CHAPTER V.

CHESTER’S FIRST SUCCESS.

Chester and his mother and a few friends attended the funeral of Walter Bruce. Silas Tripp was too busy at the store to pay this parting compliment to his nephew. He expressed himself plainly about the folly of the Rands in “runnin’ into debt for a shif’less fellow” who had no claim upon them. “If they expect me to pay the funeral expenses they’re mistaken,” he added, positively. “I ain’t no call to do it, and I won’t do it.”

But he was not asked to defray the expenses of the simple funeral. It was paid for out of the minister’s charitable fund.

“Some time I will pay you back the money, Mr. Morris,” said Chester. “I am Mr. Bruce’s heir, and it is right that I should pay.”

“Very well, Chester. If your bequest amounts to anything I will not object. I hope for your sake that the lots may become valuable.”

“I don’t expect it, Mr. Morris. Will you be kind enough to take care of the papers for me?”

“Certainly, Chester. I will keep them with my own papers.”

At this time Tacoma contained only four hundred inhabitants. The Northern Pacific Railroad had not been completed, and there was no certainty when it would be. So Chester did not pay much attention or give much thought to his Western property, but began to look round anxiously for something to do.

During the sickness of Walter Bruce he had given up his time to helping his mother and the care of the sick man. The money received from the minister enabled him to do this. Now the weekly income had ceased, and it became a serious question what he should do to bring in an income.

He had almost forgotten his meeting with Herbert Conrad, the young artist, when the day after the funeral he received a letter in an unknown hand, addressed to “Master Chester Rand, Wyncombe, New York.”

As he opened it, his eyes opened wide with surprise and joy, when two five-dollar bills fluttered to the ground, for he had broken the seal in front of the post office.

He read the letter eagerly. It ran thus:

Chester hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels. It seems almost incredible that a sketch which he had dashed off in twenty minutes should bring in such a magnificent sum.

And for the first time it dawned upon him he was an artist. Fifty dollars gained in any other way would not have given him so much satisfaction. Why, it was only three weeks that he had been out of a place, and he had received more than he would have been paid in that time by Mr. Tripp.

He decided to tell no one of his good luck but his mother and the minister. If he were fortunate enough to earn more, the neighbors might wonder as they pleased about the source of his supplies. The money came at the right time, for his mother needed some articles at the store. He concluded to get them on the way home.

Silas Tripp was weighing out some sugar for a customer when Chester entered. Silas eyed him sharply, and was rather surprised to find him cheerful and in good spirits.

“How’s your mother this mornin’, Chester?” asked the grocer.

“Pretty well, thank you, Mr. Tripp.”

“Are you doin’ anything yet?”

“There doesn’t seem to be much work to do in Wyncombe,” answered Chester, noncommittally.

“You was foolish to leave a stiddy job at the store.”

“I couldn’t afford to work for the money you offered me.”

“Two dollars and a quarter is better than nothin’. I would have paid you two and a half. I like you better than that Wood boy. Is your mother workin’?”

“She is doing a little sewing, but she had no time for that with a sick man in the house.”

“I don’t see what made you keep a man that was no kith or kin to you.”

“Would you have had us put him into the street, Mr. Tripp?”

“I’d have laid the matter before the selec’-men, and got him into the poorhouse.”

“Well, it is all over now, and I’m not sorry that we cared for the poor fellow. I would like six pounds of sugar and two of butter.”

“You ain’t goin’ to run a bill, be you?” asked Silas, cautiously. “I can’t afford to trust out any more.”

“We don’t owe you anything, do we, Mr. Tripp?”

“No; but I thought mebbe——”

“I will pay for the articles,” said Chester, briefly.

When he tendered the five-dollar bill Silas Tripp looked amazed.

“Where did you get so much money?” he gasped.

“Isn’t it a good bill?” asked Chester.

“Why, yes, but——”

“I think that is all you have a right to ask,” said Chester, firmly. “It can’t make any difference to you where it came from.”

“I thought you were poor,” said Mr. Tripp.

“So we are.”

“But it seems strange that you should have so much money.”

“Five dollars isn’t much money, Mr. Tripp.”

Then a sudden idea came to Silas Tripp, and he paused in weighing out the butter.

“Did my nephew leave any money?” he asked, sharply.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I lay claim to it. I’m his only relation, and it is right that I should have it.”

