Dawkins could not prevent his face from flushing as he spoke, but this might easily be referred to a natural resentment of the imputation cast upon him.
"Paul," said his employer, coldly, "you will not help your own cause by seeking to involve another. After what has happened you can hardly expect me to retain you in my employment. I will not make public your disgrace, nor will I inquire farther for the remainder of the money for which you have been willing to barter your integrity. I will pay your wages up to the end of this week, and----"
"Mr. Danforth," said Paul, manfully, though the tears almost choked his utterance, "I am sorry that you have no better opinion of me. I do not want the balance of my wages. If I have taken so large a sum which did not belong to me, I have no claim to them. Good-morning, sir. Sometime I hope you will think better of me."
Paul put on his coat, and taking his cap from the nail on which it hung, bowed respectfully to his employer and left the office.
Mr. Danforth looked after him, and seemed perplexed. Could Paul be guilty after all?
"I never could have suspected him if I had not this evidence in my hand," said Mr. Danforth, to himself, fixing his eyes upon the bill which he had drawn from Paul's overcoat.
"Dawkins, did you observe whether Paul remained long in the office?" he asked,
"Longer than sufficient to lay the letters on the desk?"
"Yes, sir, I think he did."
"Did you notice whether he went to his overcoat after coming out?"
"Yes, sir, he did," said Dawkins, anxious to fix in Mr. Danforth's mind the impression of Paul's guilt.
"Then I am afraid it is true," said his employer sadly. "And yet, what a fine, manly boy he is too. But it is a terrible fault."
Mr. Danforth was essentially a kind-hearted man, and he cared much more for Paul's dereliction from honesty than for the loss of the money. Going home early to dinner, he communicated to his wife the unpleasant discovery which he had made respecting Paul.
Now, from the first, Paul had been a great favorite with Mrs. Danforth, and she scouted at the idea of his dishonesty.
"Depend upon it, Mr. Danforth," she said decisively, "you have done the boy an injustice. I have some skill in reading faces, and I tell you that a boy with Paul Prescott's open, frank expression is incapable of such a crime."
"So I should have said, my dear, but we men learn to be less trustful than you ladies, who stay at home and take rose-colored views of life. Unfortunately, we see too much of the dark side of human nature."
"So that you conclude all to be dark."
"Not so bad as that."
"Tell me all the circumstances, and perhaps a woman's wit may help you."
Mr. Danforth communicated all the details, with which the reader is already familiar.
"What sort of a boy is this Dawkins?" she asked, "Do you like him?"
"Not particularly. He does his duties passably well. I took him into my counting-room to oblige his father."
"Perhaps he is the thief."
"To tell the truth I would sooner have suspected him."
"Has he cleared himself from suspicion?"
"He was the first to suggest a search."
"Precisely the thing he would have done, if he had placed the bill in Paul's pocket. Of course he would know that the search must result favorably for him."
"There is something in that."
"Besides, what could have been more foolish, if Paul wished to hide the money, than to multiply his chances of detection by hiding it in two different places, especially where one was so obvious as to afford no concealment at all."
"Admitting this to be true, how am I to arrive at the proof of Paul's innocence?"
"My own opinion is, that George Dawkins has the greater part of the money stolen. Probably he has taken it for some particular purpose. What it is, you may learn, perhaps, by watching him."
"I will be guided by your suggestion. Nothing would afford me greater pleasure than to find that I have been mistaken in assuming Paul's guilt, though on evidence that seemed convincing."
This conversation took place at the dinner- table. Mr. Danforth understood that no time was to be lost if he expected to gain any information from the movements of his clerk.
George Dawkins had ventured upon a bold act, but he had been apparently favored by fortune, and had succeeded. That he should have committed this crime without compunction could hardly be expected. His uneasiness, however, sprang chiefly from the fear that in some way he might yet be detected. He resolved to get rid of the money which he had obtained dishonestly, and obtain back from Duval the acknowledgment of indebtedness which he had given him.
