when ben got out into the street, he set himself to consider where he could apply for employment. as far as he knew, he had inquired at every store in milltown if a boy was wanted, only to be answered in the negative, sometimes kindly, other times roughly. at the factory, too, he had ascertained that there was no immediate prospect of his being taken on again.

"it's a hard case," thought ben, "when a fellow wants to work, and needs the money, and can find no opening anywhere."

it was a hard case; but ben was by no means the only one so situated. it may be said of him, at all events, that he deserved to succeed, for he left no stone unturned to procure employment.

"perhaps," he thought, "i can get a small job to do somewhere. it would be better to earn a trifle than to be idle."

as this thought passed through ben's mind, he glanced into deacon sawyer's yard. the deacon was a near neighbor of his mother, and was reputed rich, though he lived in an old-fashioned house, furnished in the plain manner of forty years back. it was said that probably not fifty dollars' worth of furniture had come into the house since the deacon's marriage, two-and-forty years previous. perhaps his tastes were plain; but the uncharitable said that he was too fond of his money to part with it.

a couple of loads of wood were just being deposited in the deacon's yard. they were brought by a tenant of his, who paid a part of his rent in that way.

when ben saw the wood, a bright thought came to him.

"perhaps i can get a chance to saw and split that wood," he said to himself. "the deacon doesn't keep a man, and he is too old to do it himself."

as ben did not mean to let any chance slip, he instantly entered the yard by the gate, and, walking up to the front door, rang the bell. the bell had only been in place for a year. the deacon had been contented with the old fashioned knocker, and had reluctantly consented to the innovation of a bell, and he still spoke of it as a new-fangled nonsense.

nancy sawyer, an old-maid daughter of the deacon, answered the bell.

"good morning, ma'am," said ben politely.

"good morning, ben," the deacon's daughter responded. "how's your aunt to-day?"

"pretty well, thank you."

"will you come in?"

"i called on business," said ben. "don't you want that wood sawed and split?"

"yes, i suppose it ought to be," said nancy. "do you want to do it?"

"yes," said our hero. "i'm out of work and ready to do anything i can find to do."

"are you used to sawing and splitting wood?" inquired nancy cautiously. "we had a boy once who broke our saw, because he didn't understand how to use it."

"you needn't be afraid of my meeting with such an accident," said ben confidently. "i saw and split all our wood at home, and have ever since i was twelve years old."

"come in and speak to father," said nancy; "i guess he'll be willing to hire you."

she led the way into a very plain sitting room, covered with a rag carpet, where the deacon sat in a rocking chair, reading an agricultural paper—the only one he subscribed to. his daughter, whose literary tastes were less limited, had tried to get him to subscribe for a magazine, but he declined, partly on account of the expense, and partly because of the pictures of fashionably dressed ladies, and he feared his daughter would become extravagant in dress.

deacon sawyer looked up as ben entered the room.

"it's ben bradford, father," said nancy, for her father's vision was impaired.

"he ain't come to borrow anything, has he, nancy?" asked the old man.

"no, he wants you to employ him to saw and split your wood."

"don't you know i'm a sawyer myself?" said the deacon, chuckling over a familiar joke.

ben laughed, feeling that it was his policy to encourage what feeble glimmering of wit the deacon might indulge in.

"that's your joke, father," said nancy. "you'll have to get the wood sawed and split, and you might as well employ ben."

"i thought you was in the factory, benjamin," said the old man.

"so i was, but they cut down the number of hands some weeks ago, and i had to leave among others."

"how do you make a livin', then?" inquired the deacon bluntly.

"we've got along somehow," said ben; "but if i don't get work soon, i don't know what we shall do."

"nancy," said the deacon, "seems to me i can saw the wood myself. it will save money."

"no, you can't father," said nancy decidedly. "you are too old for that kind of work, and you can afford to have it done."

"you are a sensible woman, even if you are homely," thought ben, though for obvious reasons he did not say it.

"i dunno about that, nancy," said her father.

"well, i do," said nancy peremptorily.

the fact is, that she had a will of her own, and ruled the deacon in many things, but, it must be admitted, judiciously, and with an eye to his welfare.

"how much will you charge, benjamin," the deacon asked, "for sawing and splitting the whole lot."

"how much is there of it?" asked ben.

"two cords."

"i don't know how much i ought to charge, deacon sawyer. i am willing to go ahead and do it, and leave you to pay me what you think right."

"that's right," said the deacon in a tone of satisfaction. "you may go ahead and do it, and i'll do the right thing by you."

"all right," said ben cheerfully. "i'll go right to work."

i am obliged to say that in this agreement ben was unbusiness-like. there are some men with whom it will answer to make such contracts, but it is generally wiser to have a definite understanding. for the lack of this, disputes often arise, and mean men will take advantage when so fair an opportunity is afforded them.

after ben left the room, nancy, who was sensible and practical, and by no means niggardly as her father, said to him; "you ought to have named your terms, ben. then you would know just what you are earning."

"i was afraid i might ask too much, and lose the job."

"now you may get too little."

"even if i do, i would rather be at work than be doing nothing."

"that's the right way to feel," said nancy, approvingly. "i like to see a boy at your age industrious. as to the terms, i will try to make my father do you justice."

"thank you, ma'am. can you tell me where you keep the saw and ax?"

"you will find them in the woodshed, in the l part."

"thank you."

"how long do you expect the job will take you?"

"i should think two or three days; but i have never undertaken such a large job of any kind before."

"very well. i didn't speak of it because there is any hurry about it."

"you may not be in a hurry, but i am," thought ben, "for i want the money."

ben tackled the wood-pile vigorously. it was not a kind of work he was partial to; but he was sensible enough to know that he must accept what work came in his way without regard to his own preferences.

he had been at work about an hour when he heard his name called from the street. looking up, he recognized james watson.

"is that you, ben?" asked james, in some astonishment.

"it is supposed to be. don't i look natural?" asked ben, smiling.

"what are you doing?"

"don't you see? i am sawing wood."

"you don't mean you go around from house to house sawing wood?"

"why not?"

"i should think you would be too proud to do it."

"i am not too proud to do any honest work that will put money in my pocket. isn't it as respectable as working in the factory?"

"certainly not. i am willing to work in the factory, but i wouldn't go round sawing wood."

"you can afford to be proud, james, but i can't. we are almost out of money, and i must do something."

"i don't believe the deacon will give you much of anything. he hasn't the reputation of being very generous."

"i must take my chance at that."

"i am sorry for it. i wanted you to go fishing with me this afternoon."

"i should like to go, james, but business before pleasure, they say."

"ben has not pride," thought james, as he went away, disappointed.

but he was mistaken. ben was proud in his way, but he was not too proud to do honest work.