all foolishness," declared Ned. "I'm going to see your mother."

Tad laid a hand on Ned's arm. "Please say nothing to my mother about it. My mind is made up, and that's all there is to it. Of course, it will be a bitter disappointment to me not to go with you, but I guess I shall get over it. It would be more bitter to me if anything—anything happened to mother."

"And Professor is coming on next week," muttered Walter. "I guess we had better give it up for this season, fellows."

"No. I won't have it that way," urged Tad. "You'll make me feel worse about it if you do anything like that. Your plans are made."

"Yes, we will let things stand as they are for the present," agreed Rector. "But I shan't give up the idea that you are going with us. Why—but what's the use in talking about it? Walt, is your father at home?"

"He is at the bank."

"Then I'm going over to see him."

"What about?" questioned Tad suspiciously.

"I've got a little matter of business that I want to talk over with him."

"Want to borrow some money, eh?" grinned Chunky.

"No, we'll leave that business to you."

"That reminds me, Tad, could you—could you cross my palm for five cents this afternoon?" asked the fat boy solemnly.

"Eh? Do what?"

"Cross my palm for five cents?"

"Say, this is a new habit, isn't it, this borrowing money?"

"Oh, I'll pay you back when I get my allowance," protested Stacy.

"I wasn't thinking about that. Take my word for it, this borrowing business is bad business," rebuked Tad.

"Didn't I always pay you back everything I borrowed of you?" protested Stacy indignantly.

"Yes, yes, but—here's five cents. Will that be enough?"

"Well," reflected the fat boy, "you might make it twenty-five if you are flush today."

Tad passed over a quarter, the other boys regarding the proceeding with disapproving eyes.

"Now that you have made a touch, is it permissible to ask what you are going to do with all that money?" inquired Rector.

"It is."

"Well?"

"They've got a lot of fresh buns over at the bakery. I can get thirty-six of them for a quarter. It's a bargain, too."

"Buns!" growled Ned in a tone of disgust. "Don't you ever think of anything but something to eat?"

"Yes—something that I haven't got to eat."

"Go get your buns and pass them around," suggested Walter smilingly.

"I guess not. There won't be more than enough for me," answered Stacy.

"There's selfishness for you," nodded Ned.

But Ned did Stacy an injustice. The fat boy was simply teasing the others. He intended to bring back the "bargain" and share it with his companions, which he did shortly after that, though Tad was not there to help eat the hot buns that Stacy brought.

Little more was said on the subject nearest to the hearts of the boys, but their disappointment was keen at Tad's decision not to accompany them on their visit to the Maine Woods, for which place they were to start within a few days.

"I can't wait for the buns," said Tad. "I must be getting home, but I will help you boys get ready for the trip and see you off."

"No, you won't see us off," shouted Ned. "You will see yourself off along with the rest of us."

To this young Butler merely shook his head as he turned away, retracing his steps towards home. For a few minutes after Tad's departure, Ned Rector and Walter Perkins sat with heads closed together, talking earnestly. Finally Walter got up and started for his father's place of business at a brisk walk. Later in the afternoon there was a conference between Walter and his parents.

In the meantime, Tad had gone home. He had been insistent that he would not leave his mother, and Mrs. Butler was fully as insistent that he should accompany his companions on their coming journey. But Tad was firm. It was the first time he ever had opposed his mother so stubbornly. Mrs. Butler had been ailing for some time and Tad was greatly worried over her condition. It was this concern for the mother that was on the boy's mind now, rather than his disappointment at not being able to go with his friends. There was only one encouraging factor; his mother, while not well-to-do, was far from being in want. Though she did not feel that she should incur the expense of going away, Tad was determined that she should.

Late in the afternoon Banker Perkins and his wife called at the Butler home and had a long talk with Mrs. Butler. Tad had ridden out of town on his pony to bring in some horses that had been shipped in from the west to be sold. There were some "tough ones" in the bunch of western stock, and none of the town boys could be induced to help corral and drive in the stock for the owner. This work was a recreation for Tad, and the five dollars a day that he received for his services during the sale, in cutting out, roping and riding mustangs for prospective buyers, he considered the easiest money he had ever earned. Besides this, Tad's riding was an exhibition in itself, and it drew scores of spectators. The result was that the five dollars a day paid to Tad was a most excellent investment for the owner.

The coast being clear for the rest of the afternoon, Mr. Perkins and his wife were uninterrupted in their talk with Mrs. Butler. Mrs. Butler, like her son, possessed a mind of her own, and the banker had some difficulty in bringing her around to his point of view, but before the Perkinses left the Butler home Mrs. Butler had agreed to their plans, not so much on her own account as that of the boy of whom she was so justly proud. It was decided between them, however, to leave matters as they were for the present.

"I want to try the boy a little further," added the banker. "Of course, I know him pretty well now, but if he goes through with what he has declared he will, you need never worry about his success in life. A boy who can do that is all right in every way."

The week drew to a close. Tad had completed his work with the horse dealer and collected his money, which he turned over to his mother on Saturday night.

"At this rate I'll be able to retire by and by," smiled the lad.

"You will have more money to spend on your trip this summer," was the reply.

"Yes. My trip with you to the mountains."

"Oh, no, I didn't mean that. You know what I mean, Tad."

"I'm not going, mother. My mind is made up."

"Will it be much of a disappointment to you if you do not go with your friends?"

"Now, you know it won't," replied Tad playfully, as he passed an arm around his mother's waist. "What fun could I possibly have that would compare with going away with you and seeing you grow back into perfect health?"

Mrs. Butler smiled proudly, though she sighed at the thought of the pleasant jaunt that her son offered so readily to give up.

A few days later the other boys decided that they would go on without Tad if they must, though they grumbled a good deal. Tad Butler came forward, taking a hearty interest in all their preparations for this hike in the saddle. He put their kits in shape, made a new lariat for Ned Rector, mended the tents, and in general threw himself as heartily into all the advanced work as though he were going himself. On the day of their departure Professor Zepplin arrived to take charge of the party, as he had been doing for several seasons past.

Three of the boys and the Professor rode to the station, there to car their stock, Tad plodding along on foot, feeling strangely unfamiliar with himself at such a time. Yet, from young Butler's face, one would have thought him the happiest of all the party that gathered at the station, and perhaps down in his heart he was happy, knowing that he was doing what he knew to be his duty to the mother that he loved so well. There was a real shadow, however, on the happiness of his companions—the inability of Tad to go with them on their summer's outing.

Mr. Perkins was at the station to see the boys off. He, with Tad and half a