one. "You are sure that you have seen no more, Lindon?"

"Quite, uncle. I'm sorry I forgot about the guinea I found."

"Yes!" said Uncle Josiah, giving him a quick searching look. "You are
quite certain, Wimble?"

"Me, sir? Oh, yes; I'm moral sartain."

"I should be sorry to suspect any one, and behave unjustly, but I must
have this matter cleared up. Michael Bannock is away, and I cannot
conceive his being absent without money, unless he is ill. Wimble, go
and see."

"Yes, sir," said the yard-man, with alacrity; and he went off shaking
his head, as if all this was a puzzle beyond his capacity to comprehend.

"You had better go to your desk, Lindon," said Uncle Josiah, coldly.

Don started, and mounted his stool, but he could not write. His brain
was confused; and from time to time he glanced at the stern-looking old
merchant, and tried to grasp his thoughts. "Surely uncle can't suspect
me--surely he can't suspect me!" he found himself saying again, and the
trouble seemed to increase till he felt as if he must speak out and say
how sorry he was that he had picked up the money and forgotten all about
it, when Jem returned.

"He arn't ill, sir," said the man eagerly, "I found him close by, at the
Little Half Moon, in the back street."

"Drinking?"

"Yes, sir, and treating a lot of his mates. He wanted me to have some,
and when I wouldn't, he said I should, and emptied half a glass over me.
See here."

He held up one of his broad skirts which was liberally splashed.

Uncle Josiah frowned, and took a turn or two up and down the office.
Then he stopped before Jem.

"Go round to Smithers the constable. You know: the man who came when
the rum was broached."

"Yes, sir, I know."

"Ask Smithers to bring Michael Bannock round here. I must clear this
matter up."

"Yes, sir," said Jem; and he hurried out, while Don drew a long breath.

"Uncle does not suspect me," he said to himself. "The scoundrel! He
must have taken advantage of your back being turned to come in here.
You did not notice anything, Lindon?"

"No, uncle, and I hardly think he could have been left alone."

"But the money is missing; some of it was dropped; this man is always
penniless; he has not drawn his wages, and yet he is half tipsy and
treating his companions. I hope I am not suspecting him wrongfully, but
it looks bad, Lindon, it looks bad."

The old merchant sat down and began to write. So did Don, who felt
better now,