Henry Martin meanwhile had not stood still. Two years after Sam entered Mr. Brown's counting-room Henry became chief clerk in the office of his New York employer. Mr. Hamilton had permitted him to share in the general ventures of the firm, and this had enabled Henry, with his habits of prudence, combined with his savings from a largely increased salary, to lay up four thousand dollars, which were securely invested. His salary now was one hundred dollars a month, and he was promised, on the approaching first of January, further increase. His prudence, industry and self-denial had reaped their fitting reward. He had never heard a word from Sam since the latter left New York for Boston. It would be difficult to explain why Sam had not written, for he had learned to respect Henry, and to prize the traits he had formerly laughed at. "I am afraid Sam has come to no good," Henry sometimes said to himself. "He was always a harum-scarum fellow, good-natured, but lazy and heedless. I wish I could do him a good turn. I have been so prospered that I could afford to help him along if I could only find him." But months and years passed, and there were no tidings of Sam. One day as Henry was engaged at his desk, a young man entered the counting-room. He was handsomely dressed, with a bright, intelligent look, and the appearance of one who was on good terms with the world. He glanced inquiringly at Henry, and then said: "Am I speaking to Mr. Henry Martin?" "Yes, sir," said young Martin, politely. "What can I do for you?" "I believe I used to know you, Mr. Martin," said Sam, smiling; for it was our old friend, the young outlaw. "I beg your pardon," said Henry Martin; "I must apologize for my poor memory, but I cannot recall your face." "I should have known you at once," said Sam. "You have the same sedate, grave manner that you had when a boy." "Did you know me as a boy?" asked Henry, puzzled. "Slightly," answered Sam, smiling again. "I used to room with you." "You are not Sam Barker!" exclaimed Henry, in the deepest astonishment. "Who says I am not?" said Sam. Henry Martin jumped from his stool, and grasped Sam's hands cordially. "I see it now," he said. "There is the same look, though you are five years older. I am delighted to see you, Sam. Where have you been all these years?" "In and near Boston," answered Sam. "You look as if you had prospered." "I have. I am bookkeeper for a Boston merchant, with a handsome salary." "Where on earth did you pick up bookkeeping?" asked Henry, in continued amazement. "I studied under a private tutor for two or three years," answered Sam, enjoying his perplexity. "I have only been in business two years." "Didn't it make your head ache?" asked Henry, slyly. "It did at first, but I got over that after a while." "I can't understand it at all, Sam. It seems like a romance. I never thought you would turn out like this."