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The yacht was anchored, and Jed and Mr. Roper were rowed to shore. They secured rooms at the Newport, and walked up the hill.

As they passed the post office Schuyler Roper said, "I will see if there are any letters awaiting me. There may be one from my aunt."

Jed waited at the door. Mr. Roper came out, holding a letter which he regarded with some curiosity.

"Here is a letter in an unknown hand, post-marked Scranton," he said. "I don't know any person living there."

I do," said Jed. "It was my old home."

"Then why should it be addressed to me? It ought to have been sent to you."

"Will you let me see the handwriting?" asked Jed.

His heart beat a little rapidly, for he recognized the hand as that of Percy Dixon.

"I know who it is from," he said.

"Is it from a friend of yours?"

"No, an enemy."

"I don't understand."

"You will understand when you come to read it, Mr. Roper. It is from a boy whom I entertained on the yacht three days before we sailed for Bar Harbor. He has probably written you in the hope of injuring me."

"Does he know anything to your disadvantage then?"

"Not to the disadvantage of my character. But please read the letter, Mr. Roper, and then you will understand."

Schuyler Roper's curiosity was aroused, and he cut open the envelope. The letter, which was written in a schoolboy hand, read thus:

Dear Sir:

Though I am a stranger to you, I will take the liberty to write and let you know something of the boy who is travelling with you. (He is not fit to associate with a gentleman like yourself, for he was brought up in the poorhouse in this place and lived here till four months ago, when he ran away, and has been living since by hook or by crook. He has a great deal of cheek, and that is what has helped him to push himself in among people who are far above him. Perhaps you may like to know who I am. My father. Squire Dixon, is a prominent man in Scranton, and is Overseer of the Poor, which makes him a sort of guardian of Jed Gilman. He could force him to go back to his old home, but the boy gave so much trouble, being naturally headstrong and rebellious, that he thinks it best to let him follow his own course. Probably Jed will some time apply to be taken back to his old home, as he is likely to be found out to be an impostor sooner or later. I have taken the trouble to write you because my father thinks it very proper that you should know the character of the boy whom you have taken into your employ. When I was in New York lately he invited me to go on board of your yacht in order to show off. He made as free as if the yacht were his own, treating me to a lunch, and ordering the men around as if he owned the yacht. I couldn't help being amused, remembering that he was nothing but a pauper a few months since. Excuse me for taking up so much of your valuable time. I have no ill-will against Jed, but I should think better of him if he would keep his place and not try to intrude into fashionable society.

Yours respectfully, Percy Dixon.

Jed noticed the face of Mr. Roper rather anxiously when he was reading this letter.

"Will it prejudice him against me?" he asked himself.

He felt that in that case he should indeed be depressed, for he had come to have a sincere attachment for his patron. He was reassured by the smile that lighted up the young man's countenance as he finished reading the letter.

"This letter appears to have been written by a great friend of yours, Jed," he said. "He is a great friend of mine, too, for he seems afraid that I shall be injured by associating with you, and so puts me on my guard."

"I thought as much," said Jed. "I suppose he tells you that I was brought up in the Scranton poorhouse."

"Yes; is this true?"

"Yes," answered Jed soberly.

"But how did it happen? Did your parents lose their property?"

"I know nothing of them, Mr. Roper. I was only two years of age when I was placed in the poorhouse. Mr. and Mrs. Avery were in charge. They were kind people and took good care of me."

"Did they never tell you the circumstances of your being placed in the institution?"

"No; but Mrs. Avery always promised that she would tell me all she knew on my sixteenth birthday."

"Are you not sixteen yet?"

"Yes; but when I reached that age Mr. and Mrs. Fogson were in charge of the poorhouse. Mr. and Mrs. Avery were removed by the father of this Percy Dixon who has written to you."

"What sort of people are they?"

"Mean, selfish and unkind to the poor people who are unfortunate enough to be under their charge. Mr. Fogson tried to tyrannize over me, and I rebelled."

"I can't blame you," said Roper.

"Finally I ran away, as Percy writes. It was high time I did, for I felt able to earn my own living, and was ashamed to be supported by the town, though I am sure I did work enough to pay for the miserable board I got at the poorhouse.

"When Mr. and Mrs. Avery were in charge I did not feel my position. It seemed to me as if I were living with kind friends. When they went away I realized that I was a pauper. Indeed, Mr. and Mrs. Fogson reminded me of it half a dozen times a day."