Chapter V: Part 5

The children agreed, though they did not look very well satisfied, for they had set their hearts on giving the warm garment to Mary themselves. Suddenly Maggie looked up at her mother as if a bright thought had come into her mind, and said, eagerly,--

"Mamma, Mary said she used to wear her mother's shawl when Jemmy did not need it. Suppose you were to buy the comfortable, and then the shawl will be at liberty for Mary, and by and by, when we have enough, _we_ can buy the sack."

Mamma said this would do very well, and so it was arranged. Then she told them that if they wished, she would continue to give them the glove-money each month, and what they saved from it they might still spend for others who were in need; for Mrs. Bradford agreed with Maggie that this plan had been of service to her little girl, and thought it would be well to keep on with it, since it was teaching her to be thoughtful and careful herself, in order that she might be of use to others; and good habits once formed are not easy to lose.

That evening, when papa came home, he brought some glossy, crisp, new bank-notes, which he offered to Maggie and Bessie in exchange for some of the smaller money in their box. They were quite ready to take them, they were so clean and pretty; and taking out two dollars in change, Mr. Bradford put in two one dollar notes.

XII.

_A VISITOR._

A day or two after this, a lady and gentleman named Moore came to make a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Bradford. They brought with them their son George, a boy about Harry's age. What kind of a boy he was may be known from a conversation between Harry and Fred on the first evening of the Moores' visit.

"Harry," said Fred, as they were undressing for bed, "what do you think of that chap?"

"Who,--George?" said Harry; "I don't fancy him, though it's scarcely fair to judge yet; but I don't think there's much in him. He's a Miss Nancy-ish sort of a fellow."

"There's not much in him of the right sort," said Fred, savagely; "but there's plenty of another kind; and if he tries it on here, I'll have it out of him."

"Halloa!" said Harry; "what has set you up that way, Frederick the Great? What would papa say to hear you speaking so of a guest in his house?"

"I don't care," said Fred; "guest or no guest, I am not going to have any fellow playing shabby tricks on our Midget and Bess. It is a man's duty to stand up for his mother and sisters. I tease the girls myself sometimes I know, more shame for me, but you will allow I haven't done it so much lately, Hal; I couldn't since Bess told me gemperlums didn't tease;" and Fred began to laugh; "but I never played mean tricks on them, and I sha'n't let any chap that's nothing to them. He'd better let them alone, or I'll fix him, that's all."

"But what has he done?" asked Harry. "Seeing he is a visitor, you ought not to talk so about him without some special good reason."

"Reason!" repeated Fred, pulling off his jacket and tossing it upon a distant chair; "there's special reason enough; if that is all you want, I'll tell you. The first thing, this evening, while the grown-upers were at dinner and you were studying in the library, he was playing jackstraws with Maggie and Bessie. I thought it did not seem very polite to leave him alone with the little girls; so, as I had done all my lessons but the copying of my sums, I took my slate to the parlor table. I suppose he thought I was not noticing his play, but I soon found him out. First place, he said they were to throw from the height of their fists, his being twice as big as either of the girls. Presently he told Bessie that she joggled. I couldn't see that she did, but I said nothing. It was the same thing with Maggie. She had only taken off one or two, when he stopped her. Midget was quite sure that she had not shaken, and so was I; but he declared that he had seen it. Pretty soon he gave an awful shake himself, but the girls were looking away, and did not see it. He looked up at them, and seeing they did not notice it, went on playing without a word. The next time he told Bessie she shook, she laid down the hook with a little sigh, and said, in her innocent way, 'We always shake when we don't see; please to 'scuse us, because we don't mean to.' Maggie declared that Bessie had not shaken, and insisted that she should go on; and what do you think the mean fellow did then? He blew upon the jack-straws as Bess went to draw one out; so, of course, they went. 'Then I did shake,' said Bessie. Of course, he won the game by ever so many. 'It's very funny we shook so much when we didn't see,' said Midget. 'You should look sharp,' he answered. So then I put in. 'It don't do to have more than one too sharp in a game,' I said. He took, and after that did not care to play any more. Now, is he not a mean sneak to trick two little girls?"

"That he is," answered Harry, indignantly; "but still it wont do for you to make a row with him, Fred."

"That's not all," said Fred. "You know when Maggie spilled that spoonful of ice-cream over herself at dessert, and a little went on Mrs. Moore's dress? Well, it was all George's doing. Just as she went to lift it to her lips, he jerked her arm with his elbow, and away went the spoon. Then mamma said, 'Maggie, how could you be so careless, my dear?' and Mrs. Moore looked like a thunder-cloud; but he never had the honesty to own up, even when Meg turned and looked at him with great, wide-open eyes, as if she expected him to speak. Papa suspected something, I know, for he called Maggie to him, and made her stay at his side, not a bit as if he thought it was her carelessness. He had better look out for himself, that's all; for if he tries much more of that game, he'll find me pitching into him."

