Dave Porter at Oak Hall. Stratemeyer Edward
then flour, and the hired man was rushed away to get a doctor. In the meantime the fire had died out, leaving the automobile but slightly damaged.
Before the doctor arrived Jessie came out of her swoon. She said the arm smarted greatly, but the physician soon made this feel fairly comfortable. In the meantime Mr. Wadsworth, who had gone to the jewelry works, was also summoned.
"Thank God, she is safe!" murmured the gentleman, after seeing his daughter. "Had she been——" He could not finish, but had to turn away.
"It was this young man who saved her, Oliver," came from Mrs. Wadsworth. "At the risk of being burnt himself, he covered her with his jacket, rolled her on the damp grass, and put water on her."
"It was a brave thing to do," was Mr. Wadsworth's ready reply, and he shook Dave's hand warmly.
"Oh, I didn't do much," answered the boy, honestly. "You see, it was only last week I was reading an article on what to do in case a person's clothing took fire. It came in handy, didn't it?"
"It did, indeed." Mr. Wadsworth paused. "Let me see, didn't you come here to see me?"
"Yes, Mr. Wadsworth."
"I believe I have seen you before, but I cannot remember your name."
"My name is David Porter. I live with old Mr. Potts, up the Dixonville road. Here is a letter that Mr. Basswood gave me," and the youth handed over the communication.
"Ah! So you want to know something about the value of that farm, eh? And about the mortgage on it?" The jewelry manufacturer rubbed his chin reflectively. "What did Mr. Basswood say about it?"
"He said property around here was constantly increasing in value."
"The mortgage is now twelve hundred dollars?"
"Yes, sir, and Aaron Poole offered Mr. Potts only one hundred dollars over that amount. Mr. Jackson said he thought the place ought to be worth two thousand dollars."
"I see." Mr. Wadsworth looked at Dave curiously. "How is it you came about this? Are you a relative of Mrs. Potts?"
"No, sir. I am his bound boy."
"Oh! How long have you lived with him?"
"About six years."
"Has he much of a family?"
"No, sir; he is alone in the world, and he is very old and feeble now."
"I don't believe I know him. What is his first name?"
"Caspar."
Oliver Wadsworth looked up in astonishment.
"Caspar Potts. Why, that was the name of a professor who used to teach me history when I attended Vale College! But of course this farmer cannot be the same man."
"He can be!" cried Dave. "Mr. Potts was once a college professor; but his health broke down and he gave it up and went to farming, for he had been brought up on a farm."
"This is wonderful, my lad. I liked Caspar Potts very much, and I often wondered what became of him. He was a very learned man, but decidedly peculiar in some of his ways."
"He is peculiar yet. Some folks think he is a bit out of his head, but I never would believe it."
"What a change for such a man! Does he seem to like farming?"
"Yes, sir. He says he is tired of the bustling outside world."
"I will come and see him to-morrow morning. If he is the same Caspar Potts who used to teach me I'll certainly do all I can for him, and I know certain other members of our old class will do the same. Pop Potts we called him, and we can't afford to let him drop out of sight and be forgotten."
CHAPTER IV
THE OLD PROFESSOR'S PUPIL
Before Dave left the Wadsworth mansion the lady of the place insisted upon thanking him warmly for what he had done for her daughter. Jessie was also grateful and did what she could to show it.
"I shall never forget you, Dave Porter," she said, with a warm smile. "If it hadn't been for you I should have been burnt up!" And her pretty eyes filled with tears.
"I'm glad I was able to do it for you," was Dave's simple answer. He wanted to say more, but, somehow, the words would not come. He had always looked at Jessie Wadsworth as something of a fairy, far removed from such a country boy as himself. Now she seemed more of a fairy and more beautiful than ever.
When Dave reached home he found Caspar Potts anxiously awaiting his return.
"Mr. Wadsworth is coming to see us," said he. "He thinks you must have taught him when he went to Vale College."
"Did he go to old Vale!" cried Caspar Potts. "I remember that I taught several Wadsworths during my time there."
"I had quite an adventure," went on Dave, and related what had happened to Jessie. "They thought I did something, but I guess it wasn't so much," he added.
On the following morning Dave rose early, and put the cottage in good order for the reception of their visitor. He also helped Caspar Potts to don his best suit of clothes.
"You must be the professor for to-day," he said, with a smile, and this pleased the old man greatly.
"I—I really think I could lecture again, Dave—if I only could get my strength back," said he. "But I'm too old—too old!" And he heaved a deep sigh.
Oliver Wadsworth drove up shortly after ten o'clock in his carriage, the automobile having been sent away for repairs. Caspar Potts and Dave went out on the porch to greet him.
"Professor Potts, sure enough!" cried the manufacturer, cheerily, as he shook hands. "Well, who would have dreamed of finding you buried in such a place as this!"
"It was a quiet, restful spot, and I needed quiet," answered the old man. "Come in, and make yourself at home, Mr. Wadsworth," and he led the way to the best apartment the cottage afforded.
"I wish I had known of this before, professor; I should have called and brought some of my classmates along. Don't you remember Jack Haswell and Dick Merrick?"
"Yes, yes!"
"They often come to see me, and they have asked about you more than once. And so you have turned farmer? This is truly wonderful!"
"It is what I like best, besides lecturing, Mr. Wadsworth. But I don't know that I am to keep my farm much longer, unless——"
"Unless you can make some arrangement to get rid of Aaron Poole, is that it?"
"It's about that mortgage, yes."
"Don't let that worry you, professor. I've got a little money to spare, and if you want to keep the farm I'll take up that mortgage, and we'll send Mr. Aaron Poole about his business."
At this announcement the face of the old man brightened wonderfully.
"It's very kind of you to do that. But the interest money—You see, I've been sick——"
"What interest do you pay now?"
"Six per cent."
"We'll make the interest on the new mortgage four per cent., and you can pay it as you feel able. I'll not press you."
"Oh, thank you!" Caspar Potts shook hands with great fervor. "It is kind of you to remember your old professor in this way!" And two tears glistened in his feeble eyes.
"If you'll excuse me, I'll take a look over the farm with Dave," continued the manufacturer. "Perhaps I can suggest some improvements." He gave a light