Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1886-06-10

They were met, and at the end of the
fourth year, the full remaining payment
about two thousand dollars in our
money! was ready. Shilling by shilling
it had been saved, by dint Of hard work
and small economies that had left Tom .
graver man, and had taken much of the
bloom and freshness from his wife's
childish face.
On the last day Of the year, Tom wrote
to his creditor:
DEAR Mr.. VARENs: win bring over the
remainder Of the principal, with interest up
to date, tomorrow afternoon. am glad you
trusted me. / shall never forget it.
Your ob't servant,
tn. HARDY.
P.S-Belle helped me to kesp my word.
Belle looked over his shoulder, and
laughted aloud at this. But the tears at
the same time ran down her cheeks.
Never mind, little woman, y he said,
kissing her. 1T has been steep hill to
climb, but we are on the top now. After
this we will stand on our own feet and
owe not farthing to anybody We shall
live in comfort and plenty"
They sat late that evening over the
fire, planning improvements in the house,
and little comforts which they had never
before been able to afford. The next
morning there was 1utter of excite
ment all through the farm. Even Mysie,
the hen-wife, knew that ssthe master''
was going on q journey of importance.
It was ride Of thirty miles, through
desolate tract, part Of the road running
along the ridge of an uninhabited range
of mountains, which were infested by
highwaymen.
Chief among these was one known as
the White Pedler, from the fact that he
rode gray mare, wore white great
coat, and carrieda knapsack in shape
like pedler's PACK Scarcely a week
passed which did not bring tidings of
some traveller who had fallen victim to
this robber, who was as expert and polite
in his calling as Dick Turpin himself.
Tom, preparing to start, hid the bag
OF coin under the capes of his great-coat,
and put his pistol into the holsters.
Belle clung to him, begging him to take
one of the men with him.
''He may kill you, Tom, if you meet
himp'
"Nonsense2 Kill poor dairy farmerln
He may take the money, and we
shall have to begin all over again"
For sharae, Belief l thought you
more Of a woman No White Pedler
shall have the money,-if there Be any
such person, which I very much doubt. y
It was gray, cold day in December.
A light snow lay on the ground. Toms
road led him at first through villages and
farms where he was well-known. Friends
and neighbors ran out to meet him. and
stopping to chat with each, the morning
slipped by. It was an hour past mid
day before he struck into the lonely road
which led up to the mountains. Near
the foot of the first range Of hills was a
bothy, or cabin, Tom dismounted, tied
his horse to the fence, and went in to
warm himself. When he came out, he
noticed that gray mare was standing
at the back of the bothy.
''Some cottter on his way to market. y
thought Tom, as he mounted and rode on.
It was an hour before he reached the
top Of the hill-range. The snow on the
road was unbroken except by his own
horses feet. He had not passed single
house. "This is the Pedler's hunting
round," thought Tom, mechanically
taking out his pistols to examine them
again. The load was drawn, and they
were wet with liquid which smelled
like sour beer
''This was done at the bothyr' I am
to have a fight for It'll" flashed through
his mind, just as he heard the soft foot
falls Of horse in the snow, coming up a
by-path. He had scarcely time to thrust
thu unloaded pistols back, when man
mounted on gray mare quietly joined
him. He was short, powerfully built
fellow, dressed in a white great coat and
low gray hat, beneath which looked out
a pleasant, ruddy face and humorous
blue eyes.
"Good morning, Mr.. Hardy.n
'sGood morning" said Tom, heartily.
He took in the situation at the glance.
The man was armed; he, unarmed. The
pedler was stronger man than he.
'sMy only chance is to try my wits
against his" He looked. The road for
a mile or two was wide enough for two
to keep abreast, then it narrowed, going
down the hill, SO that they must ride
singly. HE will attack me there, y
thought Tom, while he exchanged the
news OF the last market-day with his
companion.
The PedIer appeared to be as much in
need Of society as money. He soon made
a joke, after the usual Irish fashion of
those days. Tom replied with one Of
bis best stories, and nobody, tradition
states, could tell better story. The
Pedler enjoyed it, and retorted with an
other, until their shouts Of laughter rang
through the hills. Never at any state
dinner had Tom Hardy SO exerted him
self as now; anecdote followed anecdote,
and retort followed repartee. Never,
too, had he found more appreciative