les, promptly, as he tried to laugh.

"You act rather queerly this afternoon; just as though you had something
on your mind."

"O, no; nothing of the kind."

"I hope you don't regret the expulsion of Tim Bunker."

"Certainly not."

Charles tried to be gay after that; but he could not. There was a weight
upon his soul which bore him down, and he felt like a criminal in the
presence of his companions. He was glad when the club landed, and the
members separated--glad to get away from them, for their happy, innocent
faces were a constant reproach to him.

Sunday was a day of rest; but every moment of it was burdened with a sin
against God and against himself. Every moment that he delayed to repent
was plunging him deeper and deeper in error and crime. Strangely enough,
the minister preached a sermon about the Prodigal Son; and the vivid
picture he drew of the return of the erring wanderer so deeply affected
the youthful delinquent that he fully resolved to do his duty, and
expose the Rovers' scheme.

The money had been spent in part; but, if they sent him to jail, it
would be better than to continue in wickedness. Then he thought what
Captain Sedley would say to him; that the club would despise him; and
that he would not be permitted to join the sports of the coming week--to
say nothing of being put in prison.

But his duty was plain, and he had resolved to do it. He had decided to
suffer the penalty of his transgression, whatever it might be, and get
back again into the right path as soon as he could.

Happy would it have been for him had he done so. On his way home from
church he unfortunately met Tim Bunker, who had evidently placed himself
in his way to confirm his fidelity to the Rovers.

Tim saw that he was meditating something dangerous to the success of his
scheme. Charles was cold and distant. He appeared to have lost his
enthusiasm.

"If you play us false, it will be all up with you," said Tim, in a low,
determined tone. "I can prove that you stole the purse. That's all."

It was enough to overthrow all Charles's good resolution. His fickle
mind, his shallow principle, gave way. Stifling his convictions of duty,
and silencing the "still small voice," he went home: and there was no
joy in heaven over the returning prodigal.

"Charles," said his father, sternly, as he entered the house, "you were
not at school yesterday!"

"I got late, and did not like to go," whined he.

"Where were you?"

"Dow