"You wont fight him?" said Harry.

"Yes, I will fight him, too, if he plagues our girls, or cheats them."

"You know what papa thinks of fighting, Fred; and what will he say if you quarrel with a boy who is a guest in our own house?"

"I'll guest him if he don't mind his p's and q's," said Fred, scrambling into bed in his usual headlong fashion. "I say, Hal, couldn't you give him a hint in the morning that we wont stand such doings? You're a better hand to do it than I am. You'll keep your temper, and I sha'n't."

"I'll see," said Harry, who was desirous to keep the peace between his brother and the visitor, and who knew that Fred's hot temper, and contempt for all meanness, would be very apt to lead him into trouble with such a boy as he perceived George to be.

"There's his mother, too," said Fred, "telling mamma that 'she felt it was a great risk to bring him from home, he was such a good boy, so free from all bad habits. She had never allowed him to play with other children, as she thought they _contaminated each other_; and she was glad he seemed to prefer girls' society.' Bosh! He 'prefers the girls' society' because he can come it over them, and he can't over us. His father has more of the right stuff in him. He said, 'it was time George was thrown with other boys, and allowed to take his share of rough and tumble.' But I sha'n't trouble him if he don't provoke me too much, only you tell him we wont stand seeing our sisters ill-treated."

But although Harry did as Fred asked, there was trouble before the day was half over. Mr. Moore gave his son permission to go out to the park during the recess of the school which the boys attended. Before the half-hour was up, George rushed into the house crying loudly, and with his lip cut and bleeding. He made such an outcry that the whole family were very much alarmed; but when his mouth was washed, it proved to be but a slight cut, and nurse declared to Jane that Franky would have been ashamed to make a fuss for such a trifle.

"Fred had done it," he said. "Fred wanted to fight, and he would not. He had never fought in his life. He'd be ashamed to say he had."

Mrs. Bradford was very much troubled; but she waited to hear her own son's side of the story before she judged him. Mrs. Moore, however, had a great deal to say.

When Fred came home, two hours later, his hand was bound up in his pocket-handkerchief.

"How have you hurt your hand, Fred?" asked his father. "Is it true you have been fighting?"

"Yes, sir."

"Without just cause, as George says?"

"I had cause enough, sir, if that was all," said Fred, rather sulkily for him.

"That he had," said Harry. "You'd have been ready to fight yourself, sir. I'll tell you how it was. George is not fair and above board, as we found out last night. So when he came out to the play-ground, I just told him we would allow no unfair play, and he did not try it. But after a while he said he did not care to play with such a rough set, and walked off by himself. I thought I ought to go and see after him, and found him shying stones at the sparrows about the water-tanks. I told him he had better have done with that, or he would have an M. P. down on him. Then he said he guessed he'd go home. First thing I knew a few minutes after, he was howling, and Fred had him by the collar. It seems poor Charlie Wagstaff--poor, hump backed little Charlie--was sitting on a bench reading, when my gentleman George passed by and saw him. He began by throwing gravel over Charley's head and neck, not thinking he was one of our boys, and that not a fellow in the school would see him abused, and at last, getting bolder, snatched his book, and threw it over the park railing. It was a borrowed book, and the poor boy took his crutches and started after it. Then George began dancing about him, and calling him 'Old hipperty hop,' and such names. Fred, who saw them from a distance, feared something was wrong, and ran to the spot just in time to see him pull Charlie's crutch from under him, throw him on the ground, and then run. But Fred collared him, and in his quick way, just let fly and hit him in the mouth. He came off the worst, though, for his knuckles were cut by George's teeth, and _he_ was not so much hurt. George went off roaring, and that moment the whistle sounded, and we had to go in. It was writing hour, and when Mr. Peters saw Fred's bleeding knuckles, he asked him if he had been fighting. He said, 'Yes,' and Mr. Peters was going to keep him in, when Charlie spoke up, and told the whole story. Mr. Peters said we all knew how strict the rules against fighting in play-hours were; but he really thought, in this case, Fred was almost excusable, and asked how many agreed with him. Up went every hand in the school, and I don't think he was ill-pleased either. So he excused Fred, and told me to tell you why he had done so; and I don't believe you'll be the one to blame him, papa."

Mr. Bradford was certainly not disposed to be severe with his boy, but he talked to him a little on the evils resulting from his hasty temper, and readiness to give a blow when a word would answer.

"I am not inclined to punish or reprove you under the circumstances, my son," he said, "but you have made some discomfort for your mother and me, as well as for yourself, by your hasty conduct. It is not pleasant to feel that a son of ours has so conducted himself to the child of our friends, however great the provocation; and you have forgotten the laws of hospitality in attacking one who is a guest beneath your father's roof."

"I'll go and shake hands with him this minute," said Fred. "I did forget who and what he was, that's true, though I'll own I have been afraid I should serve him out ever since he has been in the house."