You will perhaps ask whether the wrong which he had done Paul affected him with uneasiness. On the contrary, it gratified the dislike which from the first he had cherished towards our hero.
"I am well rid of him, at all events," he muttered to himself, "that is worth risking some thing for."
When office hours were over Dawkins gladly threw down his pen, and left the counting-room.
He bent his steps rapidly towards the locality where he had before met Duval. He had decided to wait some time before meeting that worthy. He had to wait till another day, when as he was emerging from the tavern he encountered the Frenchman on the threshold.
"Aha, my good friend," said Duval, offering his hand, which Dawkins did not appear to see, "I am very glad to see you. Will you come in?"
"No, I have not time," said Dawkins, shortly.
"Have you brought me my money?"
"Yes."
"Aha, that is well. I was just about what you call cleaned out."
"Have you my note with you?"
Duval fumbled in his pocket-book, and finally produced the desired document.
"Give it to me."
"I must have the money first," said the Frenchman, shrewdly.
"Take it," said Dawkins contemptuously. "Do you judge me by yourself?"
He tore the note which he received into small pieces, and left Duval without another word.
Sheltered by the darkness, Mr. Danforth, who had tracked the steps of Dawkins, had been an unseen witness of this whole transaction.
XXXII.
RIGHT TRIUMPHANT.
GEORGE DAWKINS resumed his duties the next morning as usual. Notwithstanding the crime he had committed to screen himself from the consequences of a lighter fault, he felt immeasurably relieved at the thought that he had shaken himself free from the clutches of Duval. His satisfaction was heightened by the disgrace and summary dismissal of Paul, whom he had never liked. He decided to ask the place for a cousin of his own, whose society would be more agreeable to him than that of his late associate.
"Good-morning, sir," he said, as Mr. Danforth entered.
"Good-morning," returned his employer, coldly.
"Have you selected any one in Prescott's place, yet, sir?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Because I have a cousin, Malcolm Harcourt, who would be glad to take it."
"Indeed!" said Mr. Danforth, whose manner somewhat puzzled Dawkins.
"I should enjoy having him with me," continued Dawkins.
"Did you like Prescott?"
"No, sir," said Dawkins, promptly, "I didn't want to say so before, but now, since he's turned out so badly, I don't mind saying that I never thought much of him."
"On the contrary," said Mr. Danforth, "I liked him from the first. Perhaps we are wrong in thinking that he took the money."
"I should think there could be no doubt of it," said Dawkins, not liking the sympathy and returning good feeling for Paul which his employer manifested.
"I don't agree with you," said Mr. Danforth, coldly. "I have decided to reinstate Paul in his former place."
"Then, if any more money is missing, you will know where it has gone," said Dawkins, hastily.
"I shall."
"Then there is no chance for my cousin?"
"I am expecting to have a vacancy."
&nb
sp; Dawkins looked up in surprise.
"I shall require some one to fill your place," said Mr. Danforth, significantly.
"Sir!" exclaimed Dawkins, in astonishment and dismay.
His employer bent a searching glance upon him as he asked, sternly, "where did you obtain the money which you paid away last evening?"
"I--don't--understand--you, sir," gasped Dawkins, who understood only too well.
"You met a man at the door of a low tavern in--Street, last evening, to whom you paid one hundred and fifty dollars, precisely the sum which I lost yesterday."
"Who has been slandering me, sir?" asked Dawkins, very pale.
"An eye-witness of the meeting, who heard the conversation between you. If you want more satisfactory proof, here it is."
Mr. Danforth took from his pocket-book the torn fragments of the note which Dawkins had given to Duval.
"Here is an obligation to pay a certain Duval the sum of one hundred and fifty dollars. It bears your signature. How you could have incurred such a debt to him you best know."
Dawkins maintained a sullen silence.
"I suppose you wish me to leave your employment," he said at length.
