The Young Bridge-Tender | Page 2

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 passing vessels for exactly two years.
Then, one blustery 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