And Fred went directly to find George and make peace with him. George was unwilling to shake hands, and Mrs. Moore did not look very kindly at Fred, but Mr. Moore insisted that his son should make friends and receive Fred's apology. Neither Harry nor Fred told Mr. and Mrs. Moore of George's misconduct towards Charlie, and he was not honorable enough to tell himself, leaving his parents to suppose it was only Fred's quarrelsome temper that had been to blame.

After this, George kept himself rather apart from the other boys, spending most of his time with Maggie and Bessie, who did not like him much, they could scarcely tell why, but who were very polite to him. Flossy did not like him either, but he showed it very plainly, barking at him whenever he saw him, and if George came near to him scrambling into the children's arms or running under Mrs. Bradford's skirt, where he would keep up a low snarling or woof, wooffing, which was very unmannerly.

Just about this time Mrs. Bradford found that one of Maggie's second teeth was making its appearance behind the first tooth, which was not yet loosened to give place to it. She was afraid that the new tooth would come crooked, and so spoil the looks of Maggie's mouth, and she said she thought she must take her to the dentist and have the old one drawn.

Now Maggie had a great horror of the dentist. Unfortunately, she had once been taken there by grandmamma when Aunt Annie was to have a tooth drawn. Maggie had happened to be in the carriage, and without thinking much about it, Mrs. Stanton had allowed her to go in with them. The tooth was a hard one to draw, and poor Aunt Annie fainted and was very sick, while no one thought of the little frightened child who stood trembling in a corner of the room, thinking that the dentist had killed her dear aunt. Afterwards Aunt Annie took cold in her face, and suffered very much because she foolishly went out too soon; but Maggie thought it all the fault of the poor dentist. After that, whenever her dolls were ill, it was always because they had been to the dentist. They had smallpox, scarlet fever, measles, and broken legs and arms, and were even deaf, dumb, and blind all through the fault of the dentist. Mrs. Bradford was very sorry for this, as she feared it would make trouble with Maggie when her teeth should need any attention; and so it proved, for when she told her she thought she must take her to Dr. Blake, Maggie turned very white.

"It will not be much, dearest," said her mother. "It is a little first tooth, and the pain will be over in a moment."

"Mamma," said Maggie. "I would rather have my mouth ever so ugly than have it out."

"Perhaps you do not care now, Maggie, but when you are a young lady, you will not thank your mother for allowing your teeth to grow crooked in order that she might spare you a moment's pain now."

Maggie said no more, but for the rest of the day she looked so troubled, and she and Bessie had such anxious whisperings, and there was so much feeling and touching of the tooth that was to be lost, that Mrs. Bradford told her husband that she should take her to Dr. Blake the first thing in the morning, that she might have no more time to think about it.

"Maggie," said Mr. Bradford, calling her to him just as he was going down town the next morning,--"Maggie, do you want to earn a dollar?"

"Oh, yes, papa!" and Mr. Bradford smiled as he saw the troubled face light up for a moment.

"You and Bessie are going to be great money-makers," he said. "You must not grow too fond of it, or learn to love it for its own sake. If, when I come home this afternoon, you have a little white tooth to show me, I shall pay you a dollar for it."

"And can I do what I like with it, papa?"

"Yes, whatever you please. You may spend it for Christmas presents or for something for yourself,--just which you choose."

But Maggie did not mean to do either. She thanked and kissed her father, and was off to tell her mother and Bessie.

"There's a whole another dollar for Mary's sack," she said, "now she'll have it all the sooner." And she kept up her courage very well till they drove up to the dentist's stoop. Then Mrs. Bradford felt the little hand she held squeezing her own very tightly, and Maggie looked up in her face with a quivering lip. "I have to think very much about Mary's sack not to cry, mamma," she said.

"You are my own dear, courageous little girl," said Mrs. Bradford, "and it will soon be over now." She was very sorry for Maggie, for she knew this was a hard trial for her, and wished very much that she could bear it in her place; but since this was not possible, all she could do was to help her to bear it bravely.

Dr. Blake was at home and disengaged, and he was so kind and gentle that Maggie was quite ashamed of feeling afraid of him.

"You don't say this little maid has any need of me?" he said.

Mrs. Bradford told what was the trouble, and took off Maggie's hat; the dentist lifted her into the chair, and told her to open her mouth. She gave a long sigh and obeyed, holding on tightly to her mother's hand. Dr. Blake looked into her mouth for a moment, and then patting her on the head, said to Mrs. Bradford,--

"It's all right enough, madam; the first tooth will be loose in a few days, when you may pull it with a thread, and the second will come quite straight. No need for any pulling of mine."

As soon as Maggie understood the tooth was not to come out, she looked very much delighted, then grave again. "If it is not too much trouble, sir," she said, "will you please to take it out."

"Why, you surely don't want to have it drawn for the fun of it!" said the dentist.