“You shall have it if you will pay the expense of his illness.”

“Humph! how much did he leave?”

“Thirty-seven cents.”

Mr. Tripp looked discomfited.

“You can keep it,” he said, magnanimously. “I don’t lay no claim to it.”

“Thank you,” returned Chester, gravely.

“Then this five-dollar bill didn’t come from him?”

“How could it? he hadn’t as much money in the world.”

“He was a shif’less man. ‘A rolling stone gathers no moss,’” observed Mr. Tripp, in a moralizing tone.

“You haven’t been a rolling stone, Mr. Tripp.”

“No; I’ve stuck to the store year in and year out for thirty-five years. I ain’t had more’n three days off in that time.”

“If I had your money, Mr. Tripp, I’d go off and enjoy myself.”

“What, and leave the store?” said Silas, aghast at the thought.

“You could hire some one to run it.”

“I wouldn’t find much left when I came back; No, I must stay at home and attend to business. Do your folks go to bed early, Chester?”

“Not before ten,” answered Chester, in some surprise.

“Then I’ll call this evenin’ after the store is closed.”

“Very well, sir. You’ll find us up.”

The idea had occurred to Mr. Tripp that Mrs. Rand must be very short of money, and might be induced to dispose of her place at a largely reduced figure. It would be a good-paying investment for him, and he was not above taking advantage of a poor widow’s necessities. Of course neither Mrs. Rand nor Chester had any idea of his motives or intentions, and they awaited his visit with considerable curiosity.

About fifteen minutes after nine a shuffling was heard at the door, there was a knock, and a minute later Chester admitted the thin and shriveled figure of Silas Tripp.

“Good-evening, Mr. Tripp,” said Mrs. Rand, politely.

“Good-evenin’, ma’am, I thought I’d call in and inquire how you were gettin’ along.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tripp, for the interest you show in our affairs. We are not doing very well, as you may imagine.”

“So I surmised, ma’am. So I surmised.”

“It can’t be possible he is going to offer us a loan,” thought Chester.

“You’ve got a tidy little place here, ma’am. It isn’t mortgaged, I rec’on.”

“No, Sir.”

“Why don’t you sell it? You need the money, and you might hire another house, or pay rent for this.”

“Do you know of anyone that wants to buy it, Mr. Tripp?”

“Mebbe I’d buy it myself, jest to help you along,” answered Silas, cautiously.

“How much would you be willing to give?” put in Chester.

“Well, I calculate—real estate’s very low at present—three hundred and fifty dollars would be a fair price.”

Mrs. Rand looked amazed.

“Three hundred and fifty dollars!” she ejaculated. “Why, it is worth at least seven hundred.”

“You couldn’t get it, ma’am. That’s a fancy price.”

“What rent would you charge in case we sold it to you, Mr. Tripp,” asked Chester.

“Well, say five dollars a month.”

“About sixteen or seventeen per cent. on the purchase money.”

“Well, I’d have to pay taxes and repairs,” explained Tripp.

“I don’t care to sell, Mr. Tripp,” said Mrs. Rand, decisively.

“You may have to, ma’am.”

“If we do we shall try to get somewhere near its real value.”

“Just as you like, ma’am,” said Silas, disappointed. “I’d pay you cash down.”

“If I decide to sell on your terms I’ll let you know,” said Mrs. Rand.

“Oh, well, I ain’t set upon it. I only wanted to do you a favor.”

“We appreciate your kindness,” said Mrs. Rand, dryly.

“Women don’t know much about business,” muttered Silas, as he plodded home, disappointed.

CHAPTER VI.

ROBERT RAMSAY.

Mrs. Rand was as much amazed as Chester himself at his success as an artist.

“How long were you in making the drawing?” she asked.

“Twenty minutes.”

“And you received ten dollars. It doesn’t seem possible.”

“I wish I could work twenty minutes every week at that rate,” laughed Chester. “It would pay me better than working for Silas Tripp.”

“Perhaps you can get some more work of the same kind?”

“I shall send two more sketches to Mr. Conrad in a day or two. I shall take pains and do my best.”

Two days later Chester sent on the sketches, and then set about trying to find a job of some kind in the village. He heard of only one.

An elderly farmer, Job Dexter, offered him a dollar a week and board if he would work for him. He would have eight cows to milk morning and night, the care of the barn, and a multitude of “chores” to attend to.

