Mark Manning's Mission

"No doubt, no doubt. You are young and life opens before you bright and cheerful. As for me, I have lived my life. For me no prospect opens but the grave. Why, indeed, should I seek to prolong this miserable life?"

Mark hardly knew how to answer him. He could not enter into the old man's morbid feelings.

"I will be back soon," he said as he left the cabin.

CHAPTER III.

A TIMELY RESCUE

Mark Manning left the cabin and made his way as quickly as possible to the edge of the wood. He hadn't got over his wonder at the hermit's commission and singular confidence in him.

"It seems strange," he said to himself, "to have so much money in my pocket. Nearly thirty dollars! I wonder whether I shall ever have as much of my own?"

In truth, thirty dollars seemed a much larger sum to our hero, brought up in a hand to hand struggle with poverty, than it would have appeared if he had been ten years older.

"He must have more money," thought Mark, "or he would not care so little for this sum as to trust it all to me. How does he know that I will prove honest?"

Nevertheless it was a satisfaction to Mark to reflect that old Anthony was justified in his confidence. Had the sum been ten times as large, he would not have been tempted to retain any of it for his own use.

He kept on his way to the drug store, and asked for the medicines already referred to.

"Is your mother sick?" asked the druggist, who was very well acquainted with Mark and his family.

"No, sir," answered Mark.

"Oh, then it is you who are rheumatic," said the druggist jokingly.

"Wrong again," answered Mark. "I am buying the medicines for old Anthony."

"Then he is sick? That accounts for his not having appeared in the village for several days."

Thereupon Mark described his chance visit to the cabin, and the condition in which he had found the hermit.

"These remedies will do him good," said the druggist, "if he is otherwise kept comfortable. A strange man is old Anthony!" he continued musingly.

Mark produced a gold piece, from which he requested the druggist to take pay for the articles purchased.

"Did the hermit give you this?" asked the druggist.

Mark answered in the affirmative.

"Then it is evident he is not without means. However, I might have known that. During the years that he has lived in the wood, he has always been prompt in his payments for all articles purchased in the village. His expenditures are small, to be sure, but in five years they have amounted to considerable."

"What could have induced him to settle in such a lonely spot?"

"That is more than any one hereabouts can tell. He is very secretive, and never says anything about himself."

By this time Mark was ready to return. He went to the grocery store, where he obtained the milk and loaf of bread, which he had also been commissioned to procure. Then he set out for old Anthony's lonely cabin.

Before doing so, he heard something from the grocer that aroused his curiosity.

"There was a man in here only twenty minutes since," said the storekeeper, "who was asking after Anthony."

"Was it a stranger?"

"Yes. It was a man I never saw before. He was a stout, broad-shouldered man with a bronzed face, who looked as if he might be a sailor."

"Did he say who he was?"

"Only that Anthony was a relation of his, and that he had not seen him for years."

"Did he say he meant to call upon him?" asked Mark.

"He did not say so, but as he inquired particularly for the location of the cabin, I took it for granted that this was his intention."

"Then probably I shall see him, as I am going directly back to the wood."

"He will probably be there unless he loses his way."

Leaving Mark to return by the same way he came, we will precede him, and make acquaintance with the man who had excited the grocer's curiosity by inquiring for the old hermit.

Old Anthony lay on his pallet waiting for the return of Mark.

"I like the boy," he said to himself. "He has an honest face. He looks manly and straightforward. He has never joined the other village boys in jeering. If my nephew had been like him he might have been a comfort to me."

The old man sighed. What thoughts passed through his mind were known only to him; but that they were sad ones seemed clear from the expression of his face.

Time passed as he lay quiet. Then he heard a noise at the door and the step of one entering the cabin.

"Is that you, Mark?" he inquired.

There was a pause. Then a harsh voice answered: "No; it isn't Mark, whoever he may be. It is some one who ought to be nearer to you than he."

Old Anthony started in evident excitement, and by an effort managed to turn round his head so as to see the intruder.

His eyes rested on a man rather above the middle height, shabbily clad, with a dark face and threatening expression.

"Lyman Taylor!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, Lyman Taylor," returned the other, mockingly. "Are you glad to see your nephew?"

"Heaven knows I am not!" said old Anthony bitterly.

"So I judged from your expression. Yet they say blood is thicker than water."

"That there is any tie of blood between us I regret deeply. A man more utterly unworthy I have never known."

"Come, Uncle Anthony, isn't that a little strong. I am no angel–"