"If she doesn't get there by to-morrow or next day I'll have to go after her," he said to himself, "for I'll burst if I have to hold this news much longer. And won't she be glad? It's hard work for us to get along on our pension, and I can see she has to deny herself a good many things so that I can go to school. I thought I would be happy when I got the money, and so I am, but it is more on her account than on my own—halloo!"
It seemed as if the lane leading to the old brick mansion was destined to play a very important part in the history of the lad, for he had reached the very spot where he met the lion the night before, when a man suddenly stepped out from behind one of the trees and stood for a moment, with the setting sun shining full on his back, his figure looking as if it were stamped in ink against the flaming horizon beyond.
As Fred stared at him, he held up his right hand and crooked his finger for him to approach, just as he did when sitting on the porch of the village hotel, for it was Cyrus Sutton.
The boy was not pleased, by any means, to meet him in such a place, for he had felt suspicious of him ever since he saw him sitting in such familiar converse with Bud Heyland and Jacob Kincade.
Nevertheless, our hero walked boldly toward him, and with a faint "Good-evening, sir," waited to hear what he had to say.
"Your name is Frederick Sheldon, I believe?"
Fred nodded to signify that he was correct in his surmise.
"You met Bud Heyland in the woods over yonder, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir; how could you know it?"
"I saw him going in that direction, and I saw you come out the path; what more natural than that I should conclude you had met? He gave you a twenty-dollar bill to get changed, didn't he?"