“How much will you give me if I board at home, Mr. Dexter?” asked Chester.

“I must have you in the house. I can’t have you trapesing home when you ought to be at work.”

“Then I don’t think I can come, Mr. Dexter. A dollar a week wouldn’t pay me.”

“A dollar a week and board is good pay for a boy,” said the farmer.

“It may be for some boys, but not for me.”

Chester reflected that if he worked all day at the farmer’s he could not do any artistic work, and so would lose much more than he made. The sketch sold by Mr. Conrad brought him in as much as he would receive in ten weeks from Farmer Dexter.

“Wyncombe people don’t seem very liberal, mother,” said Chester. “I thought Mr. Tripp pretty close, but Job Dexter beats him.”

In the meantime he met Abel Wood carrying groceries to a family in the village.

“Have you got a place yet, Chester?” he asked.

“No; but I have a chance of one.”

“Where?”

“At Farmer Dexter’s.”

“Don’t you go! I worked for him once.”

“How did you like it?”

“It almost killed me. I had to get up at half-past four, work till seven in the evening, and all for a dollar a week and board.”

“Was the board good?” inquired Chester, curiously.

“It was the poorest livin’ I ever had. Mrs. Dexter don’t know much about cookin’. We had baked beans for dinner three times a week, because they were cheap, and what was left was put on for breakfast the next mornin’.”

“I like baked beans.”

“You wouldn’t like them as Mrs. Dexter cooked them, and you wouldn’t want them for six meals a week.”

“No, I don’t think I should,” said Chester, smiling. “How do you get along with Silas Tripp?”

“He’s always scoldin’; he says I am not half as smart as you.”

“I am much obliged to Mr. Tripp for his favorable opinion, but he didn’t think enough of me to give me decent pay.”

“He’s awful mean. He’s talkin’ of reducin’ me to two dollars a week. He says business is very poor, and he isn’t makin’ any money.”

“I wish you and I were making half as much as he.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand, Chester. You ain’t workin’, yet you seem to have money.”

“How do you know I have?”

“Mr. Tripp says you came into the store three or four days ago and changed a five-dollar bill.”

“Yes; Mr. Tripp seemed anxious to know where I got it.”

“You didn’t use to have five-dollar bills, Chester, when you were at work.”

“This five-dollar bill dropped down the chimney one fine morning,” said Chester, laughing.

“I wish one would drop down my chimney. But I must be gettin’ along, or old Tripp will give me hail Columbia when I get back.”

About nine o’clock that evening, as Chester was returning from a lecture in the church, he was accosted by a rough-looking fellow having very much the appearance of a tramp, who seemed somewhat under the influence of liquor.

“I say, boss,” said the tramp, “can’t you give a poor man a quarter to help him along?”

“Are you out of work?” asked Chester, staying his step.

“Yes; times is hard and work is scarce. I haven’t earned anything for a month.”

“Where do you come from?”

“From Pittsburg,” answered the tramp, with some hesitation.

“What do you work at when you are employed?”

“I am a machinist. Is there any chance in that line here?”

“Not in Wyncombe.”

“That’s what I thought. How about that quarter?”

“I am out of work myself and quarters are scarce with me.”

“That’s what you all say! There’s small show for a good, industrious man.”

Chester thought to himself that if the stranger was a good, industrious man he was unfortunate in his appearance.

“I have sympathy for all who are out of work,” he said. “Mother and I are poor. When I did work I only got three dollars a week.”

“Where did you work?”

“In Mr. Tripp’s store, in the center of the village.”

“I know. It’s a two-story building, ain’t it, with a piazza?”

“Yes.”

“Has the old fellow got money?”

“Oh, yes; Silas Tripp is rich.”

“So? He didn’t pay you much wages, though.”

“No; he feels poor. I dare say he feels poorer than I do.”

“Such men ought not to have money,” growled the tramp. “They’re keepin’ it out of the hands of honest men. What sort of a lookin’ man is this man Tripp? Is he as big as me?”

“Oh, no, he is a thin, dried-up, little man, who looks as if he hadn’t had a full meal of victuals in his life.”

“What time does he shut up shop?”

“About this time,” answered Chester, rather puzzled by the tramp’s persistence in asking questions.