"You are right. Hold," he added, as Dawkins was about leaving the room, "a word more. It is only just that you should make a restitution of the sum which you have taken. If you belonged to a poor family and there were extenuating circumstances, I might forego my claim. But your father is abundantly able to make good the loss, and I shall require you to lay the matter before him without loss of time. In consideration of your youth, I shall not bring the matter before the public tribunals, as I have a right to do."
Dawkins turned pale at this allusion, and muttering some words to the effect that he would do what he could, left the counting-room.
This threat proved not to be without its effect. The next day he came to Mr. Danforth and brought the sum for which he had become responsible. He had represented to his father that he had had his pocket picked of this sum belonging to Mr. Danforth, and in that manner obtained an equal amount to replace it. It was some time before Mr. Dawkins learned the truth. Then came a storm of reproaches in which all the bitterness of his father's nature was fully exhibited. There had never been much love between father and son. Henceforth there was open hatred.
We must return to Paul, whom we left in much trouble.
It was a sad walk which he took homeward on the morning of his dismissal.
"What brings you home so early?" asked Mrs. Cameron, looking up from her baking, as Paul entered.
Paul tried to explain, but tears came to his eyes, and sobs choked his utterance.
"Are you sick, Paul?" exclaimed Mrs. Cameron, in alarm.
"No, Aunt Hester."
"Then what is the matter?" she asked anxiously.
"I have lost my place."
"Poor boy! I am very sorry to hear it. But it might have been worse."
"No, not very well, Aunt Hester, for Mr. Danforth thinks I have taken some of his money."
"He is very unjust!" exclaimed Aunt Hester, indignantly, "he ought to have known better than to think you would steal."
"Why, no," said Paul, candidly, "I must confess the evidence was against me, and he doesn't know me as well as you do, Aunt Hester."
"Tell me all about it, Paul."
Aunt Hester sat down and listened attentively to our hero's story.
"How do you account for the money being found in your pocket?" she asked at length.
"I think it must have been put there by some one else."
"Have you any suspicions?"
"Yes," said Paul, a little reluctantly, "but I don't know whether I ought to have. I may be wronging an innocent person."
"At any rate it won't do any harm to tell me."
"You've heard me speak of George Dawkins?"
"Yes."
"I can't help thinking that he put the fifty dollars into my pocket, and took the rest himself."
"How very wicked he must be!" exclaimed Mrs. Cameron, indignantly.
"Don't judge him too hastily; Aunt Hester, he may not be guilty, and I know from my own experience how hard it is to be accused when you are innocent."
Soon after the sexton came in, and Paul of course, told his story over again.
"Never mind, Paul," said Uncle Hugh, cheerily. "You know your own innocence; that is the main thing. It's a great thing to have a clear conscience."
"But I liked Mr. Danforth and I think he liked me. It's hard to feel that he and Mrs. Danforth will both think me guilty, especially after the kindness which I have experienced from them."
"We all have our crosses, my boy,--some light and others heavy. Yours, I admit is a heavy one for a boy to bear. But when men are unjust there is One above who will deal justly with us. You have not forgotten him."
"No, Uncle Hugh," said Paul, reverently.
"Trust in him, Paul, and all will come out right at last. He can prove your innocence, and you may be sure he will, in his own good time. Only be patient, Paul."
"I will try to be, Uncle Hugh."
The simple, hearty trust in God, which the sexton manifested, was not lost upon Paul. Sustained by his own consciousness of innocence, and the confidence reposed in him by those who knew him best, his mind soon regained its cheerful tone. He felt an inward conviction that God would vindicate his innocence.
His vindication came sooner than he anticipated.
The next day as the sexton's family were seated at their plain dinner, a knock was heard upon the outer door.
"Sit still, Hester," said Mr. Cameron. "I will go to the door."
Opening the door he recognized Mr. Danforth, who attended the same church.
"Mr. Cameron, I believe," said Mr. Danforth, pleasantly.
"Yes, sir."
"May I come in? I am here on a little business."
