"To Bellwood?"

"That's the name--Bellwood is the place," assented Mr. Upton. "Wish you'd
tell me what you know about it."

"I don't know anything about it, except what I've read and what I've heard
from friends who went there," said Frank. But it seemed he had enough
information to quite interest the farmer. Then the latter told him about
his stepson.

"Robert's been no good at home," he said. "You can see what a sulky,
unsociable fellow he is. No interest in nothing--thinks everybody hates
him, and won't make up to anybody. He says he'll run away if I put him in
school. If he does, I certainly will put him in the reformatory until he's
of age."

Frank stole a rather pitying glance at the lad. The latter was hunched down
in his seat, his hands rammed into his pockets, looking bored and
miserable. Frank wondered what kind of a queer make-up his nature could be,
to mope and scowl that bright, beautiful day, with the prospect of the
useful chance for study and the gay life of schoolboy sport.

"Why, say," suddenly ejaculated Farmer Upton, starting under the spur of
some exciting idea, "why can't Robert go with you to Bellwood?"

"He is doing so, isn't he?" said Frank with a smile.

"I mean why can't you sort of take charge of him and introduce him around,
and save me the time and the expense. You see, if I go with him I can't get
home until to-morrow. I can get off the train at Chester, and not buy any