“What’s your name?”

“Chester Rand.”

“Can’t you give me a quarter? I’m awful hungry. I ain’t had a bit to eat since yesterday.”

“I have no money to give you, but if you will come to our house I’ll give you some supper.”

“Where do you live?”

“About five minutes’ walk.”

“Go ahead, then; I’m with you.”

Mrs. Rand looked up with surprise when the door opened and Chester entered, followed by an ill-looking tramp, whose clothes were redolent of tobacco, and his breath of whisky.

“Mother,” said Chester, “this man tells me that he hasn’t had anything to eat since yesterday.”

“No more I haven’t,” spoke up the tramp, in a hoarse voice.

“He asked for some money. I could not give him that, but I told him we would give him some supper.”

“Of course we will,” said Mrs. Rand, in a tone of sympathy. She did not admire the appearance of her late visitor, but her heart was alive to the appeal of a hungry man.

“Sit down, sir,” she said, “and I’ll make some hot tea, and that with some bread and butter and cold meat will refresh you.”

“Thank you, ma’am, I ain’t over-partial to tea, and my doctor tells me I need whisky. You don’t happen to have any whisky in the house, do you?”

“This is a temperance house,” said Chester, “we never keep whisky.”

“Well, maybe I can get along with the tea,” sighed the tramp, in evident disappointment.

“You look strong and healthy,” observed Mrs. Rand.

“I ain’t, ma’am. Looks is very deceiving. I’ve got a weakness here,” and he touched the pit of his stomach, “that calls for strengthenin’ drink. But I’ll be glad of the victuals.”

When the table was spread with an extemporized supper, the unsavory visitor sat down, and did full justice to it. He even drank the tea, though he made up a face and called it “slops.”

“Where did you come from, sir?” asked Mrs. Rand.

“From Chicago, ma’am.”

“Were you at work there? What is your business?”

“I’m a blacksmith, ma’am.”

“I thought you were a machinist and came from Pittsburg,” interrupted Chester, in surprise.

“I came here by way of Pittsburg,” answered the tramp, coughing. “I am machinist, too.”

“His stories don’t seem to hang together,” thought Chester.

After supper the tramp, who said his name was Robert Ramsay, took out his pipe and began to smoke. If it had not been a cold evening, Mrs. Rand, who disliked tobacco, would have asked him to smoke out of doors, but as it was she tolerated it.

Both Chester and his mother feared that their unwelcome visitor would ask to stay all night, and they would not have felt safe with him in the house, but about a quarter past ten he got up and said he must be moving.

“Good-night, and good luck to you!” said Chester.

“Same to you!” returned the tramp.

“I wonder where he’s going,” thought Chester.

But when the next morning came he heard news that answered this question.

CHAPTER VII.

SILAS TRIPP MAKES A DISCOVERY.

When Silas Tripp went into his store the next day he was startled to find a window in the rear was partially open.

“How did that window come open, Abel?” he asked, as Abel Wood entered the store.

“I don’t know, sir.”

“It must have been you that opened it,” said his employer, sternly.

“I didn’t do it, Mr. Tripp, honest I didn’t,” declared Abel, earnestly.

“Then how did it come open, that’s what I want to know?”

“I am sure I can’t tell.”

“Somebody might have come in during the night and robbed the store.”

“So there might.”

“It’s very mysterious. Such things didn’t happen when Chester was here.”

Abel made no answer, but began to sweep out the store, his first morning duty.

When Silas spoke of the store being robbed he had no idea that such a robbing had taken place, but he went to the money drawer and opened it to make sure all was safe.

Instantly there was a cry of dismay.

“Abel!” he exclaimed, “I’ve been robbed. There’s a lot of money missing.”

Abel stopped sweeping and turned pale.

“Is that so, Mr. Tripp?” he asked, faintly.

“Yes, there’s—lemme see. There’s been burglars here. Oh, this is terrible!”

“Who could have done it, Mr. Tripp?”

“I dunno, but the store was entered last night. I never shall feel safe again,” groaned Silas.

“Didn’t they leave no traces?”

“Ha! here’s a handkerchief,” said Mr. Tripp, taking the article from the top of a flour barrel, “and yes, by gracious, it’s marked Chester Rand.”

“You don’t think he took the money?” ejaculated Abel, in open-eyed wonder.

