Prince Duncan, who was a magistrate, directed the arrest of Luke on a charge of robbing the Groveton Bank. The constable who was called upon to make the arrest performed the duty unwillingly.
"I don't believe a word of it, Luke," he said. "It's perfect nonsense to say you have robbed the bank. I'd as soon believe myself guilty."
Luke was not taken to the lock-up, but was put in the personal custody of Constable Perkins, who undertook to be responsible for his appearance at the trial.
"You mustn't run away, or you'll get me into trouble, Luke," said the good-natured constable.
"It's the last thing I'd be willing to do, Mr. Perkins," said Luke, promptly. "Then everybody would decide that I was guilty. I am innocent, and want a chance to prove it."
What was to be done with the tin box, was the next question.
"I will take it over to my house," said Squire Duncan.
"I object," said Mr. Beane.
"Do you doubt my integrity?" demanded the bank president, angrily.
"No; but it is obviously improper that any one of us should take charge of the box before it has been opened and its contents examined. We are not even certain that it is the one missing from the bank."
As Mr. Beane was a lawyer, Prince Duncan, though unwillingly, was obliged to yield. The box, therefore, was taken to the bank and locked up in the safe till wanted.
It is hardly necessary to say that the events at the cottage of Mrs. Larkin, and Luke's arrest, made a great sensation in the village. The charge that Luke had robbed the bank was received not only with surprise, but with incredulity. The boy was so well and so favorably known in Groveton that few could be found to credit the charge. There were exceptions, however. Melinda Sprague enjoyed the sudden celebrity she had achieved as the original discoverer of the thief who had plundered the bank. She was inclined to believe that Luke was guilty, because it enhanced her own importance.
"Most people call Luke a good boy," she said, "but there was always something about him that made me suspicious. There was something in his expression—I can't tell you what—that set me to thinkin' all wasn't right. Appearances are deceitful, as our old minister used to say."
"They certainly are, if Luke is a bad boy and a thief," retorted the other, indignantly. "You might be in better business, Melinda, than trying to take away the character of a boy like Luke."
"I only did my duty," answered Melinda, with an air of superior virtue. "I had no right to keep secret what I knew about the robbery."
"You always claimed to be a friend of the Larkins. Only last week you took tea there."
"That's true. I am a friend now, but I can't consent to cover up inquiry. Do you know whether the bank has offered any reward for the detection of the thief?"
"No," said the other, shortly, with a look of contempt at the eager spinster. "Even if it did, and poor Luke were found guilty, it would be blood-money that no decent person would accept."
"Really, Mrs. Clark, you have singular ideas," said the discomfited Melinda. "I ain't after no money. I only mean to do my duty, but if the bank should recognize the value of my services, it would be only right and proper."
There was another who heard with great satisfaction of Luke's arrest. This was Randolph Duncan. As it happened, he was late in learning that his rival had got into trouble, not having seen his father since breakfast.
"This is great news about Luke," said his friend Sam Noble, meeting him on the street.
"What news? I have heard nothing," said Randolph, eagerly.
"He has been arrested."
"You don't say so!" exclaimed Randolph. "What has he done?"
"Robbed the bank of a tin box full of bonds. It was worth an awful lot of money."
"Well, well!" ejaculated Randolph. "I always thought he was a boy of no principle."
"The tin box was found in his mother's trunk."
"What did Luke say? Did he own up?"
"No; he brazened it out. He said the box was given him to take care of by some mysterious stranger."
"That's too thin. How was it traced to Luke?"
"It seems Old Maid Sprague"—it was lucky for Melinda's peace of mind that she did not hear this contemptuous reference to her—"went to the Widow Larkin's house one day and saw the tin box in her trunk."
"She didn't leave the trunk open, did she?"
"No; but she had it open, looking into it, when old Melinda crept upstairs softly and caught her at it."
"I suppose Luke will have to go to State's prison," said Randolph, with a gratified smile.
"I hope it won't be quite so bad as that," said Sam, who was not equal in malice to his aristocratic friend.
"I haven't any pity for him," said Randolph, decidedly. "If he chooses to steal, he must expect to be punished."
Just then Mr. Hooper, the grammar-school teacher, came up.
