Tom’s employers knew nothing of the accident; and putting on a temporary substitute, they were constrained to believe, after several days’ silence, that he had left their service, some two or three boys coming forward to declare that they had heard Tom say that such was his intention, as he had received a good offer on the Erie road.  The substitute was given to understand that his situation was permanent, and the ill-used Tom was thus thrown out of his situation.

After lying an hour or so on the ground he came to, and finding he was in a sad plight, he set up a series of yells, which soon brought assistance in the shape of a passing farmer, who lifted him into his wagon, carted him home, and played the good Samaritan.

A physician was summoned, the broken limb set, and the patient was told that all he had to do was to do nothing but lie still and get strong.  The farmer agreed that he should stay there, especially as the patient gave him to understand that he would pay him for the service.

Here we leave Thomas Gordon for the time in good hands, while we turn our attention to his friend, James Travers, who has been waiting too long for notice.

The reader will recall that the morning succeeding the rescue of the little girl from the river the two boys started out to hunt up something to do in New York.  The experience of both was quite similar through the greater portion of the day, and we have dwelt fully upon what befell Tom.

Jim, with no better success, and fully as discouraged, set out on his return, as the cold, wintry night was closing in, and he reached the long, open street along the river without any incident worth notice; but while walking wearily along, and when not far from his lodging-place, he was accosted by a well-dressed man, who placed his hand on his shoulder and said, in a pleasant voice,—­

“I think you are looking for something to do, my son?”

“Yes, sir,” was Jim’s reply, his heart bounding with renewed hope at the prospect of employment.

“Are you willing to do anything?”

“Anything that’s honest and right.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to do what was not right,” added the stranger, as if he was hurt at the idea.

“What is it you want me to do?”

“How would you like to work on a vessel?”

“I was never on a ship in my life,” said Jim, frightened at the thought of the perils of the sea.

“That don’t make any difference:  you wouldn’t have to serve as a sailor, but as a sort of a cabin-boy; and not exactly that, either.  I am the owner of the boat, and want a clerk—­a boy who can write letters, keep my accounts, and make himself generally useful.  I like your looks, and you impress me as a boy of education.”

“I think I could do all you ask; but where does your vessel sail?”

“Oh, she ain’t a foreign ship, only a small schooner, engaged in the coasting-trade down along the Jersey shore, sometimes going as far as the capes, and occasionally making a trip up the Hudson.  As navigation has closed on the river, we sha’n’t go up there before Spring.”