Chapter XXXIII. From Albany to Niagara.

Driven From Home

by Horatio Alger

Carl took the afternoon train on the following day for Buffalo.
His thoughts were busy with the startling discovery he had made in
regard to his stepmother. Though he had never liked her, he had been
far from imagining that she was under the ban of the law. It made him
angry to think that his father had been drawn into a marriage with
such a woman--that the place of his idolized mother had been taken by
one who had served a term at Sing Sing.

Did Peter know of his mother's past disgrace? he asked himself.
Probably not, for it had come before his birth. He only wondered
that the secret had never got out before. There must be many persons
who had known her as a prisoner, and could identify her now. She had
certainly been fortunate with the fear of discovery always haunting
her. Carl could not understand how she could carry her head so high,
and attempt to tyrannize over his father and himself.

What the result would be when Dr. Crawford learned the
antecedents of the woman whom he called wife Carl did not for a
moment doubt. His father was a man of very strict ideas on the
subject of honor, and good repute, and the discovery would lead him
to turn from Mrs. Crawford in abhorrence. Moreover, he was strongly
opposed to divorce, and Carl had heard him argue that a divorced
person should not be permitted to remarry. Yet in ignorance he had
married a divorced woman, who had been convicted of theft, and served
a term of imprisonment. The discovery would be a great shock to him,
and it would lead to a separation and restore the cordial relations
between himself and his son.

Not long after his settlement in Milford; Carl had written as
follows to his father:

"Dear Father:--Though I felt obliged to leave home for reasons
which we both understand, I am sure that you will feel interested to
know how I am getting along. I did not realize till I had started
out how difficult it is for a boy, brought up like myself, to support
himself when thrown upon his own exertions. A newsboy can generally
earn enough money to maintain himself in the style to which he is
accustomed, but I have had a comfortable and even luxurious home, and
could hardly bring myself to live in a tenement house, or a very
cheap boarding place. Yet I would rather do either than stay in a
home made unpleasant by the persistent hostility of one member.

"I will not take up your time by relating the incidents of the
first two days after I left home. I came near getting into serious
trouble through no fault of my own, but happily escaped. When I was
nearly penniless I fell in with a prosperous manufacturer of
furniture who has taken me into his employment. He gives me a home in
his own house, and pays me two dollars a week besides. This is
enough to support me economically, and I shall after a while receive
better pay.

"I am not in the office, but in the factory, and am learning the
business practically, starting in at the bottom. I think I have a
taste for it, and the superintendent tells me I am making remarkable
progress. The time was when I would have hesitated to become a
working boy, but I have quite got over such foolishness. Mr.
Jennings, my employer, who is considered a rich man, began as I did,
and I hope some day to occupy a position similar to his.

"I trust you are quite well and happy, dear father. My only
regret is, that I cannot see you occasionally. While my stepmother
and Peter form part of your family, I feel that I can never live at
home. They both dislike me, and I am afraid I return the feeling.
If you are sick or need me, do not fail to send for me, for I can
never forget that you are my father, as I am your affectionate
son,

Carl."

This letter was handed to Dr. Crawford at the breakfast table.
He colored and looked agitated when he opened the envelope, and Mrs.
Crawford, who had a large share of curiosity, did not fail to notice
this.

"From whom is your letter, my dear?" she asked, in the soft tone
which was habitual with her when she addressed her husband

"The handwriting is Carl's," answered Dr. Crawford, already
devouring the letter eagerly.

"Oh!" she answered, in a chilly tone. "I have been expecting
you would hear from him. How much money does he send for?"

"I have not finished the letter." Dr. Crawford continued
reading. When he had finished he laid it down beside his plate.

"Well?" said his wife, interrogatively. "What does he have to
say? Does he ask leave to come home?"

"No; he is quite content where he is."

"And where is that?"

"At Milford."

"That is not far away?"

"No; not more than sixty miles."

"Does he ask for money?"

"No; he is employed."

"Where?"

"In a furniture factory."

"Oh, a factory boy."

"Yes; he is learning the business."

"He doesn't seem to be very ambitious," sneered Mrs.
Crawford.

"On the contrary, he is looking forward to being in business for
himself some day."

"On your money--I understand."

"Really, Mrs. Crawford, you do the boy injustice. He hints
nothing of the kind. He evidently means to raise himself gradually
as his employer did before him. By the way, he has a home in his
employer's family. I think Mr. Jennings must have taken a fancy to
Carl."

"I hope he will find him more agreeable than I did," said Mrs.
Crawford, sharply.

"Are you quite sure that you always treated Carl considerately,
my dear?"

"I didn't flatter or fondle him, if that is what you mean. I
treated him as well as he could expect."

"Did you treat him as well as Peter, for example?"

"No. There is a great difference between the two boys. Peter
is always respectful and obliging, and doesn't set up his will
against mine. He never gives me a moment's uneasiness."

"I hope you will continue to find him a comfort, my dear," said
Dr. Crawford, meekly.

He looked across the table at the fat, expressionless face of
his stepson, and he blamed himself because he could not entertain a
warmer regard for Peter. Somehow he had a slight feeling of
antipathy, which he tried to overcome.