"Mr. Hooper," said Randolph, eagerly, "have you heard about Luke?"
"I have heard that he has been removed from his janitorship, and I'm sorry for it."
"If he goes to jail he wouldn't be able to be janitor," said Randolph.
"Goes to jail! What do you mean?" demanded the teacher, sharply.
Hereupon Randolph told the story, aided and assisted by Sam Noble, to whom he referred as his authority.
"This is too ridiculous!" said Mr. Hooper, contemptuously. "Luke is no thief, and if he had the tin box he has given the right explanation of how he came by it."
"I know he is a favorite of yours, Mr. Hooper, but that won't save him from going to jail," said Randolph, tartly.
"If he is a favorite of mine," said the teacher, with dignity, "it is for a very good reason. I have always found him to be a high-minded, honorable boy, and I still believe him to be so, in spite of the grave accusation that has been brought against him."
There was something in the teacher's manner that deterred Randolph from continuing his malicious attack upon Luke. Mr. Hooper lost no time in inquiring into the facts of the case, and then in seeking out Luke, whom he found in the constable's house.
"Luke," he said, extending his hand, "I have heard that you were in trouble, and I have come to see what I can do for you."
"You are very kind, Mr. Hooper," said Luke, gratefully. "I hope you don't believe me guilty."
"I would as soon believe myself guilty of the charge, Luke."
"That's just what I said, Mr. Hooper," said Constable Perkins. "Just as if there wasn't more than one tin box in the world."
"You never told any one that you had a tin box in your custody, I suppose, Luke?"
"No, sir; the man who asked me to take care of it especially cautioned me to say nothing about it."
"What was his name?"
"Roland Reed."
"Do you know where to find him? It would be of service to you if you could obtain his evidence. It would clear you at once."
"I wish I could, sir, but I have no idea where to look for him."
"That is unfortunate," said the teacher, knitting his brows in perplexity. "When are you to be brought to trial?"
"To-morrow, I hear."
"Well, Luke, keep up a good heart and hope for the best."
"I mean to, sir."
It was decided that Luke should remain until his trial in the personal custody of Constable Perkins. Except for the name of it, his imprisonment was not very irksome, for the Perkins family treated him as an honored guest, and Mrs. Perkins prepared a nicer supper than usual. When Mr. Perkins went out he said to his wife, with a quizzical smile: "I leave Luke in your charge. Don't let him run away."
"I'll look out for that," said Mrs. Perkins, smiling.
"Perhaps I had better leave you a pistol, my dear?"
"I am afraid I should not know how to use it."
"You might tie my hands," suggested Luke.
"That wouldn't prevent your walking away."
"Then my feet."
"It won't be necessary, husband," said Mrs. Perkins. "I've got the poker and tongs ready."
But, though treated in this jesting manner, Luke could not help feeling a little anxious. For aught he knew, the tin box taken from his mother's trunk might be the same which had been stolen from the bank. In that case Roland Reed was not likely to appear again, and his story would be disbelieved. It was a strange one, he could not help admitting to himself. Yet he could not believe that the mysterious stranger was a burglar. If he were, it seemed very improbable that he would have left his booty within half a mile of the bank, in the very village where the theft had been committed. It was all very queer, and he could not see into the mystery.
"I should like to do something," thought Luke. "It's dull work sitting here with folded hands."
"Isn't there something I can do, Mrs. Perkins?" he said. "I am not used to sitting about the house idle."
"Well, you might make me some pies," said Mrs. Perkins.
"You'd never eat them if I did. I can boil eggs and fry potatoes. Isn't there some wood to saw and split?"
"Plenty out in the shed."
"I understand that, at any rate. Have you any objection to my setting to work?"
"No, if you won't run away."
"Send out Charlie to watch me."
Charlie was a youngster about four years of age, and very fond of Luke, who was a favorite with most young children.
"Yes, that will do. Charlie, go into the shed and see Luke saw wood."
"Yes, mama."
"Don't let him run away."
"No, I won't," said Charlie, gravely.
Luke felt happier when he was fairly at work. It took his mind off his troubles, as work generally does, and he spent a couple of hours in the shed. Then Mrs. Perkins came to the door and called him.