"No, sir; but for another reason." Maggie was too shy to tell what that reason was.

Since there was nothing to be done with the tooth, Mrs. Bradford put on Maggie's hat and the doctor lifted her down from the great chair.

"Mamma," she said, as they left the house, "I shall never make my dolls sick again because they went to the dentist. Why, I think he is just as nice as other gentlemen, and I felt real sorry I was so afraid of him."

While Mrs. Bradford and Maggie were gone, Bessie stood by the parlor window looking very melancholy and watching for their return. She was very much troubled about her sister, and would not play with George or listen to the story which Jane offered to tell her, or do anything but think of Maggie. Presently she saw Mr. Hall coming down the street. He stopped at the stoop, looked up and nodded, and then came up the steps. Bessie slipped down from her chair and running to the front-door, called to Patrick, who was in the hall, to open it for her. She seized her kind old friend by the hand, and said, "Mr. Hall, we have a dreadful misfortune."

Mr. Hall was quite alarmed when he saw her sad little face, but when he had asked what the misfortune was, and heard that Maggie had gone to have a tooth drawn, he was very much relieved and rather amused. He took Bessie on his knee, and after she had told him how well Maggie had behaved, talked to her for a few moments, and then, saying that it was about time for her mother and Maggie to be back, left a message for her father, and went away.

Pretty soon mamma and Maggie came in, the latter, to her sister's surprise and delight, looking very bright; and lo! there was the tooth still in her head.

"But oh, our dollar! Bessie," said Maggie. "I am so sorry!"

"Never mind," said Bessie. "Maybe we can earn it some other way. I'm so glad you didn't be hurt, Maggie, dear."

"Where is that tooth I am to pay for?" said Mr. Bradford, when he came home that afternoon.

Maggie came to him, and opening her mouth, showed her pretty rice-grain still in its place.

"Halloa!" said papa. "Did your courage give out?"

"Dr. Blake wouldn't take it out, papa; not even when I begged him. And now you wont have to pay the dollar."

"I don't know about that," said papa. "I bought the tooth, and I did not say where I should keep it. It is not quite convenient for me to take care of it just at present; perhaps you would not object to giving it lodging in its present place for a while. But it belongs to me, remember; here is the price, and you are to take care that it does not bite threads or crack nuts, or do anything else which might damage it. It is mine, now, bought and paid for;" and as papa spoke, he handed Maggie a dollar-bill. "You quite deserve it, my little girl. It was no fault of yours that you did not keep your share of the bargain, and since you did all you could, I shall keep mine."

After Maggie had hugged and kissed her father till he was half stifled,--Bessie, too, doing her share at that business,--they ran for the money-box to put away the new note. She and Bessie were trying to count over their treasure when George came by.

"Whew!" he said. "Where did you get all that? Is it yours? What are you going to do with it?"

"We are going to do a purpose with it?" said Bessie, for neither of the children cared to tell George what that purpose was.

"Oh, to buy goodies and toys is your purpose, I suppose!"

"No," said Bessie. "It is not a foolish purpose like that;" and she said no more.

They let George help them count the money, however, for they could not do it correctly themselves, then put it all back in mamma's drawer. George had followed them, and saw where they placed it.

That evening a parcel was left at the door directed to Maggie, and when it was opened, there were two new books. In one was written, "For a brave little girl who has lost a tooth, from Grandpapa Hall;" in the other, "For the sister of the brave girl."

"Will you lend me one of your new books?" asked George, as Maggie and Bessie were saying "good-night."

"We can't," said Maggie. "We must not keep them, you know, 'cause I did not have my tooth out, and Grandpapa Hall meant it for that. We are going to give them back."

"Pshaw," said George; "he'll never know I should not think of such a thing as giving them up."

"I don't believe you would," Fred whispered to Harry.

"Why, that would be doing a story," said Bessie, and she drew away from George with a shocked look. "Why, George, I'm afraid your mother don't bring you up in the way you should go."

Fred and Harry laughed, but George was angry, and would not shake hands with Bessie, when, a moment later, she bade him good-night.

But Grandpapa Hall would not take back the books; he said, as papa had done, that they were meant for the brave girl who was willing to have her tooth drawn.

XIII.

_THE BANK-NOTES._

FROM the time that George had seen the children's money, he did not cease to think of it, and soon he began to wish for it.

"'Tis a shame," he said to himself; "those two little snips having such a lot of money, and here I have next to none. Father is so awful stingy about giving me money."

This was not true, for Mr. Moore would give his son money for any needful purpose; but as George was apt to waste his allowance, he gave him but a small one. George had been envious when he heard how much more Mr. Bradford gave his sons, and now when he saw what the little girls had earned, he kept saying to himself that he wished he had half or even a quarter of what was in that box. The wish grew stronger and stronger; then came the thought how easily he might get at it some time when there was no one in Mrs. Bradford's room. Then he began prying and watching and looking at the drawer where the money lay, thinking how fine it would be if he could only _wish_ the bank-notes out of it into his own pocket. Conscience whispered loudly, struggling with the evil spirit which was gaining such a hold upon him, but all in vain, he would not listen; and her voice grew fainter and fainter.

