“That is the name of the man I work for.”
“Then I guess you had better give me a lift, for I am going to my uncle’s.”
“All right! Glad to have your company.”
“What’s your name?” asked the stranger.
“Harry Gilbert. What’s yours?”
“Howard Randall.”
“Where do you live?”
“I used to live at Upton, but my father is dead, and mother—she’s Mrs. Mead’s sister—told me I’d better come to see if Uncle Reuben wouldn’t give me a place in his store.”
Instantly it flashed upon Harry that this new boy’s arrival was likely to endanger his prospects. Mr. Mead, as he knew, had no occasion for the services of two boys, and he would naturally give his nephew the preference. He was not unjust enough to take a dislike to Howard in consequence. Indeed, the new boy had a pleasant face and manner, which led him to think he would like him for a friend.
“If I do lose my place,” thought Harry, “I will put my trust in God. I don’t think He will see me or mother suffer, and I won’t borrow trouble until it comes.”