"Luke," she said, "a young lady has called to see the prisoner."
"A young lady! Who is it?"
"Florence Grant."
Luke's face brightened up with pleasure; he put on his coat and went into the house.
"Oh, Luke, what a shame!" exclaimed Florence, hastening to him with extended hand. "I only just heard of it."
"Then you're not afraid to shake hands with a bank burglar?" said Luke.
"No, indeed! What nonsense it is! Who do you think told me of your arrest?"
"Randolph Duncan."
"You have guessed it."
"What did he say? Did he seem to be shocked at my iniquity?"
"I think he seemed glad of it. Of course, he believes you guilty."
"I supposed he would, or pretend to, at any rate. I think his father is interested to make me out guilty. I hope you don't think there is any chance of it?"
"Of course not, Luke. I know you too well. I'd sooner suspect Randolph. He wanted to know what I thought of you now."
"And what did you answer?"
"That I thought the same as I always had—that you were one of the best boys in the village. 'I admire your taste,' said Randolph, with a sneer. Then I gave him a piece of my mind."
"I should like to have heard you, Florence."
"I don't know; you have no idea what a virago I am when I am mad. Now sit down and tell me all about it."
Luke obeyed, and the conversation was a long one, and seemed interesting to both. In the midst of it Linton Tomkins came in.
"Have you come to see the prisoner, also, Linton?" asked Florence.
"Yes, Florence. What a desperate-looking ruffian he is! I don't dare to come too near. How did you break into the bank, Luke?"
First Luke smiled, then he became grave. "After all, it is no joke to me, Linny," he said. "Think of the disgrace of being arrested on such a charge."
"The disgrace is in being a burglar, not in being arrested for one, Luke. Of course, it's absurd. Father wants me to say that if you are bound over for trial he will go bail for you to any amount."
"Your father is very kind, Linny. I may need to avail myself of his kindness."
The next day came, and at ten o'clock, Luke, accompanied by Constable Perkins, entered the room in which Squire Duncan sat as trial justice. A considerable number of persons were gathered, for it was a trial in which the whole village was interested. Among them was Mrs. Larkin, who wore an anxious, perturbed look.
"Oh, Luke," she said sorrowfully, "how terrible it is to have you here!"
"Don't be troubled, mother," said Luke. "We both know that I am innocent, and I rely on God to stand by me."
"Luke," said Mr. Beane, "though I am a bank trustee, I am your friend and believe you innocent. I will act as your lawyer."
"Thank you, Mr. Beane. I shall be very glad to accept your services."
The preliminary proceedings were of a formal character. Then Miss Melinda Sprague was summoned to testify. She professed to be very unwilling to say anything likely to injure her good friends, Luke and his mother, but managed to tell, quite dramatically, how she first caught a glimpse of the tin box.
"Did Mrs. Larkin know that you saw it?" asked the squire.
"She didn't know for certain," answered Melinda, "but she was evidently afraid I would, for she shut the trunk in a hurry, and seemed very much confused. I thought of this directly when I heard of the bank robbery, and I went over to tell Luke and his mother."
"How did they receive your communication?"
"They seemed very much frightened."
"And you inferred that they had not come honestly by the tin box?"
"It grieves me to say that I did," said Melinda, putting her handkerchief to her eyes to brush away an imaginary tear.
Finally Melinda sat down, and witnesses were called to testify to Luke's good character. There were more who wished to be sworn than there was time to hear. Mr. Beane called only Mr. Hooper, Mr. Tomkins and Luke's Sunday-school teacher. Then he called Luke to testify in his own defense.
Luke told a straightforward story—the same that he had told before—replying readily and easily to any questions that were asked him.
"I submit, Squire Duncan," said Mr. Beane, "that my client's statement is plain and frank and explains everything. I hold that it exonerates him from all suspicion of complicity with the robbery."
"I differ with you," said Squire Duncan, acidly. "It is a wild, improbable tale, that does not even do credit to the prisoner's invention. In my opinion, this mysterious stranger has no existence. Is there any one besides himself who has seen this Roland Reed?"
At this moment there was a little confusion at the door. A tall, dark-complexioned stranger pushed his way into the court-room. He advanced quickly to the front.
