have been treated, there's the man you must go for," he added, pointing toward the grove which concealed Mr. Wayring's house from view. "He is entirely to blame for all the trouble you have had. Your cabin is on his land, and the trustees never would have thought of ordering you off if he had not complained of you."
Matt and his family were greatly astonished. They thought that every one in town looked down on them because they were poor, but here was somebody who sympathized with them. Tom, quick to see that he had made an impression upon the angry squatter, went on to say—
"If the people of this village should treat me as they have treated you, it would make a regular Ishmaelite of me."
"What sort of a feller is that?" asked Matt.
"Why, Ishmael was a hunter who lived a good many years ago," answered Tom. "His hand was against every man, and every man's hand was against him. He didn't have a friend in the world."
"That's me," exclaimed Matt, who seemed