At last he resolved that he _would_ have some of that money, come what might, although he had in the mean while found out from the boys with what purpose the dear little girls were saving it. And "chance" (as he called it) threw a fine opportunity in his way.

"This bill is bad," said Mrs. Moore to her husband, one morning when George was in the room. "It was among those you gave me yesterday, and was refused in a store where I offered it."

Mr. Moore took it from her. "A counterfeit certainly," he said; "it is unmistakably bad. I wonder I should have been so careless as to take it." Then twisting it up, he tossed it among a heap of waste paper that lay in a little basket, for Mr. Moore was rather a careless man. That note should have been destroyed at once when he knew it was bad.

A terrible thought came into George's mind, and he did not shut it out. He lingered a moment behind his parents, and snatching the false note, thrust it far down in his pocket; then he followed to the breakfast-room. But he could eat nothing; the food lay untouched upon his plate. A guilty, almost _sick_ feeling took from him all appetite, made him hate the sight of those happy faces about the table, and think that every look which was turned upon him was full of anger and scorn. Once when Harry accidentally touched him, he clapped his hand over his pocket with a sudden fear that he was about to drag forth the note and expose him; and when tender-hearted little Bessie came to him, saying that, since he had eaten no breakfast, he should have half of her orange, he pushed her rudely from him, and would not take the gift she offered so prettily. His father reproved him sharply for his ill-manners, and his mother said she was sure George was not well, something had been wrong with him for two or three days; he must see the doctor.

Yes, something was wrong, very wrong with George, but it was not what his anxious mother thought; it was far worse than any sickness of the body; it was the evil of a bad heart, of a guilty purpose, and no doctor could cure him since he would not go to the great Physician. All the morning he crept about the house, wretched and uneasy, looking miserable enough to give cause for his mother's anxiety. Once or twice his wicked resolution almost gave way, and he half determined to throw away the note and think no more of the money in the box; but again the tempter whispered, drowning the feeble voice of conscience, and giving him many reasons why he should take what he wished for.

That afternoon he was left alone. His mother and Mrs. Bradford went out, taking Maggie and Bessie with them, leaving him behind at his own request. The boys were at school; his father and Mr. Bradford far away down town; it really seemed as if all had been arranged for him to carry out his purpose.

Rising from the sofa, upon which his mother had left him, he stole softly to the door and peeped out. How still the house was! He went slowly along the hall, watching the turn of the stairs lest a head should suddenly appear above it, reached Mrs. Bradford's door, pushed it open and entered. Now, quick--not a minute to lose. Hark! What is that? Nothing but old nurse crooning softly to her baby in the nursery.

Noiselessly he pulled open the drawer, lifted the box, the secret of which Maggie had showed him, from its corner, took out one of the fresh clean notes, and put in its place the crumpled, worthless bill his father had thrown aside that morning.

Whenever he had felt reproached for the meanness he was guilty of towards the dear little girls who had been so kind to him, he would say to himself that it was not at all likely they would suffer from it; probably the bad note would be paid away with the others; his father had taken it without noticing that it was false, why should not others do so? Even if it should be found out, Mr. Bradford would give his children another in the place of it; he was a rich man, a dollar was nothing to him.

He was about to put the box back, when the thought came to him, why take only one? Forgetting in his guilty haste that the loss of a second would make the change of the first more easily discovered, he touched the spring once more, took out another dollar, and then hastily replaced the box.

The deed once done, half his fears seemed to pass away. How easy it had been! No one had seen him, no one heard him; he was going away with his father and mother in two days, and probably no one would find out--the _theft_ he would not say to himself--he called it the _loss_.

While Mr. Moore was out, he thought that he had been careless in the matter of the false note, and when he came home, looked for it, that he might destroy it. But it was gone, and his wife could tell him nothing of it. He called George, and asked him if he had seen it. George hesitated, and seemed so confused that his father was sure he had it, and asked how he had dared take it, when he knew it to be bad.

"I only took it to play with," stammered George. "I am always playing store with Maggie and Bessie, and I thought it would be nice for money."

This was true, as Mr. Moore knew, and, more gently, he told his son to give him the note.

"I threw it away," said the wicked boy; "I thought maybe you would not like me to have it, and I put it in the fire."

"All right then," said Mr. Moore, "but why are you so frightened? you have done nothing so very wrong, though it would have been better if you had not touched the note, and I am myself to blame for leaving it where there was any probability that it might be turned to a bad use."

George was only too glad that he had escaped so easily, and had no feelings of sorrow for having deceived his kind, good father.