"I heard my name called," he said. "There is no occasion to doubt my existence. I am Roland Reed!"
The effect of Roland Reed's sudden appearance in the court-room, close upon the doubt expressed as to his existence, was electric. Every head was turned, and every one present looked with eager curiosity at the mysterious stranger. They saw a dark-complexioned, slender, but wiry man, above the middle height, with a pair of keen black eyes scanning, not without sarcastic amusement, the faces turned toward him.
Luke recognized him at once.
"Thank God!" he ejaculated, with a feeling of intense relief. "Now my innocence will be made known."
Squire Duncan was quite taken aback. His face betrayed his surprise and disappointment.
"I don't know you," he said, after a pause.
"Perhaps not, Mr. Duncan," answered the stranger, in a significant tone, "but I know you."
"Were you the man who gave this tin box to the defendant?"
"Wouldn't it be well, since this is a court, to swear me as a witness?" asked Roland Reed, quietly.
"Of course, of course," said the squire, rather annoyed to be reminded of his duty by this stranger.
This being done, Mr. Beane questioned the witness in the interest of his client.
"Do you know anything about the tin box found in the possession of Luke Larkin?" he asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Did you commit it to his charge for safe-keeping?"
"I did."
"Were you previously acquainted with Luke?"
"I was not."
"Was it not rather a singular proceeding to commit what is presumably of considerable value to an unknown boy?"
"It would generally be considered so, but I do many strange things. I had seen the boy by daylight, though he had never seen me, and I was sure I could trust him."
"Why, if you desired a place of safe-keeping for your box, did you not select the bank vaults?"
Roland Reed laughed, and glanced at the presiding justice.
"It might have been stolen," he said.
"Does the box contain documents of value?"
"The contents are valuable to me, at any rate."
"Mr. Beane," said Squire Duncan, irritably, "I think you are treating the witness too indulgently. I believe this box to be the one taken from the bank."
"You heard the remark of the justice," said the lawyer. "Is this the box taken from the bank?"
"It is not," answered the witness, contemptuously, "and no one knows this better than Mr. Duncan."
The justice flushed angrily.
"You are impertinent, witness," he said. "It is all very well to claim this box as yours, but I shall require you to prove ownership."
"I am ready to do so," said Roland Reed, quietly. "Is that the box on the table?"
"It is."
"Has it been opened?"
"No; the key has disappeared from the bank."
"The key is in the hands of the owner, where it properly belongs. With the permission of the court, I will open the box."
"I object," said Squire Duncan, quickly.
"Permit me to say that your refusal is extraordinary," said Mr. Beane, pointedly. "You ask the witness to prove property, and then decline to allow him to do so."
Squire Duncan, who saw that he had been betrayed into a piece of folly, said sullenly: "I don't agree with you, Mr. Beane, but I withdraw my objection. The witness may come forward and open the box, if he can."
Roland Reed bowed slightly, advanced to the table, took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and inserting one of the smallest in the lock easily opened the box.
Those who were near enough, including the justice, craned their necks forward to look into the box.
The box contained papers, certificates of stock, apparently, and a couple of bank-books.
"The box missing from the vault contained government bonds, as I understand, Squire Duncan?" said the lawyer.
"Yes," answered the justice, reluctantly.
"Are there any government bonds in the box, Mr. Reed."
"You can see for yourself, sir."
The manner of the witness toward the lawyer was courteous, though in the tone in which he addressed the court there had been a scarcely veiled contempt.
"I submit, then, that my young client has been guilty of no wrong. He accepted the custody of the box from the rightful owner, and this he had a clear right to do."
"How do you know that the witness is the rightful owner of the box?" demanded the justice, in a cross tone. "He may have stolen it from some other quarter."
"There is not a shadow of evidence of this," said the lawyer, in a tone of rebuke.
"I am not sure but that he ought to be held."
"You will hold me at your peril, Mr. Duncan," said the witness, in clear, resolute tones. "I have a clear comprehension of my rights, and I do not propose to have them infringed."
Squire Duncan bit his lips. He had only a smattering of law, but he knew that the witness was right, and that he had been betrayed by temper into making a discreditable exhibition of himself.
