"Do you mean to say you don't intend to pay me anything until October?" asked Budd, indignantly.
"That's the agreement," replied Mr. Benton, coolly, returning the paper to his wallet and placing it in his pocket. "If ye'll keep yer part, I'll keep mine."
He now picked up his hoe and resumed his work.
For the first time since he came to the farm Budd felt an impulse to leave his employer. It was with great difficulty indeed that he refrained from throwing down his hoe, going to the house after his few effects, and quitting the place forever. But he did, and went resolutely on with his work. Fortunate for him was it, though he did not know it then, that he did so. Later on, he could see that the ruling of his spirit that day won for him, if not a city, certainly the happiest results, though severe trials stood between him and their consummation.
That night, at as early an hour as possible, Budd sought his little room. Closing the door carefully after him, he walked over to the rude rack on the wall and took down his light overcoat. From an inside pocket he took a long wallet, and from the wallet a postal card. Addressing it with a pencil to "N. B. Johnson, Esq., No. 127 Sumner Street, Boston, Mass.," he wrote rapidly and in tiniest characters, on the reverse side, without giving place or date, the following words:
DEAR SIR:--I promised you last March to send you some money each month until the total amount remaining due to you was paid. I have secured work at a small compensation, but find, through a misunderstanding with my employer, that I am not to have my pay until the six months for which I have hired out are ended. At that time you may expect a remittance from me. I am very sorry to make this change in my original plans, but cannot help it, and trust you will be satisfied with this arrangement. Truly yours,
BUDD BOYD.
It was several days later, however, before Budd had an opportunity to go up to the neighboring village. When he did go, he took care not to drop the postal into the post-office, but handed it directly to a mail agent upon a passing train. His reason for this act could not be easily misunderstood. Evidently he did not care that the Mr. Johnson to whom he had written should know his exact whereabouts. But his precaution was unnecessary, for before the summer months had fairly come he was to see Mr. Johnson under circumstances most trying to himself.
[CHAPTER III.--AGAINST WIND AND TIDE.]
Not a great distance north of the farm of Mr. Benton, and stretching some distance along the shore of the bay, there is a singular formation of sand and rocks known as "The Hummocks." A small cove lies south and west of the formation, while the main bay stretches out to its widest extent from the east. The only point, then, where "The Hummocks" touch the main-land is at the north; and even this point of contact is so narrow as to simply furnish a roadway down onto "The Hummocks" themselves.