PREFACE.

"Seek and Find" is the third of the serial stories published in "Our Boys and Girls," where it appeared as the sequel of "Breaking Away." The author had no more reason to complain of its reception than of that accorded to its predecessors; and he returns his sincere thanks to all those young friends who have written hundreds of letters to him, containing the most generous commendation, with an occasional criticism, which was by no means unwelcome.

Ernest Thornton is a smart boy—perhaps he is too smart; but his smartness is not worldly cunning; it is made up of those elements of character which constitute a noble and true man—good judgment, quick perception, and manly decision, mingled with those moral and religious attributes which are the leading springs of the true life. If some of the hero's actions are doubtful, his motives are always good. The greatest crime against the moral law is to be without a high aim; and while a thousand errors and short-comings may be forgiven, the want of a good intention is the capital sin which[6] may not be pardoned. While we cannot ask or expect all young men to accomplish what Ernest Thornton did, we may point to his high aims and good intentions, and say to the reader, "Go thou and do likewise."

[7]

CONTENTS.

[11]

SEEK AND FIND;

OR,

THE ADVENTURES OF A SMART BOY.

CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH ERNEST THORNTON BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH MISS KATE LORAINE.

"There is always plenty of wind over here when it comes from the north-west," I replied.

It was one of the last days of May, and the weather, which had been chilly and disagreeable during the preceding week, was warm and pleasant. I had been to school, as usual, in my boat, and was taking Bob out for a sail, intending to land him at Parkville before dark, and return to the cottage of my uncle beyond the town. I had made one long stretch with the wind[12] on the beam, nearly over to Cannondale; in fact, the water was beginning to shoal off the point half a mile to the northward and eastward of that town.

Along the shore of the lake for two or three miles, on each side of Cannondale, were many beautiful residences, occupied by wealthy people, who were attracted to the locality by the pleasant but not picturesque scenery. It was a delightful region for a summer sojourn, though many of the people were permanent residents.

"Well, Bob, we must come about or get aground," I continued. "Where shall we go now?"

"Anywhere you please, Ernest. I enjoy sailing wherever you go, though I like running along the shore, where you can enjoy these fine gardens, and occasionally look in upon a pleasant party, especially if they happen to be singing, or playing a lively game."

"That's just my idea; and we will follow the shore round to Parkville. The wind will favor us all the way."

I put the Splash about, and with the wind on the quarter, laid a course which kept the boat within a few rods of the shore. From the beach in the rear of[13] many of the houses, little piers, not more than three or four feet wide, were extended into the lake, for the convenience of embarking and landing in the boats, with which nearly every dwelling was supplied. We were approaching one of these piers belonging to the first house beyond the Point, when Bob and myself were startled by a shrill scream, which caused both of us to spring to our feet.

"What does that mean?" demanded Bob.

"I don't know. I can't see anything," I replied.

"Is it somebody overboard?"

"I don't see any one. It came from the garden beyond that first pier."

"There it is again," said Bob, greatly excited, as the scream was repeated.

We were not long left in doubt in regard to the person who had uttered the cry; for a girl immediately emerged from the foliage of the garden, and ran down to the end of the pier, where she paused and looked timorously behind her. We looked anxiously for the cause of her terror, almost expecting to see a bear, a wolf, or at least a savage dog, in pursuit of the hapless maiden. The young lady was nicely dressed,[14] and seemed to be fourteen years of age. Of course Bob and I were both willing "to do or die" in her defence, though we were just then rather too far off to be of instant service to her, even if any savage beast had assailed her.

"What's the matter with her?" said Bob; "she appears to be frightened out of her wits."

"I don't see anything to alarm her."

"Nor I."

But then the young lady screamed again, and we saw a lady rushing out to the place where the girl was, at the end of the pier. The latter seemed to be fearfully agitated; and giving one more agonizing cry, she leaped into the lake, just as the lady was on the point of seizing her by the arm.

Bob and I were thrilled to the depths of our being by this exciting scene. I had already put the helm up, and the Splash was headed directly towards the young lady, who was struggling in the water. The wind carried her away from the pier about twenty feet, when the Splash reached the place, and I ran her between the girl and the shore.

"Save her! save her!" cried the lady on the pier.

[15]

"Take the helm, Bob," shouted I, throwing the boat round into the wind, and springing upon the half deck.