"I demand that you treat me with proper respect," he said angrily.
"I am ready to do that," answered the witness, in a tone whose meaning more than one understood. It was not an apology calculated to soothe the ruffled pride of the justice.
"I call for the discharge of my young client, Squire Duncan," said the lawyer. "The case against him, as I hardly need say, has utterly failed."
"He is discharged," said the justice, unwillingly.
Instantly Luke's friends surrounded him and began to shower congratulations upon him. Among them was Roland Reed.
"My young friend," he said, "I am sincerely sorry that by any act of mine I have brought anxiety and trouble upon you. But I can't understand how the fact that you had the box in your possession became known."
This was explained to him.
"I have a proposal to make to you and your mother," said Roland Reed, "and with your permission I will accompany you home."
"We shall be glad to have you, sir," said Mrs. Larkin, cordially.
As they were making their way out of the court-room, Melinda Sprague, the cause of Luke's trouble, hurried to meet them. She saw by this time that she had made a great mistake, and that her course was likely to make her generally unpopular. She hoped to make it up with the Larkins.
"I am so glad you are acquitted, Luke," she began effusively. "I hope, Mrs. Larkin, you won't take offense at what I did. I did what I thought to be my duty, though with a bleeding heart. No one is more rejoiced at dear Luke's vindication."
"Miss Sprague," said she, "if you think you did your duty, let the consciousness of that sustain you. I do not care to receive any visits from you hereafter."
"How cruel and unfeeling you are, Mrs. Larkin," said the spinster, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.
Mrs. Larkin did not reply.
Miss Sprague found herself so coldly treated in the village that she shortly left Groveton on a prolonged visit to some relatives in a neighboring town. It is to be feared that the consciousness of having done her duty did not wholly console her. What she regretted most, however, was the loss of the reward which she had hoped to receive from the bank.
Luke and his mother, accompanied by Roland Reed, took their way from the court-room to the widow's modest cottage.
"You may take the tin box, Luke," said the stranger, "if you are not afraid to keep in your charge what has given you so much trouble."
"All's well that ends well!" said Luke.
"Yes; I don't think it will occasion you any further anxiety."
Roland Reed walked in advance with Mrs. Larkin, leaving Luke to follow.
"What sort of a man is this Mr. Duncan?" he asked abruptly.
"Squire Duncan?"
"Yes, if that is his title."
"He is, upon the whole, our foremost citizen," answered the widow, after a slight hesitation.
"Is he popular?"
"I can hardly say that."
"He is president of the bank, is he not?"
"Yes."
"How long has he lived in Groveton?"
"Nearly twenty years."
"Was he born in this neighborhood?"
"I think he came from the West."
"Does he say from what part of the western country?"
"He says very little about his past life."
Roland Reed smiled significantly.
"Perhaps he has his reasons," he said meditatively.
"Is he thought to be rich?" he asked, after a pause.
"Yes, but how rich no one knows. He is taxed for his house and grounds, but he may have a good deal of property besides. It is generally thought he has."
"He does not appear to be friendly toward your son."
"No," answered Mrs. Larkin, with a trace of indignation, "though I am sure he has no cause to dislike him. He seemed convinced that Luke had come by your tin box dishonestly."
"It seemed to me that he was prejudiced against Luke. How do you account for it?"
"Perhaps his son, Randolph, has influenced him."
"So he has a son—how old?"
"Almost Luke's age. He thinks Luke beneath him, though why he should do so, except that Luke is poor, I can't understand. Not long since there was a skating match for a prize of a Waterbury watch, offered by the grammar-school teacher, which Luke would have won had not Randolph arranged with another boy to get in his way and leave the victory to him."
"So Randolph won the watch?"
"Yes."
"I suppose he had a watch of his own already."
"Yes, a silver one, while Luke had none. This makes it meaner in him."
"I don't mind it now, mother," said Luke, who had overheard the last part of the conversation. "He is welcome to his watches—I can wait."
"Has Squire Duncan shown his hostility to Luke in any other way?" inquired the stranger.
"Yes; Luke has for over a year been janitor at the school-house. It didn't bring much—only a dollar a week—but it was considerable to us. Lately Squire Duncan was appointed on the school committee to fill a vacancy, and his first act was to remove Luke from his position."