The rest of that day and the whole of the next passed, and he heard nothing to alarm him. Every one was more kind than usual to him, though he himself was restless and fretful, for all thought he was not well. He kept out of the way of the other children, and spent half his time lounging on the sofa in his mother's room. He would willingly have spent the whole of his time there, but he was tormented with the fear that something might have been discovered, and would go about among the family to make sure that all was safe.

"Mamma," said Maggie, dancing into her mother's room, on the morning of the third day,--"mamma, nurse says this is the tenth of the month."

"Well, Dimple, what of that?"

"Why, mamma, you know that is the day you give us the glove-money, and here are my gloves,--the best ones quite, quite good, and the second-best are very nice, too; Jane mended them yesterday; and here comes Bessie with hers, and they are _very_ nice; and I have had only one pair of boot-laces this month, mamma, and so do you not think we have enough for the log-cabin library, and for Mary's sack, too? We want to buy it and give it to her for Christmas, if you will let Jane make it. I think we shall have enough, mamma; don't you think so?"

Certainly her mother's name of "Dimple" was well suited to Maggie just then; for mouth, cheeks, and chin seemed running over with smiles, while her eyes looked as if they would dance out of her head. Nor was Bessie much less eager, as she stood beside her sister, and the four little hands each held up a pair of gloves.

"We will see," said mamma. "Papa is not quite ready to go down-stairs; we shall have time to count it up. I think you have over five dollars in your box, and these two,"--as she spoke, Mrs. Bradford took some money from her purse--"will make over seven. I think we shall manage to buy Mary's sack out of that."

She sat down upon a low chair, the children standing on each side, and taking the box from the drawer, emptied it into her lap.

"A pair of bootlaces for Maggie and one for Bessie, that leaves two dollars and fifteen cents for this month. Now here is--Why, what a crumpled note! How came this here?" and Mrs. Bradford took up the bill which George had vainly endeavored to smooth out. "I thought all those notes papa gave you were quite clean and fresh."

"So they were, mamma, nice and new and pretty; and, mamma, I am quite sure I did not muss that up so, and--Why there are only two bills, and we had three! I did not lose any, mamma,--I know I did not," said poor Maggie, all in a flutter, lest her mother should think this was some of her old carelessness.

"Do not be frightened, dear," said Mrs. Bradford; "no one is going to accuse you, or think you have been careless unless there is good reason for it. Henry, will you come here for one moment?"

Mr. Bradford came from his dressing-room, hair-brush in hand.

"Do you know anything of this bill? Have you changed any of the children's money?" asked his wife.

He took the note from her hand.

"This is a counterfeit, and a very poor one too," he said, the moment he looked at it. "Have either of you ever seen it before, children?"

"No, papa," said Maggie. "I know it is not one of our bills. We kept them just as nice as you gave them to us, and one is gone too."

"When did you last have out your money?" asked Mrs. Bradford.

"The day we went to the dentist's, mamma. When papa gave me the dollar that evening, I went for the box and put it in, and George counted the money for us, and there were three bills there, all clean and new."

"And we told Harry how much it was, and he put it in his little book," said Bessie; "he always keeps how much we have in his little book, mamma."

"Some one has meddled with it," said Mr. Bradford. "The notes I gave the children were all new ones on the ---- Bank."

"Will we never find our own dollars, do you think, papa?" said Maggie, with a very long face.

"Yes, indeed, my darling,--at least, you shall have others in their place. This loss must not fall on you after all your efforts."

"I should have locked up the box," said Mrs. Bradford. "I wish I had taken your advice, Henry."

Mr. Bradford took from his pocket-book two other bank-notes, and gave them to the children.

"I do not wish you to speak of this to any one," he said to them; and they promised to obey.

Then mamma counted up all the money and it came to seven dollars, sixty-nine cents,--five for the library, and the rest for Mary's sack; for Mrs. Bradford said there was quite enough to buy some warm, cheap cloth, and she would let Jane make it at once, that it might be ready. They should go out with her that day and help choose the cloth.

Mr. Bradford carefully put away the counterfeit note, thinking that it might help to find out the guilty person, and when he went down-stairs, called Harry and Fred into the library.

"Harry," he said, "how much money was in the children's box when you counted it for them the other day?"

"Five dollars, sixty-nine cents, papa,--here it is written down;" and Harry, who was very neat and orderly in all his ways, pulled out his memorandum-book and read "M.'s and B.'s box, Dec. 5th, $5.69 cents." This was the sum which should have been in the box, and showed that the money had been taken within the last few days. Mr. Bradford told the boys of the loss, for he wished that they should know of it, but he charged them to be silent. Both he and his wife were very uncomfortable. There were one or two new servants in the house, but they had come with good characters, and there was no reason to think they had taken the money. None of them knew where it was kept, or the secret of the box. Only one besides their own children knew that.

XIV.