“Of course it must have been him! He knew just where I kept the money, and he could find his way about in the dark, he knew the store so well.”

“I didn’t think Chester would do such a thing.”

“That’s how he came by his five-dollar bill. He came in bold as brass and paid me with my own money—the young rascal!”

“But how could he do it if the money was took last night? It was two or three days ago he paid you the five-dollar bill.”

This was a poser, but Mr. Tripp was equal to the emergency.

“He must have robbed me before,” he said.

“You haven’t missed money before, have you?”

“Not to my knowledge, but he must have took it. Abel, I want you to go right over to the Widow Rand’s and tell Chester I want to see him. I dunno but I’d better send the constable after him.”

“Shall I carry him his handkerchief?”

“No, and don’t tell him it’s been found. I don’t want to put him on his guard.”

Abel put his broom behind the door and betook himself to the house of Mrs. Rand.

The widow herself opened the door.

“Is Chester at home?” asked Abel.

“Yes, he’s eating his breakfast. Do you want to see him?”

“Well, Mr. Tripp wants to see him.”

“Possibly he wants Chester to give him a little extra help,” she thought.

“Won’t you come in and take a cup of coffee while Chester is finishing his breakfast?” she said.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

Abel was a boy who was always ready to eat and drink, and he accepted the invitation with alacrity.

“So Mr. Tripp wants to see me?” said Chester. “Do you know what it’s about?”

“He’ll tell you,” answered Abel, evasively.

Chester was not specially interested or excited. He finished his breakfast in a leisurely manner, and then taking his hat, went out with Abel. It occurred to him that Mr. Tripp might be intending to discharge Abel, and wished to see if he would return to his old place.

“So you don’t know what he wants to see me about?” he asked.

“Well, I have an idea,” answered Abel, in a mysterious tone.

“What is it, then?”

“Oh, I dassn’t tell.”

“Look here, Abel, I won’t stir a step till you do tell me. You are acting very strangely.”

“Well, somethin’ terrible has happened,” Abel ejaculated, in excited tones.

“What’s it?”

“The store was robbed last night.”

“The store was robbed?” repeated Chester. “What was taken?”

“Oh, lots and lots of money was taken from the drawer, and the window in the back of the store was left open.”

“I’m sorry to hear it. I didn’t know there was anybody in Wyncombe that would do such things. Does Mr. Tripp suspect anybody?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Who is it?”

“He thinks you done it.”

Chester stopped abruptly and looked amazed.

“Why, the man must be crazy! What on earth makes him think I would stoop to do such a thing?”

“’Cause your handkerchief was found on a flour barrel ’side of the money drawer.”

“My handkerchief! Who says it was my handkerchief?”

“Your name was on it—in one corner; I seed it myself.”

Then a light dawned upon Chester. The tramp whom he and his mother had entertained the evening before, must have picked up his handkerchief, and left it in the store to divert suspicion from himself. The detective instinct was born within Chester, and now he felt impatient to have the investigation proceed.

“Come on, Abel,” he said, “I want to see about this matter.”

“Well, you needn’t walk so plaguy fast, wouldn’t if I was you.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause you’ll probably have to go to jail. I’ll tell you what I’d do.”

“Well?”

“I’d hook it.”

“You mean run away?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the last thing I’d do. Mr. Tripp would have a right to think I was guilty in that case.”

“Well, ain’t you?”

“Abel Wood, I have a great mind to give you a licking. Don’t you know me any better than that?”

“Then why did you leave the handkerchief on the flour barrel?”

“That’ll come out in due time.”

They were near the store where Mr. Tripp was impatiently waiting for their appearance. He did not anticipate Abel’s staying to breakfast, and his suspicions were excited.

“I’ll bet Chester Rand has left town with the money,” he groaned. “Oh, it’s awful to have your hard earnin’s carried off so sudden. I’ll send Chester to jail unless he returns it—every cent of it.”

Here Abel entered the store, followed by Chester.

CHAPTER VIII.

A SCENE IN THE GROCERY STORE.

“So you’ve come, have you, you young thief?” said Silas, sternly, as Chester entered the store. “Ain’t you ashamed of yourself?”

“No, I’m not,” Chester answered, boldly. “I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Oh, you hardened young villain. Give me the money right off, or I’ll send you to jail.”

