dollars per week--but, as the Nelsons had no rent to pay, they managed to get along quite comfortably. There was a vegetable garden attached to the cottage, and during his spare time Ralph worked in this. His mother also took in sewing, and they had now saved sixty dollars for a rainy day.

Westville and Eastport were situated on the two sides of a narrow channel which united Big Silver Lake, sometimes called Keniscot Lake, on the north with Silver Lake on the south. The upper lake was several miles long, while the lower sheet of water, which emptied into the Ramapo River at Chambersburgh, was less than half the size.

Westville had always been a backward town, due mostly to the short-sightedness of Squire Paget, Mr. Hooker, the postmaster, and other narrow-minded leading men, who never saw fit to offer any inducements to manufacturers and others to locate there. The village consisted of half-a-dozen stores, a blacksmith shop, a tavern, and less than seventy-five houses. There was one hat factory there, but this was closed more than half the time.

Eastport, on the other hand, was booming. It had two hat factories, three planing mills, a furniture works and a foundry. There were several blocks of stores, lit up at night by electric lights, and several hundred houses.

Real estate, too, was advancing rapidly.

The Nelsons had owned their cottage and the land upon which it stood for many years, but a year previous to the building of the bridge Mr. Nelson had added nearly half an acre to his ground, purchasing it very cheaply from a fellow-boatman, who had left Westville and struck out for some place in the West. This was the ground which was now in dispute. The papers in reference to it were missing, and as the sale had never been recorded, it was likely that Mrs. Nelson and Ralph would have much trouble in obtaining their rights.

CHAPTER II.

THE SMASH AT THE BRIDGE.

During the conversation recorded above, Ralph had been at work in the dooryard of the cottage, while his mother was busy tying up the honeysuckle vines which grew over the porch. It was a bright summer day, with a stiff breeze blowing from the southwest.

"There's a sloop coming up Silver Lake, Ralph!" cried his mother, presently, as she looked across the water from the cottage porch. "I guess you will have to open the bridge."