ather the last handful of silver. His door was partly
open; in his hurry David neglected to close it.

"Hello, old chap! How are you?" a cheerful voice called out. Tom
Curtis's frank, friendly face appeared at the now open door. "I did not
have a chance to speak to you downstairs when I first came in, but Madge
sent me up here for her fan, and I thought I'd take a peep in here to
see if you could be found. What have you got there?" Tom stared with
open curiosity at David's box of silver; then he looked puzzled and
unhappy.

David had sprung to his feet with a muttered exclamation of anger.

Neither boy spoke for a moment. Some one was coming up the steps.
"Couldn't you find my fan, Tom? It is almost time for our dance,"
called Madge. "Why, here you are gossiping with David." Madge was now at
the open door. She, too, stared at the open box of silver. Then her face
turned white. "O David! what does it mean?" she pleaded. "I simply can't
believe my own eyes."

CHAPTER XXII

MADGE MORTON'S TRUST

David would make no reply to either Madge's or Tom's questionings. He
was sullen, angry and silent. After a while his two friends gave up in
despair. But Madge and Tom decided that it would be better not to tell
their dreadful secret to any one until the party was over. They did not
wish to spoil the evening for the others.

The two friends went back among the dancers and Madge danced the rest of
the evening as though nothing had happened. Yet all the time she felt
sick at heart. She had trusted David and looked on him as her friend,
while he had done her many kindnesses and she was grateful for them. In
spite of the evidence of her own eyes she told herself that she still
trusted him.

For the rest of the long evening David Brewster never left his own
chamber, where Tom had found him. He did not even trouble to take the
rest of the silver in to Mrs. Preston. He just sat, staring miserably in
front of him, looking old and haggard. The worst had happened. He had
been found with the stolen goods in his possession and he had
absolutely no explanation to make to his friends.

It was after one o'clock in the morning when the last guest had departed
from the Preston home.

"Dolly Varden looks tired," said Mrs. Preston kindly to Madge, who was
lingering near her. "You had better run upstairs to bed, my dear."

"O Mrs. Preston!" cried Madge brokenly, "something
strange--has--happened. Won't--you--make--David explain--