I was prepared to jump overboard, if it was necessary; but it was not. I had seized the short boat-hook as I went forward, and with it I hooked on to her dress. Drawing her towards the boat, I seized her by the arm, and lifted her on board. She had been in the water but a few moments, and had not lost her consciousness; indeed, she appeared not to have suffered at all from her bath. I at once concluded that she was one of the young ladies whom I had frequently seen bathing on the beach, and that the water had no terrors to her. I had not seen her swim, though the water was over her head.

I placed her on one of the seats as soon as I had pulled her out of the water, expecting her to faint, or do some other womanish thing. She brushed the water from her eyes, and bending down so that she could look under the foresail, she caught a glimpse of the lady on the pier.

"Take me away from here—O, do!" said she, bestowing a pleading look upon me.

"Where shall I land you?" I asked, in gentle tones.[16]

"Anywhere but here—don't leave me here," she replied, earnestly, and hardly less agitated than when she had leaped into the lake.

"But you are wet through, and you may take cold," I suggested, mildly.

"I don't care if I do. It makes no difference. Take me away from here."

"Where shall I land you?" I asked again, puzzled by her singular conduct.

"I don't care where; but if you land me here I shall jump into the lake again."

Bob Hale had put the helm up, and the Splash had filled away again on her former course, which was bearing us away from the pier on which the lady still stood.

"Shall I come about?" asked he, apparently satisfied that the only thing we could do was to land the young lady on the pier.

"Not just yet, Bob," I replied, fearful that a change of our course would increase her agitation.

"I am very much obliged to you for what you have done for me," said the dripping maiden, who paid not the slightest attention to the condition of[17] her clothing, and was wholly absorbed in her own thoughts, which were painful enough to give her face an expression of agony. "I hope you will not think I am ungrateful, Ernest Thornton."

"I do not think so," I replied, astonished to find she knew my name.

"And I shall be ever so much more grateful to you if you will take me away from this place," she added, with a beseeching look.

"I really don't know what to do. You called me by name, just now, but I do not remember to have seen you before."

"Perhaps you have not; but I have seen your boat so often that I feel acquainted with you."

"May I ask you to tell me your name?"

"I will tell you, but you will not know me any better. It is Kate Loraine," she replied, more calmly than she had yet spoken.

I was certainly no wiser for what she told me, though I knew that Loraine was the name of the people who lived in the house nearest to the Point.

"Who is the lady on the pier?" I asked.

"Mrs. Loraine," answered she, with a visible shudder;[18] though I could not tell whether it was caused by the mention of the lady's name, or by the cold chill of her wet condition.

"Is she your mother?" I continued; and it seemed to me that her answer to this question would enable me to decide whether or not to land her on the pier.

"No, no!" replied she, with the most decisive emphasis.

"But your names are the same."

"They are; of course she has my father's name."

I could not see why that followed, but I did not like to carry my questions to the point of impudence.

"Is your father at home?"

"My father is dead," she answered, in a very sad tone.

"Excuse me if I ask who the lady is that stands on the pier."

"Mrs. Loraine."

"And not your mother?"

"No!"

"You seemed to be running away from her when I heard you screaming."

"I was; she was trying to catch me."[19]

Perhaps Miss Kate Loraine thought I was very obtuse, but I could not understand the relation between the parties, and I had not the faintest idea why she was running away from Mrs. Loraine. I was not willing to believe that a young miss like her intended to resort to such a desperate remedy as suicide for any real or imaginary sufferings.

"What shall we do, Bob?" I asked, turning to my companion, completely nonplussed by the circumstances.

"I don't know what to do. It seems to me we ought to return the young lady to her friends," replied he.

"I have no friends," interposed Kate, and the tears started in her eyes; "at least I have none in Cannondale."

"Don't you live at Mrs. Loraine's?" asked Bob.

"Yes; but I shall live there no longer."

"You say she is not your mother?" I added, returning to the point I had twice left.

"She was my father's wife, but she is not my mother."

"She is your step-mother," I continued, as the light flooded my dull brain.[20]

"She is; I do not wish to speak ill of her, but I do wish to keep away from her. She is not kind to me, to say the very least."

