CHAPTER ONE.


Dorian Trent was going to town to buy himself a pair of shoes. He had
some other errands to perform for himself and his mother, but the reason
for his going to town was the imperative need of shoes. It was Friday
afternoon. The coming Sunday he must appear decently shod, so his mother
had told him, at the same time hinting at some other than the Sunday
reason. He now had the money, three big, jingling silver dollars in his
pocket.

Dorian whistled cheerfully as he trudged along the road. It was a scant
three miles to town, and he would rather walk that short distance than
to be bothered with a horse. When he took Old Nig, he had to keep to the
main-traveled road straight into town, then tie him to a post--and worry
about him all the time; but afoot and alone, he could move along as
easily as he pleased, linger on the canal bank or cut cross-lots through
the fields to the river, cross it on the footbridge, then go on to town
by the lower meadows.

The road was dusty that afternoon, and the sun was hot. It would be
cooler under the willows by the river. At Cottonwood Corners, Dorian
left the road and took the cut-off path. The river sparkled cool and
clear under the overhanging willows. He saw a good-sized trout playing
in the pool, but as he had no fishing tackle with him, the boy could
only watch the fish in its graceful gliding in and out of sunshine and
shadow. A robin overhead was making a noisy demonstration as if in
alarm about a nest. Dorian sat on the bank to look and listen for a few
moments, then he got up again.