"I am sorry he is in our set."
"Why?" asked Florence, regarding him attentively.
"He will probably put us out by his clownish performance."
"Wouldn't it be well to wait and see whether he does or not?" responded Florence, quietly.
Randolph shrugged his shoulders.
"I pity his partner, at any rate," he said.
"I can't join in any such conversation about one of my guests," said Florence, with dignity.
Here the first directions were given, and the quadrille commenced.
Luke felt a little nervous, it must be confessed, and for that reason he watched with unusual care the movements of the head couples. He was quick to learn, and ordinarily cool and self-possessed. Besides, he knew that no one was likely to criticize him except Randolph. He saw the latter regarding him with a mocking smile, and this stimulated him to unusual carefulness. The result was that he went through his part with quite as much ease and correctness as any except the most practiced dancers. Florence said nothing, but she turned with a significant smile to Randolph. The latter looked disappointed and mortified. His mean disposition would have been gratified by Luke's failure, but this was a gratification he was not to enjoy.
The dance was at length concluded, and Luke, as he led his partner to a seat, felt that he had scored a success.
"May I have the pleasure of dancing with you next time, Florence?" asked Randolph.
"Thank you, but I should not think it right to slight my other guests," said the young lady.
Just then Luke came up and preferred the same request. He would not have done so if he had not acquitted himself well in the first quadrille.
Florence accepted with a smile.
"I was not aware that dancing was one of your accomplishments, Luke," she said.
"Nor I, till this evening," answered Luke. "There stands my teacher," and he pointed to Linton.
"You do credit to your teacher," said Florence. "I should not have known you were such a novice."
Luke was pleased with this compliment, and very glad that he had been spared the mortification of breaking down before the eyes of his ill-wisher, Randolph Duncan. It is hardly necessary to say that he did equally well in the second quadrille, though he and Florence were head couple.
The next dance was the Virginia Reel. Here Florence had Linton for a partner, and Luke secured as his own partner a very good dancer. From prudence, however, he took his place at some distance from the head, and by dint of careful watching he acquitted himself as well as in the quadrilles.
"Really, Luke, you are doing wonderfully well," said Linton, when the dance was over. "I can hardly believe that you have taken but one lesson, and that from so poor a teacher as I am."
"I couldn't have had a better teacher, Lin," said Luke. "I owe my success to you."
"Didn't you say Luke couldn't dance?" asked Sam Noble of Randolph, later in the evening.
"He can't," answered Randolph, irritably.
"He gets along very well, I am sure. He dances as well as I do."
"That isn't saying much," answered Randolph, with a sneer. He could not help sneering even at his friends, and this was one reason why no one was really attached to him.
Sam walked away offended.
The party broke up at half-past ten. It was an early hour, but late enough considering the youth of the participants. Luke accompanied home one of the girls who had no brother present, and then turned toward his own home.
He had nearly reached it, when a tall figure, moving from the roadside, put a hand on his shoulder.
"You are Luke Larkin?" said the stranger, in questioning tone.
"Yes, sir."
"Is the tin box safe?"
"Yes, sir."
"That is all—for the present," and the stranger walked quickly away.
"Who can he be," thought Luke, in wonder, "and why should he have trusted a complete stranger—and a boy?"
Evidently there was some mystery about the matter. Had the stranger come honestly by the box, or was Luke aiding and abetting a thief? He could not tell.
CHAPTER VIII
MISS SPRAGUE DISCOVERS A SECRET
About this time it became known to one person in the village that the Larkins had in their possession a tin box, contents unknown.
This is the way it happened:
Among the best-known village residents was Miss Melinda Sprague, a maiden lady, who took a profound interest in the affairs of her neighbors. She seldom went beyond the limits of Groveton, which was her world. She had learned the business of dressmaking, and often did work at home for her customers. She was of a curious and prying disposition, and nothing delighted her more than to acquire the knowledge of a secret.
One day—a few days after Florence Grant's party—Mrs. Larkin was in her own chamber. She had the trunk open, having occasion to take something from it, when, with a light step, Miss Sprague entered the room. The widow, who was on her knees before the trunk, turning, recognized the intruder, not without displeasure.
"I hope you'll excuse my coming in so unceremoniously, Mrs. Larkin," said Melinda, effusively. "I knocked, but you didn't hear it, being upstairs, and I took the liberty, being as we were so well acquainted, to come upstairs in search of you."
"Yes, certainly," answered Mrs. Larkin, but her tone was constrained.
She quickly shut the lid of the trunk. There was only one thing among its contents which she was anxious to hide, but that Miss Melinda's sharp eyes had already discovered. Unfortunately, the tin box was at one side, in plain sight.
"What on earth does Mrs. Larkin do with a tin box?" she asked herself, with eager curiosity. "Can she have property that people don't know of? I always thought she was left poor."
Melinda asked no questions. The sudden closing of the trunk showed her that the widow would not be inclined to answer any questions.
"I won't let her think I saw anything," she said to herself.
"Perhaps she'll get anxious and refer to it."
"We will go downstairs, Melinda," said Mrs. Larkin. "It will be more comfortable."
"If you have anything to do up here, I beg you won't mind me," said the spinster.
"No, I have nothing that won't wait."
So the two went down into the sitting-room.
"And how is Luke?" asked Miss Sprague, in a tone of friendly interest.
"Very well, thank you."
"Luke was always a great favorite of mine," continued the spinster.
"Such a manly boy as he is!"
"He is a great help to me," said Mrs. Larkin.
"No doubt he is. He takes care of the schoolhouse, doesn't he?"
"Yes."
"How much pay does he get?"
"A dollar a week."
"I hope he will be able to keep the position."
"What do you mean, Melinda?" asked the widow, not without anxiety.
"You know Doctor Snodgrass has resigned on the school committee, and Squire Duncan has been elected in his place."
"Well?"
"Mrs. Flanagan went to him yesterday to ask to have her son Tim appointed janitor in place of Luke, and I heard that she received considerable encouragement from the squire."
"Do they find any fault with Luke?" asked Mrs. Larkin, jealously.
"No, not as I've heard; but Mrs. Flanagan said