the day when the stone was raised, Martin and Howard sat
together beside it.

Howard was very pale, and looked as if he had gone through a severe
illness. He sat for some time gazing at the monument, until a tear dimmed
his eye.

"My good fellow," said Martin, "why do you give way to so much useless
regret? You are so morbidly sensitive that you seem to blame yourself as
though you had been guilty of poor Digby's death."

Howard made no reply to his friend's remark, and for some moments remained
quite silent. Then he said; "Martin, I shall never forgive myself about
poor Digby. I fear I have wronged him."

"You wronged him? What do you mean?"

"I mean that in that miserable affair about the miniature, I reflected the
blame in some degree upon him; I could not at the time help thinking that
he knew something about it, and I fear I caused a wrong suspicion to rest
on him. It is useless to give way to regret, but I do so wish I could
speak to him just once again, to say that I now feel that I wronged him by
my suspicions."

"Are you quite satisfied in your own mind, that you did wrong him?" asked
Martin.

"Yes; something has happened which I have not mentioned to a soul, and
shall not, except to you. Since poor Digby's death, I have lost my
overcoat. I wore it on that cold Sunday night, and afterward hung it up in
my room. I should not have missed it, but that I had left in the pocket my
Bible--you remember the one, it was given to me by my father when I first
left home for school. I have searched everywhere for the coat, and cannot
find it. It is a great loss to me, for I would have parted with anything
else in the world rather than lose that Bible."

"Have you not mentioned it to my uncle?" asked Martin, his face taking on
a sharper look.

"No; he is worried and sad as it is, and I hate the idea of reflecting
upon fellows in the school. It will turn up in time, perhaps, but I can't
help thinking that there must be some thief in the school, and that the
coat has gone where the miniature went."

"I really think it would be well to tell the Doctor," said Martin.

"Well, I may do so yet; but we break up next week, and if the truth should
not be discovered, every boy will leave with a suspicion resting upon
him,--for this is not confined to the twenty,--and it will do the school a
great injury. But I tell it to you, Martin, because as I shall not return
after this term, you know, you can keep your eyes open in c