“I hear from Abel that the store was robbed last night, and I suppose from what you say that you suspect me.”

“So I do.”

“Then you are mistaken. I spent all last night at home as my mother can testify.”

“Then how came your handkerchief here?” demanded Silas, triumphantly, holding up the article.

“It must have been brought here.”

“Oho, you admit that, do you? I didn’t know but you’d say it came here itself.”

“No, I don’t think it did.”

“I thought you’d own up arter a while.”

“I own up to nothing.”

“Isn’t the handkerchief yours?”

“Yes.”

“Then you stay here while Abel goes for the constable. You’ve got to be punished for such doin’s. But I’ll give ye one chance. Give me back the money you took—thirty-seven dollars and sixty cents—and I’ll forgive ye, and won’t have you sent to jail.”

“That is a very kind offer, Mr. Tripp, and if I had taken the money I would accept it, and thank you. But I didn’t take it.”

“Go for the constable, Abel, and mind you hurry. You just stay where you are, Chester Rand. Don’t you go for to run away.”

Chester smiled. He felt that he had the key to the mystery, but he chose to defer throwing light upon it.

“On the way, Abel,” said Chester, “please call at our house and ask my mother to come to the store.”

“All right, Chester.”

The constable was the first to arrive.

“What’s wanted, Silas?” he asked, for in country villages neighbors are very apt to call one another by their Christian names.

“There’s been robbery and burglary, Mr. Boody,” responded Mr. Tripp. “My store was robbed last night of thirty-seven dollars and sixty cents.”

“Sho, Silas, how you talk!”

“It’s true, and there stands the thief!”

“I am sitting, Mr. Tripp,” said Chester smiling.

“See how he brazens it out! What a hardened young villain he is!”

“Come, Silas, you must be crazy,” expostulated the constable, who felt very friendly to Chester. “Chester wouldn’t no more steal from you than I would.”

“I thought so myself, but when I found his handkerchief, marked with his name, on a flour barrel, I was convinced.”

“Is that so, Chester?”

“Yes, the handkerchief is mine.”

“It wasn’t here last night,” proceeded Silas, “and it was here this morning. It stands to reason that it couldn’t have walked here itself, and so of course it was brought here.”

By this time two other villagers entered the store.

“What do you say to that, Chester?” said the constable, beginning to be shaken in his conviction of Chester’s innocence.

“I agree with Mr. Tripp. It must have been brought here.”

At this moment, Mrs. Rand and the minister whom she had met on the way, entered the store.

“Glad to see you, widder,” said Silas Tripp, grimly. “I hope you ain’t a-goin’ to stand up for your son in his didoes.”

“I shall certainly stand by Chester, Mr. Tripp. What is the trouble?”

“Only that he came into my store in the silent watches of last night,” answered Silas, sarcastically, “and made off with thirty-seven dollars and sixty cents.”

“It’s a falsehood, whoever says it,” exclaimed Mrs. Rand, hotly.

“I supposed you’d stand up for him,” sneered Silas.

“And for a very good reason. During the silent watches of last night, as you express it, Chester was at home and in bed to my certain knowledge.”

“While his handkerchief walked over here and robbed the store,” suggested Silas Tripp, with withering sarcasm, as he held up the telltale evidence of Chester’s dishonesty.

“Was this handkerchief found in the store?” asked Mrs. Rand, in surprise.

“Yes, ma’am, it was, and I calculate you’ll find it hard to get over that evidence.”

Mrs. Rand’s face lighted up with a sudden conviction.

“I think I can explain it,” she said, quietly.

“Oh, you can, can you? Maybe you can tell who took the money.”

“I think I can.”

All eyes were turned upon her in eager expectation.

“A tramp called at our house last evening,” she said, “at about half-past nine, and I gave him a meal, as he professed to be hungry and penniless. It was some minutes after ten when he left the house. He must have picked up Chester’s handkerchief, and left it in your store after robbing the money drawer.”

“That’s all very fine,” said Silas, incredulously, “but I don’t know as there was any tramp. Nobody saw him but you.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Tripp,” said the minister, “but I saw him about half-past ten walking in the direction of your store. I was returning from visiting a sick parishioner when I met a man roughly dressed and of middle height, walking up the street. He was smoking a pipe.”

“He lighted it before leaving our house,” said Mrs. Rand.