"Certainly, Mr. Danforth. Excuse my not inviting you before; but in my surprise at seeing you, I forgot my politeness."
The sexton led the way into the plain sitting-room.
"I believe Paul Prescott is an inmate of your family."
"Yes, sir. I am sorry----"
"I know what you would say, sir; but it is needless. May I see Paul a moment?"
Paul was surprised at the summons, and still more surprised at finding who it was that wished to see him.
He entered the room slowly, uncertain how to accost Mr. Danforth. His employer solved the doubt in his mind by advancing cordially, and taking his hand.
"Paul," he said pleasantly, "I have come here to ask your forgiveness for an injustice, and to beg you to resume your place in my counting-room."
"Have you found out who took the money, sir?" asked Paul, eagerly.
"Yes."
"Who was it, sir?"
"It was Dawkins."
Mr. Danforth explained how he had become acquainted with the real thief. In conclusion, he said, "I shall expect you back to-morrow morning, Paul."
"Thank you, sir."
"Dawkins of course leaves my employ. You will take his place, and receive his salary, seven dollars a week instead of five. Have you any friend whom you would like to have in your own place?"
Paul reflected a moment and finally named a schoolmate of his, the son of poor parents, whom he knew to be anxiously seeking a situation, but without influential friends to help him.
"I will take him on your recommendation," said Mr. Danforth, promptly. "Can you see him this afternoon?"
"Yes, sir," said Paul.
The next day Paul resumed his place in Mr. Danforth's counting-room.
XXXIII.
PAUL REDEEMS HIS PLEDGE.
TWO years passed, unmarked by any incident of importance. Paul continued in Mr. Danforth's employment, giving, if possible, increased satisfaction. He was not only faithful, but exhibited a rare aptitude for business, which made his services of great value to his employer. From time to time Mr. Danforth increased his salary, so that, though only nineteen, he was now receivi
ng twelve dollars per week, with the prospect of a speedy increase. But with his increasing salary, he did not increase his expenses. He continued as economical as ever. He had not forgotten his father's dying injunction. He remained true to the charge which he had taken upon himself, that of redeeming his father's memory from reproach. This, at times subjected him to the imputation of meanness, but for this he cared little. He would not swerve from the line of duty which he had marked out.
One evening as he was walking down Broadway with an acquaintance, Edward Hastings, who was employed in a counting-room near him, they paused before a transparency in front of a hall brilliantly lighted.
"The Hutchinsons are going to sing to- night, Paul," said Hastings. "Did you ever hear them?"
"No; but I have often wished to."
"Then suppose we go in."
"No, I believe not."
"Why not. Paul? It seems to me you never go anywhere. You ought to amuse yourself now and then."
"Some other time I will,--not now."
"You are not required to be at home in the evening, are you?"
"No."
"Then why not come in now? It's only twenty-five cents."
"To tell the truth, Ned, I am saving up my money for a particular purpose; and until that is accomplished, I avoid all unnecessary expense."
"Going to invest in a house in Fifth Avenue? When you do, I'll call. However, never mind the expense. I'll pay you in."
"I'm much obliged to you, Ned, but I can't. accept."
"Why not?"
"Because at present I can't afford to return the favor."
"Never mind that."
"But I do mind it. By-and-by I shall feel more free. Good-night, if you are going in."
"Good-night, Paul."
"He's a strange fellow," mused Hastings.
"It's impossible to think him mean, and yet, it looks a great deal like it. He spends nothing for dress or amusements. I do believe that I've had three coats since he's been wearing that old brown one. Yet, he always looks neat. I wonder what he's saving up his money for."
Meanwhile Paul went home.
The sexton and his wife looked the same as ever. Paul sometimes fancied that Uncle Hugh stooped a little more than he used to do; but his life moved on so placidly and evenly, that he grew old but slowly. Aunt Hester was the same good, kind, benevolent friend that she had always been. No mother could have been more devoted to Paul. He felt that he had much to be grateful for, in his chance meeting with this worthy couple.
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