ve the president go," said Wort.

"I thecond the mothion," cried Pip.

"Aint you good," was Sid's scornful notice of the intended honor.
"Presidents don't do that, but the police of the club. I preside."

"The sentinel is the police, and that is Juggie, but he is not here now;
he went home a moment ago. Then, of course, his assistant must do it;" and
he here turned toward Pip.

"Yes, Pip," said boy after boy.

Poor, trembling Pip! Didn't he wish he had been born in the previous
century! No amount of coaxing could prevail upon, him to approach the
dreadful dragon that had carried off the tin dipper, and every body else
declined the same honor.

Finally Wort made this offer:

"I'll go down to-Old Tim's boat, and Tim may be hanging round, and I'll
see what I can see."

This was a relief to the club, and entirely safe for Wort.

"I'll go at once," he said, and away he went.

Charlie went up to a store on "Water Street at the same time, and chanced
to meet Miss Bertha Barry.

"We've met with a loss," said Charlie, with a sober face.

"Any one dead?"

"O no; but the club has lost its tin dipper."

"Tin dipper?"

"Yes, teacher, where we kept our money."

"O!"

"All our money has gone."

"How much!"

"Ten cents."

"Hem, hem; sorry."

"We think we know who did it."

"You know certainly."

"No, but we think we do, and the feller is just bad enough to do it."

"It's pretty hard to have people think you are bad; and then, if you are
thought to have done something you were never guilty of, that is worse
still. I don't think it fair to charge a wrong thing on any body unless we
know pretty certainly. It is not just."

Charlie had not thought of it _that_ way before.

"I guess you are right, teacher."

Bidding her good-bye, he was moving off, when she said: "Stop one moment.
Whoever that boy is, I wish you'd get him out to Sunday-school."

"What an idea!" thought Charlie. "Tim Tyler's going to Sunday-school!"

In the meantime Wort had been prosecuting his bold investigations. He
strolled down the lane, passing several cottages, and then a fish-house,
where several men were splitting and salting fish. All these were on the
left side of the lane. On the right was a long dock, and in it were
several boats.

"There is Tim Tyler," exclaimed Wort, "and there is his boat. There is
young Tim, the thief!"

It was an old boat that Wort looked into as he stood upon the stairs
leading down into the dock.