_DISCOVERY._

MR. and Mrs. Moore and their son were to leave early the next morning, and as the day passed on, and George heard nothing of the stolen money, he began to think the loss would not be found out till he had gone; and then, he thought, he should be quite safe. He did not dare to spend it now, lest the Bradford children should wonder where the money came from; but when he went home, he could easily do so without discovery. He had been visiting at his uncle's before he came here, and it would be very easy to say he had given it to him. The last time he had been there, his uncle had given him five dollars; but this time, nothing. There were, or there had been, more than five dollars in that box; why had he not taken it all? It was just as easy to say he had received five dollars as two; and when it was missed, it would be thought some of the servants had taken it, or that it had been lost through some of Maggie's carelessness. He had gone so far in sin now, that he did not hesitate to go deeper and deeper; and determined, if possible, to have the rest of the contents of the box.

That evening it seemed as if "chance," as he called it, was again about to favor him. Mrs. Stanton and Miss Annie were there, and after dinner all the ladies and the younger children were gathered in the parlor; while the two boys were at their lessons in the little study-room at the head of the stairs. Mr. Moore was out. Mr. Bradford had left the room a short time since, saying he, too, must go out for a while, and the servants, George knew, were at their tea. _Now_ was his time.

Making some excuse to leave the parlor, he ran up-stairs till he reached the first turning. The door of the study-room stood ajar. Pshaw! The boys would hear him. He peeped in. No one there but Harry, studying after his usual fashion, with his elbows on the table, his head between his hands, and his fingers thrust into his ears to shut out all sound that might take his attention from his book. Fred must have gone to his own room in the third story. He should hear him if he came down. Headlong, noisy Fred was sure to give notice of his coming.

But he must make haste. There is not a moment to lose. Almost forgetting his caution in his guilty hurry, he ran quickly up the few remaining steps, and along the hall to Mrs. Bradford's room. He stole in as he had done once before. The jet of gas in the burner over the dressing-bureau which held the coveted prize was turned down very low, but the bright fire dancing in the grate made the room quite light enough for his guilty purpose.

He opened the drawer and took up the box. How light it was! and there was no rattle of pennies, none of what dear little Maggie had called, in the joy of her heart, "her log-cabin music." He touched the spring, and the box flew open. Empty! He stood for a moment looking into it, then turned it up to the firelight to make sure there was nothing within. As he did so, he heard steps behind him; a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and looking up with a start, he saw Mr. Bradford's face sternly bent upon him, while at his elbow he met Fred's clear, honest eyes blazing with scorn and indignation. His own fell to the ground, and there he stood, like the mean, pitiful thing he was, trembling and cowering, the open box still in his hand.

There was a moment's silence, and then Fred broke forth.

"So it _was_ you, you rascal! you mean, sneaking, cowardly thief! You are the fellow that robs little girls of their hard-earned money! You--you--you--" Fred's passion was choking him.

"Hush, hush, my son!" said Mr. Bradford, sadly; "it is not for you to reproach this unhappy boy. Leave him to me. Go to your play, if you _can_ play after what you have seen."

Fred laid both his own hands on that which rested on George's shoulder. "Take your hand from him then, father; he is not fit to be touched by an honest man, by an honorable gentleman! A thief!"

"Go, go, Fred, and do not speak of this till you see me again."

Fred obeyed, as he knew he must when his father spoke in that tone.

"Now," said Mr. Bradford sternly to the guilty boy, "go in there;" and he pointed to the door of his dressing-room.

Trembling, and fearing he knew not what, but not daring to disobey, George did as he was told. Mr. Bradford followed, silently put beyond George's reach everything on which he might lay his hands, locked every drawer and closet, and then turned to leave the room.

George started forward. "What are you going to do?" he stammered.

"Leave you here till your father comes. I cannot deal with you, for, thank God, you are not my child."

"Oh, don't, don't!" said the wretched boy, falling on his knees. "Oh, I did not mean to--I was only looking--he will punish me so--I would not have taken--"

"Hush, hush," said Mr. Bradford, "and do not kneel to me. Do not add to your sin by trying to deny it, but think over what you have done; and when your poor father comes, be ready to make confession to him, and to the God against whom you have sinned."

"But don't tell father; he will be so angry; he minds such things so much. He--he never would forgive me."

"And yet the son of such a father could do this terrible thing? I grieve to tell him, George; rather, far rather, even for my own sake, would I pass over this in silence, and let you go unpunished; but it is a duty I owe to you, as well as to him, not to let you go on unchecked in sin. I see, too, poor boy, that it is the fear of punishment, not of distressing your kind father, which makes you so anxious that I should not tell him. You do not yet see your guilt, unhappy child; you only dread the pain and shame which it has brought upon yourself."

As Mr. Bradford ceased speaking, Mr. Moore's short, quick step was heard in the hall, and the next moment he rapped upon the door. Fred, going down-stairs, had met him coming in, and was asked where George was. He had answered, "Up-stairs;" but he had been so shocked and distressed by what he had seen that Mr. Moore had noticed his manner, and asked if anything were wrong with George. Fred would not say what the trouble was, but told Mr. Moore where he would find his son.