“How did he know about my store?” demanded Silas, incredulously.

“He was asking questions about you while he was eating his supper.”

Silas Tripp was forced to confess, though reluctantly, that the case against Chester was falling to the ground. But he did not like to give up.

“I’d like to know where Chester got the money he’s been flauntin’ round the last week,” he said.

“Probably he stole it from your store last night,” said the constable, with good-natured sarcasm.

“That ain’t answerin’ the question.”

“I don’t propose to answer the question,” said Chester, firmly. “Where I got my money is no concern of Mr. Tripp, as long as I don’t get it from him.”

“Have I got to lose the money?” asked Silas, in a tragical tone. “It’s very hard on a poor man.”

All present smiled, for Silas was one of the richest men in the village.

“We might take up a contribution for you, Silas,” said the constable, jocosely.

“Oh, it’s all very well for you to joke about it, considerin’ you didn’t lose it.”

At this moment Abel Wood, who had been sweeping the piazza, entered the store in excitement.

“I say, there’s the tramp now,” he exclaimed.

“Where? Where?” asked one and another.

“Out in the street. Constable Perkins has got him.”

“Call him in,” said the minister.

A moment later, Constable Perkins came in, escorting the tramp, who was evidently under the influence of strong potations, and had difficulty in holding himself up.

“Where am I?” hiccoughed Ramsay.

“Where did you find him, Mr. Perkins?” asked Rev. Mr. Morris.

“Just outside of Farmer Dexter’s barn. He was lying on the ground, with a jug of whisky at his side.”

“It was my jug,” said Silas. “He must have taken it from the store. I didn’t miss it before. He must have took it away with him.”

“There warn’t much whisky left in the jug. He must have absorbed most of it.”

Now Mr. Tripp’s indignation was turned against this new individual.

“Where is my money, you villain?” he demanded, hotly.

“Whaz-zer matter?” hiccoughed Ramsay.

“You came into my store last night and stole some money.”

“Is zis zer store? It was jolly fun,” and the inebriate laughed.

“Yes, it is. Where is the money you took?”

“Spent it for whisky.”

“No, you didn’t. You found the whisky here.”

Ramsay made no reply.

“He must have the money about him,” suggested the minister. “You’d better search his pockets, Mr. Perkins.”

The constable thrust his hand into the pocket of his helpless charge, and drew out a roll of bills.

Silas Tripp uttered an exclamation of joy.

“Give it to me,” he said. “It’s my money.”

The bills were counted and all were there.

Not one was missing. Part of the silver could not be found. It had probably slipped from his pocket, for he had no opportunity of spending any.

Mr. Tripp was so pleased to recover his bills that he neglected to complain of the silver coins that were missing. But still he felt incensed against the thief.

“You’ll suffer for this,” he said, sternly, eying the tramp over his glasses.

“Who says I will?”

“I say so. You’ll have to go to jail.”

“I’m a ’spectable man,” hiccoughed the tramp. “I’m an honest man. I ain’t done nothin’.”

“Why did you take my handkerchief last night?” asked Chester.

The tramp laughed.

“Good joke, wasn’t it? So they’d think it was you.”

“It came near being a bad joke for me. Do you think I robbed your store now, Mr. Tripp?”

To this question Silas Tripp did not find it convenient to make an answer. He was one of those men—very numerous they are, too—who dislike to own themselves mistaken.

“It seems to me, Mr. Tripp,” said the minister, “that you owe an apology to our young friend here for your false suspicions.”

“Anybody’d suspect him when they found his handkerchief,” growled Silas.

“But now you know he was not concerned in the robbery you should make reparation.”

“I don’t know where he got his money,” said Silas. “There’s suthin’ very mysterious about that five-dollar bill.”

“I’ve got another, Mr. Tripp,” said Chester, smiling.

“Like as not. Where’d you get it?”

“I don’t feel obliged to tell.”

“It looks bad, that’s all I’ve got to say,” said the storekeeper.

“I think, Mr. Tripp, you need not borrow any trouble on that score,” interposed the minister. “I know where Chester’s money comes from, and I can assure you that it is honestly earned, more so than that which you receive from the whisky you sell.”

Silas Tripp was a little afraid of the minister, who was very plain-spoken, and turned away muttering.

The crowd dispersed, some following Constable Perkins, who took his prisoner to the lockup.