"No doubt he is a good boy, since his mother says so," reflected
the doctor, "but I don't appreciate him. I will take care, however,
that neither he nor his mother sees this."

When Peter heard his mother's encomium upon him, he laughed in
his sleeve.

"I'll remind ma of that when she scolds me," he said to himself.
"I'm glad Carl isn't coming back. He was always interferin' with
me. Now, if ma and I play our cards right we'll get all his father's
money. Ma thinks he won't live long, I heard her say so the other
day. Won't it be jolly for ma and me to come into a fortune, and live
just as we please! I hope ma will go to New York. It's stupid here,
but I s'pose we'll have to stay for the present."

"Is Carl's letter private?" asked Mrs. Crawford, after a
pause.

"I--I think he would rather I didn't show it ," returned her
husband, remembering the allusion made by Carl to his stepmother.

"Oh, well, I am not curious," said Mrs. Crawford, tossing her
head.

None the less, however, she resolved to see and read the letter,
if she could get hold of it without her husband's knowledge. He was
so careless that she did not doubt soon to find it laid down
somewhere. In this she proved correct. Before the day was over, she
found Carl's letter in her husband's desk. She opened and read it
eagerly with a running fire of comment.

"`Reasons which we both understand,'" she repeated, scornfully.
"That is a covert attack upon me. Of course, I ought to expect that.
So he had a hard time. Well, it served him right for conducting
himself as he did. Ah, here is another hit at me--`Yet I would
rather do either than live in a home made unpleasant by the
persistent hostility of one member.' He is trying to set his father
against me. Well, he won't succeed. I can twist Dr. Paul Crawford
round my finger, luckily, and neither his son nor anyone else can
diminish my influence over him."

She read on for some time till she reached this passage: "While
my stepmother and Peter form a part of your family I can never live
at home. They both dislike me, and I am afraid I return the
feeling." "Thanks for the information," she muttered. "I knew it
before. This letter doesn't make me feel any more friendly to you,
Carl Crawford. I see that you are trying to ingratiate yourself with
your father, and prejudice him against me and my poor Peter, but I
think I can defeat your kind intentions."

She folded up the letter, and replaced it in her husband's
desk.

"I wonder if my husband will answer Carl's artful epistle," she
said to herself. "He can if he pleases. He is weak as water, and I
will see that he goes no farther than words."

Dr. Crawford did answer Carl's letter. This is his reply:

"Dear Carl:--i am glad to hear that you are comfortably
situated. I regret that you were so headstrong and unreasonable. It
seems to me that you might, with a little effort, have got on with
your stepmother. You could hardly expect her to treat you in the
same way as her own son. He seems to be a good boy, but I own that I
have never been able to become attached to him."

Carl read this part of the letter with satisfaction. He knew how
mean and contemptible Peter was, and it would have gone to his heart
to think that his father had transferred his affection to the boy he
had so much reason to dislike.

"I am glad you are pleased with your prospects. I think I could
have done better for you had your relations with your stepmother been
such as to make it pleasant for you to remain at home. You are right
in thinking that I am interested in your welfare. I hope, my dear
Carl, you will become a happy and prosperous man. I do not forget
that you are my son, and I am still your affectionate father,

"Paul Crawford."

Carl was glad to receive this letter. It showed him that his
stepmother had not yet succeeded in alienating from him his father's
affection.

But we must return to the point where we left Carl on his
journey to Buffalo. He enjoyed his trip over the Central road during
the hours of daylight. He determined on his return to make an
all-day trip so that he might enjoy the scenery through which he now
rode in the darkness.

At Buffalo he had no other business except that of Mr. Jennings,
and immediately after breakfast he began to make a tour of the
furniture establishments. He met with excellent success, and had the
satisfaction of sending home some large orders. In the evening he
took train for Niagara, wishing to see the falls in the early
morning, and resume his journey in the afternoon.

He registered at the International Hotel on the American side.
It was too late to do more than take an evening walk, and see the
falls gleaming like silver through the darkness.

"I will go to bed early," thought Carl, "and get up at six
o'clock."

He did go to bed early, but he was more fatigued than he
supposed, and slept longer than he anticipated. It was eight o'clock
before he came downstairs. Before going in to breakfast, he took a
turn on the piazzas. Here he fell in with a sociable gentleman, much
addicted to gossip.

"Good-morning!" he said. "Have you seen the falls yet?"

"I caught a glimpse of them last evening I am going to visit
them after breakfast."

"There are a good many people staying here just now--some quite
noted persons, too."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, what do you say to an English lord?" and Carl's new friend
nodded with am important air, as if it reflected great credit on the
hotel to have so important a guest.

"Does he look different from anyone else?" asked Carl,
smiling.

"Well, to tell the truth, he isn't much to look at," said the
other. "The gentleman who is with him looks more stylish. I thought
he was the lord at first, but I afterwards learned that he was an
American named Stuyvesant."

Carl started at the familiar name.

"Is he tall and slender, with side whiskers, and does he wear
eyeglasses?" he asked, eagerly.

"Yes; you know him then?" said the other, in surprise.

"Yes," answered Carl, with a smile, "I am slightly acquainted
with him. I am very anxious to meet him again."