Mr. Bradford opened the door.

"Fred told me that George was here," said Mr. Moore, looking much disturbed. "What is wrong?" he asked, as he saw his son's guilty, miserable face.

"Will you tell your father, George, or shall I?" asked Mr. Bradford.

But George only cried and sobbed, saying, "he did not mean to--it was very hard--he was only looking"--till Mr. Moore once more asked Mr. Bradford to explain what all this meant.

Mr. Bradford told the story in as few words as possible,--how his little daughters had shown George the secret of the box, telling him why they were laying by the money; how that morning two of the notes had been missed, and the false one found in their place (as he spoke, taking the bill from his pocket-book and handing it to Mr. Moore); how Mrs. Bradford had put the rest of the money in a safer place; and lastly, how he and Fred had just seen George go to the drawer and take out the box, as if with the intention of adding to his sin by a new theft.

It was a hard thing for Mr. Bradford to do; he knew how he should feel himself if one of his own boys had done this. He was very much grieved for his friend, and when he had told all as gently as possible, he went away, and left him alone with his unhappy son. What passed between them it is not necessary to tell you. George would have denied his guilt even now, but the false note in his father's hand made this impossible.

Maggie and Bessie did not see him again, for Mr. and Mrs. Moore left the next morning at an hour even earlier than they had intended; for after this terrible sorrow had come upon them, they felt that they could not bear to meet any of Mr. Bradford's children again.

Perhaps you may like to know how Fred and his father discovered George's guilt. It so happened that Fred's quick temper had brought him into more trouble at school, and he did not know exactly how to act in the matter. He had finished his lessons, and was thinking this over when he heard his father come up-stairs and go to his dressing-room.

"I've a great mind to tell papa, and see what he says of it," he said to himself. To think and to do were with Fred one and the same thing; and the next moment he was with his father, asking if he would wait and hear his story. He might have been sure of that; Mr. Bradford always had time to spare if his children needed his help or advice.

Fred told his story, and they were sitting talking it over in low tones when George's step was heard in the next room. The dressing-room was quite in the shade, and though George neither saw nor heard those who were within, he himself was plainly seen through the open door, at his guilty work.

And now, like our Maggie and Bessie, we need have no more to do with this poor boy, and will take leave of him. The little girls were not told that the thief had been discovered. Their mother thought it would only shock and distress them, while it could serve no good purpose for them to know it. They wondered, and talked of it between themselves for a few days; and then there were so many pleasanter things to think of that they forgot all about it.

XV.

_THE SNOW._

THESE were indeed pleasant times, and very happy children were our Maggie and Bessie. The only trouble was that night would come, and put an end to first one and then another of these delightful days, and that, as Maggie said, they had to stop enjoying themselves "just to go to sleep."

"I wish the sun always shone in this country," she said, "and that night never, never came."

"What would the little children on the other side of the world say to that?" said papa. "If you had the ruling of day and night, and kept the sun all the time on one side, how do you think they would like to have it always night?"

"Oh! I did not think about that," said Maggie. "I suppose it would be pretty selfish. I guess I had better wish for two suns, one on our side, and one on theirs."

"Or, better still, rest satisfied that our heavenly Father has ordered all things, night and day, sun, moon, and stars, as is best for his own glory and the happiness and comfort of all his creatures," said Mr. Bradford. "I think even my wide-awake Maggie would tire of the light of the sun if it should shine for the twenty-four hours, day after day, and the quiet, blessed night never come, when we might close our tired eyes, and take the rest we need."

"Could we not sleep in the day-time if we were tired, papa?"

"We might sleep, but not as well or as pleasantly as we now do when all is dark and quiet."

"Then if I was to wish for two suns, I'd better wish we should never be tired or sleepy."

"So you might go on wishing forever, and if you had the power, changing first one and then another of the wise laws which our Father in heaven has made for the good of all. And what distress and confusion this would make! What a miserable, unhappy world this would be if you, or some other weak, human creature who cannot see the end from the beginning, and cannot tell what would be the consequence of his wishes, were allowed such power. No, we may thank God, not only that he does what is best for us, but also that he has allowed none but himself to be the judge of this."

"So I had better be contented to have the night as it is, papa; is that what you mean? Perhaps other people would not like to have things as I did, and they might think I was a very disagreeable child to have them my way; and I should not like that at all."

"I would not be glad if there was never any night," said Bessie, who was always more ready than her sister to go to rest.

"Then I wont wish it," said Maggie; "and I shall just always try to think 'our Father' knows best, even if I don't feel quite suited myself."

One afternoon, about dark, it began to snow, much to the children's delight; for grandmamma had promised a sleigh-ride whenever it should be possible. All night the soft, feathery flakes fell gently and steadily, so that in the morning the ground was covered thickly with a beautiful white mantle.