Mark Manning's Mission

"In ten minutes."

"That will suit us, Jack."

He bought tickets, and, the cars being ready, they took their seats in a comfortable car of the Lake Shore and Michigan Railroad.

"If they should come here!" suggested Jack, nervously.

"They would have to run fast, if our train leaves on time. There is no danger, Jack. Even if they suspect that we have left the store, they wouldn't know where we are gone."

Still, even Mark felt relieved and reassured when the signal was given and the long train began to steam out of the depot.

"Wouldn't you like to go back and bid Peggy good-by?" he asked, jocosely.

"I hope I shall never see Peggy again," answered the little boy, shuddering.

"If you ever do, there won't be any danger of her doing you any harm. Your grandfather will take care of that."

In his hurry to leave the city, Mark had been compelled to leave his bill at the hotel unpaid, but his valise was left behind as security. At the first opportunity he telegraphed to the land-lord, promising to remit the necessary money, and asking him to hold the valise till instructed where to send it by express.

We will now go back to Peggy and Lyman, who were impatiently maintaining their watch at the window of the shoe store.

When fifteen minutes had passed, and Jack and Mark did not appear, they became alarmed.

"Where are they?" muttered Peggy. "It's long enough they are stayin'."

"You are right, Peggy."

Just then a policeman tapped him on the shoulder. He had been watching them for some time and their conduct seemed to him suspicious.

"What are you doing here, my man?" he asked, suspiciously. "You had better move on."

"We are waiting for some one to come out," answered Lyman.

"How long do you mean to wait? Is this woman with you?"

"Yes," answered Lyman, reluctantly, for he was not proud of his companion, whose appearance was hardly calculated to do him credit.

"Shure, my little bye has been shtole," she put in, "and he's in the store now wid the man that shtole him."

"Then you'd better go in and claim him instead of standing here and blocking up the sidewalk."

"I think I will follow your advice," said Lyman. "Will you be kind enough to stay here a minute, in case I need your help?"

"Very well; only be quick."

Lyman entered the store, and failing to see Jack and Mark, addressed one of the salesmen.

"Two boys were in here a short time since," he said; "one large one and one small one. Can you tell me where they are?"

It happened that the salesman addressed was the same one who had guided the boys to the back entrance. At least fifteen minutes had elapsed, and there would be no danger in telling the truth.

"They went away some time since," he answered.

"They did not go out the front door, for I've been there all the time."

"There's another door," quietly retorted the clerk.

"Where?" asked Lyman, in dismay.

"In the rear of the store."

"Sold, by thunder!" exclaimed Lyman, under his breath. "How long have they been gone?"

"Fifteen minutes. Were they friends of yours?"

"The small boy was my son," answered Lyman, unblushingly.

"And was the woman I saw with you at the window his mother?" asked the salesman, with a smile.

"Certainly not," answered Lyman, coloring with indignation. "The older boy has abducted him."

"Why didn't you come in sooner, then?"

"I wish I had."

Great was Peggy's dismay when Lyman told her what he had learned. She had fully decided to beat Jack soundly, and now she was baffled of her revenge. The two confederates spent the rest of the day in wandering about the streets of Chicago in search of Jack and his friend, but their search was in vain.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

MRS. MANNING'S HOUSE IS SOLD

It is now time to return to Pocasset and inquire how our old acquaintances are prospering.

It was still a matter of wonder what had become of Mark. Mrs. Manning gave no information, and no letters were received at the post-office which would throw light on the mystery. Mark, by arrangement, directed all his letters to Mr. Hardy, who inclosed and forwarded them to the Pocasset office. Tom Wyman, the postmaster's son, was puzzled to account for the letters received from New York by Mrs. Manning.

"They must be from Mark," said James Collins.

"They don't seem to be in Mark's hand-writing."

"He probably gets some one to direct them for him, so as to throw dust in our eyes."

This was the conclusion upon which the two boys finally settled.

Another cause of wonder was the hermit's visits to the city. Since he had heard that his grandson was living, he went up often to consult with Mr. Hardy. Family affection in him had not died out. It had only been dormant, and now it was thoroughly reawakened.

"I long to see my daughter's boy," he said. "It will give me something to live for. I tremble lest the cup of happiness should be dashed from my lips, just as my hopes are awakened."

"Don't be anxious, old friend. Your affairs are in good hands. Mark is only a boy, but he has far more discretion and fidelity than most men. Do you know what I have in view?"