I pitied her, and I saw by Bob's looks that he was not at all behind me in the outflow of his sympathy. I had read stories enough about "awful step-mothers" to form an idea of Kate's situation, though I had no prejudices against step-mothers, as such. Bob Hale's father had married a second wife, but Bob and his sister would never have known from her treatment of them, that she was not their own mother.

If Kate was not a very pretty girl, she was certainly a very interesting one. Her form was grace itself, but her eyes were all that was pretty about her face; and when I looked at her I was not willing to believe it possible that any one, and especially one bearing her father's name, could ill-treat her.

By this time the boat had gone to the farther corner of the lake, and it was necessary to brace her up or come about. I went aft to take the helm, and Kate followed me, taking a seat at my side. I put the tiller hard down, and the Splash came about, heading towards Cannondale. Our passenger was quick to discern the course, and became quite excited again.[21]

"You are taking me home again!" exclaimed she. "O, Ernest Thornton! you will not do that. Let me land here, anywhere, even on that island, but do not give me back to her."

"I don't know what to do, Miss Loraine; but I think you ought to have dry clothes at once."

"Have pity upon me, and do not take me home," pleaded she.

She was so agitated that I became alarmed; and to pacify her, I came about again, and steered for Parkville.

[22]

CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH ERNEST LISTENS TO THE STORY OF MISS KATE LORAINE.

Bob Hale was as much in trouble as I was, and he could not tell what to do any better than I could. Neither of us was willing to assume the responsibility of taking the young lady from her home on the[23] strength of her own assertion that her step-mother abused her. There were two sides to every question, and with the brighter example of Mrs. Hale before us, we were not disposed to regard her as a monster without giving her a hearing.

Kate was quite composed again when she found the boat was headed towards Parkville, instead of Cannondale. One thing was very much in her favor; she was not willing to speak evil of the lady who abused her. She had told us no more than was necessary to explain her position. Her demeanor did not indicate any thing malignant in her heart; on the contrary, her conduct exhibited a degree of Christian forbearance which was hardly to be expected of one who had been abused.

"I have heard all about you, Ernest Thornton," said Kate, as the Splash stood over towards Parkville.

"Have you, indeed? I was not aware that I was celebrated enough to be talked about," I laughingly replied.

"You are; and ever since you beat the Champion in the race with the Adieno, I have looked upon you[24] as a hero. I have often wished that I might see you close to."

She was close enough to me now to make me shiver when I looked at her, she was so wet and drabbled.

"Perhaps I am a kind of one-horse hero among the boys," I added, for the sake of saying something.

"And among the girls, too," said she, promptly, if not boldly, though there was a degree of simplicity in her manner which prevented me from giving her words an unfavorable construction. "I have heard them in Cannondale and Parkville tell what a bold, brave fellow you are."

"I am very much obliged to them and to you for the good opinion of me. If you have confidence in me, that will answer my present purpose."

She looked curiously at me; and taking advantage of this favorable current of sentiment, I put the Splash about on the other tack, so that she was again headed towards Cannondale. Bob looked anxiously from Kate to me, and from me to Kate again. He expected another storm of emotion from her, and so did I; but I had decided upon my course, and was fully determined to carry it out, even if it broke the heartstrings of my[25] fair passenger. I was sorry to be so ungallant as to resist the will of a young lady, but my conscience would not let me interfere with the domestic arrangements of Mrs. Loraine, without giving her a chance to defend herself.

"They say you are a smart boy, Ernest Thornton," added she, apparently without noticing the change in the course of the boat.

"Perhaps I am—I don't know," I replied; "I am afraid if I take you over to Parkville, people will think I am smarter than I ever was before."

"Why?" asked she, bestowing a painfully anxious glance upon me.

"Don't you think it would be rather smart for Bob Hale and me to run away with a young lady like you?"

"Run away with me!" exclaimed she, with a troubled look.

"What should we do with you after we had landed you?"

"O, I won't give you any trouble at all—not a bit."

"We don't mind the trouble, Miss Loraine; we were only thinking what would become of you."[26]

"I have an uncle in New York city—my father's brother. If I can only get to him, it will be all I want," she answered, and her future course seemed to be clear enough to her.

"But how will you get to New York?" I asked.

"I don't know; I would rather walk than stay at Cannondale any longer."

"Haven't you written to your uncle?" asked Bob.

