Archies Mistake | Page 2

Stephen go, but rage filled his heart.
"I'll pay you out," he muttered, "one of these days." Then he turned round a side street and disappeared.
And what did Stephen do?
He walked on till he came to a baker's shop, where he bought some bread; then to a grocer's, where he got sugar, tea, and a candle; and so on, till his arms and pockets were full of parcels. But the odd thing was that he bought so much. That was what struck a man--one of the mill-hands--who was in the shop.
Most of the work-people lived in one particular quarter of the big city--Fairfax Town it was called in consequence. But Stephen threaded his way to quite a different part--a much poorer one--and turned into an old tumble-down house, with all its windows broken and patched, which had stood empty and deserted until he came to it.
Weeks passed on, and still, in spite of constant persecution, Stephen remained at the mill. Scarcely any one spoke a kind word to him except Mr. Fairfax, but he very seldom saw him. Even old Mr. Munster, the head foreman, addressed him sharply and contemptuously, which was not his usual custom. The lad did his work well enough, but he was such a miserable-looking fellow, and so untidy and shabby.
Mr. Munster said something of the sort to Archie one day, when he met him outside the office, just as Stephen was going away after receiving his week's wages.
"Yes," replied Archie eagerly; "did you ever see such a scarecrow? But he has good pay, hasn't he?"
"Yes, Mr. Archie; very good for such a young hand. He has fifteen shillings a week."
"He drinks--depend upon it he drinks spirits, and that's what gives him that hang-dog look," said Archie.
"You've never seen him the worse for drink, have you?" asked Mr. Munster, not unwilling to have an excuse for getting rid of the ragged stranger.
"Well, I don't know," he answered. "He was leaning up against a wall the other day when I passed, and when he saw me coming he tried to stand upright, and he regularly staggered. I could see it was as much as ever he could do."
"H'm!" said Mr. Munster thoughtfully; "I shall watch him, then. If I catch him like that at his work, I shall soon send him packing."
"And there's another thing," Archie went on. "What does he do with the things he buys? What do you think I saw him getting last week?"
"Couldn't say, sir, I'm sure."
"Why, three boys' fur caps, and a lot of serge, and a girl's cloak, and four pairs of cheap stockings, and other things besides. I was in Dutton's shop when he came in. He didn't see me because of a pile of blankets, and I heard him buy all those things, and carry them off. He paid for half, and the rest he said he'd pay for this week. He must have bought things there before, or they wouldn't have trusted him. But, you know, they'd come to very nearly as much as his wages."
"Yes; I don't understand it," said Mr. Munster. "But, after all, it isn't our business if he does his duty at the mill."
"No, I know," said Archie; "but I believe there's something wrong about him, and I should like to know what it is."
"Well, 'give him enough rope and he'll hang himself,' as they say," rejoined Mr. Munster--"that is, if your ideas about him are true."
Archie said no more on the subject then, but he made up his mind to keep a sharp look-out upon Stephen's conduct. Whenever he met him, therefore, he looked keenly at him; and he would sometimes come through the great room where Stephen worked, with a number of other men and lads, and stand close to him, silently scrutinizing him. If he spoke to him, it was always to ask a question which obliged young Bennett to say a good deal in reply; and Archie was forced to own that he displayed a considerable knowledge of the branch of business in which he was occupied.
But Stephen soon discovered that he was regarded with suspicion, and he came to dread his young master's approach, and the cold, searching glance of his blue eyes.
Stephen had looked haggard and careworn from the first, but as weeks passed on he seemed to get worse. He still did his duty as well, or almost as well, as ever, but he grew perceptibly weaker every day, and at last he could hardly drag himself along.
"I doubt if I'll last much longer," he said to himself, as he reached the mill one morning about three months after his first arrival at Longcross, "but father's time will be out next week. I must write to him to-day or to-morrow and warn him what may be coming."
There was