"Not in favor of his son, I conclude."
Luke laughed.
"Randolph would be shocked at the mere supposition," he said. "He is a young man who wears kid gloves, and the duties of a school janitor he would look upon as degrading."
"I really think, Luke, you have been badly treated," said Roland Reed, with a friendly smile.
"I have thought so, too, sir, but I suppose I have no better claim to the office than any other boy."
"You needed the income, however."
"Yes, sir."
By this time they were at the door of the cottage.
"Won't you come in, sir?" asked Mrs. Larkin, cordially.
"Thank you. I will not only do so, but as I don't care to stay at the hotel, I will even crave leave to pass the night under your roof."
"If you don't mind our poor accommodations, you will be very welcome."
"I am not likely to complain, Mrs. Larkin. I have not been nursed in the lap of luxury. For two years I was a California miner, and camped out. For that long period I did not know what it was to sleep in a bed. I used to stretch myself in a blanket, and lie down on the ground."
"You won't have to do that here, Mr. Reed," said Luke, smiling. "But it must have been great fun."
"How can you say so, Luke?" expostulated his mother. "It must have been very uncomfortable, and dangerous to the health."
"I wouldn't mind it a bit, mother," said Luke, stoutly.
Roland Reed smiled.
"I am not surprised that you and your mother regard the matter from different points of view," he said. "It is only natural. Women are not adapted to roughing it. Boys like nothing better, and so with young men. But there comes a time—when a man passes forty—when he sets a higher value on the comforts of life. I don't mind confessing that I wouldn't care to repeat my old mining experiences."
"I hope you were repaid for your trouble and privations, sir."
"Yes, I was handsomely repaid. I may soon be as rich as your local magnate, Prince Duncan, but I have had to work harder for it, probably."
"So you know the squire's name?" said Mrs. Larkin, in some surprise.
"I must have heard it somewhere," remarked Roland Reed. "Have I got it right?"
"Yes; it's a peculiar name."
When they reached the cottage Mrs. Larkin set about getting supper. In honor of her guest she sent out for some steak, and baked some biscuit, so that the table presented an inviting appearance when the three sat down to it. After supper was over, Roland Reed said: "I told you that I wished to speak to you on business, Mrs. Larkin. It is briefly this: Are you willing to receive a boarder?"
"I am afraid, sir, that you would hardly be satisfied with our humble accommodations."
"Oh, I am not speaking of myself, but of a child. I am a widower, Mrs. Larkin, and have a little daughter eight years of age. She is now boarding in New York, but I do not like the people with whom I have placed her. She is rather delicate, also, and I think a country town would suit her better than the city air. I should like to have her under just such nice motherly care as I am sure you would give her."
"I shall be very glad to receive her," said Mrs. Larkin, with a flush of pleasure.
"And for the terms?"
"I would rather you would name them, sir."
"Then I will say ten dollars a week."
"Ten dollars!" exclaimed the widow, in amazement. "It won't be worth half that."
"I don't pay for board merely, but for care and attendance as well. She may be sick, and that would increase your trouble."
"She would in that case receive as much care as if she were my own daughter; but I don't ask such an exorbitant rate of board."
"It isn't exorbitant if I choose to pay it, Mrs. Larkin," said Mr. Reed, smiling. "I am entirely able to pay that price, and prefer to do so."
"It will make me feel quite rich, sir," said the widow, gratefully. "I shall find it useful, especially as Luke has lost his situation."
"Luke may find another position."
"When do you wish your daughter to come?" asked Mrs. Larkin.
"Luke will accompany me to the city to-morrow, and bring her back with him. By the way, I will pay you four weeks in advance."
He drew four ten-dollar bills from his pocket and put them into the widow's hand.
"I am almost afraid this is a dream," said Mrs. Larkin. "You have made me very happy."
"You mustn't become purse-proud, mother," said Luke, "because you have become suddenly rich."
"Can you be ready to take the first train to New York with me in the morning, Luke?" asked Roland Reed.
"Yes, sir; it starts at half-past seven."
"Your breakfast will be ready on time," said the widow, "and Luke will call you."