It was already late in the afternoon

  "Well, good-by, my boy. I hope your father'll find work soon."   "He's a trump!" ejaculated Jack. "Wasn't it lucky I was here just as he wanted a boy to hold his horse. I wonder what Aunt Rachel will have to say to that? Very likely she'll say the bill is bad."   Jack made the best of his way home. It was already late in the afternoon, and he knew he would be expected. It was with a lighter heart than usual that he bent his steps homeward, for he knew that the dollar would be heartily welcome.   We will precede him, and give a brief description of his home.   There were only five rooms, and these were furnished in the plainest manner. In the sitting room were his mother and aunt. Mrs. Harding was a motherly-looking woman, with a pleasant face, the prevailing expression of which was a serene cheerfulness, though of late it had been harder than usual to preserve this, in the straits to which the family had been reduced. She was setting the table for tea.   Aunt Rachel sat in a rocking-chair at the window. She was engaged in knitting. Her face was long and thin, and, as Jack expressed it, she looked as if she hadn't a friend in the world. Her voice harmonized with her mournful expression, and was equally doleful.   "I wonder why Jack don't come home?" said Mrs. Harding, looking at the clock. "He's generally here at this time."   "Perhaps somethin's happened," suggested her sister-in-law.   "What do you mean, Rachel?"   "I was reading in the _Sun_ this morning about a boy being run over out West somewhere."