"No; I don't know what his first name is; and Mrs. Loraine won't let me write any letters. I wrote one once, and directed it to Mr. Loraine, New York, but she burnt it up."

"Do you think you could find him?"

"I am sure I could. I would call on every one of that name in the city. Why, Ernest Thornton! You are going back to Cannondale!" exclaimed Kate, as she happened to glance ahead, and saw the shore not far distant.

"Don't be alarmed, Miss Loraine. Just now you said I was a hero, and a smart boy, and all that sort of thing. My friend Bob Hale, here, is as smart and as much of a hero as I am, I assure you. Between us two we will do what we can for you," I interposed[27] when she began to exhibit signs of another outbreak of emotion.

"That's so!" added Bob, decidedly; and he was always ready to back up any thing I said or did.

"Now keep cool, Miss Loraine," I continued. "Don't be a bit afraid, and Bob and I will see you through, if we have to stand on our heads and walk through fire and water to do it."

"You are very kind, and I am very much obliged to you," replied she, with a shudder, as she glanced at the pier, a quarter of a mile off, on which Mrs. Loraine was still standing. "But don't make me go there again."

"Now, Miss Loraine, you must be reasonable," said I, in the gentlest tone I could command, albeit I was not much accustomed to the refinements of young ladies' society. "It would not be right for Bob and me to carry you away from your home. People would think hard of us."

"Then I don't want you to do it," she replied, in tones of resignation.

"We don't know any thing about the affairs at your house."[28]

"I have told you the truth."

"We do not doubt that; but you only say that Mrs. Loraine is not kind to you."

"She is not."

"Do you mean that she abuses you?"

"I do mean that," replied Kate, with some hesitation, which evinced an unwillingness to acknowledge the fact.

"What has she done to you?"

"She locks me up in one of the attic rooms for weeks together," she replied, bursting into tears.

"Don't cry, Kate; what does she lock you up for?" asked Bob, when I paused.

"I suppose I am very naughty, sometimes, but I can't help it," sobbed she.

"Then she locks you up to punish you for being naughty—does she?"

"Yes."

Bob looked significantly at me, as much as to say that he did not wish to have anything to do with "rescuing" a young miss who had been shut up for being naughty.

"If she would only be kind to me sometimes, I[29] could bear it all. If she only smiled on me even once a month, I think I should not complain. But, O, it is so terrible to be locked into your chamber, and stay there day after day for a whole week!" moaned she, with a convulsive quiver.

"When did she lock you up last?" continued Bob, who had taken the investigation into his own hands, when Kate showed a willingness to answer.

"About a week ago."

"A week ago? I thought you said she kept you in your room for a week?"

"So she does, and she only let me out this forenoon."

"What did she lock you up for last time?"

"For taking such long stitches hemming her handkerchief."

"For taking long stitches!" exclaimed Bob, with something like horror in his tones. "Did she shut you up for a week for this?"

"She did; and she fastened the blinds of the chamber so that I could not open them."

"Did you refuse to take short stitches?" I asked, fearing there might be some aggravating circumstances.[30]

"No, I did not, indeed. I hemmed the handkerchief just as I always did, and I did not think the stitches were too coarse," she replied, wiping away her tears with a wet handkerchief. "It was done just like this one," she added, exhibiting it as a specimen of her work.

Neither Bob nor myself was sufficiently skilled in sewing craft to judge of the quality of the work, but the stitches did not seem to be very long. We compared the hemming with that on our own handkerchiefs, but were not able to detect much difference.

"When did Mrs. Loraine shut you up the time before that," I asked, handing her the handkerchief.

"I had not been out three days."

"What was it for that time?"

"Because I pulled up some flowers in the garden which were just coming up. I thought they were weeds; and I'm sure I didn't mean any harm."

"How long did she shut you up for this?" asked Bob.

"Eight days."

"What do you do in your chamber while shut up there?" I inquired.[31]

"Nothing."

"Don't you have books?"

"O, no! If I did, I shouldn't mind it so much."

"Don't you sew?"

"No; I'm not allowed to do anything," she answered, with a convulsive sob.

I could hardly keep from crying myself, and I was almost choked by my efforts to keep down my emotions. I had kept the boat away from the pier, in order to afford time for this inquiry, and the Splash was now off the Point. I put her about, and ran before the wind towards the pier again.