er his wanton assault upon Fred, was guilty of
his first theft and of drinking his first glass of liquor. In short, he
was going headlong to destruction and no one seemed to think him worth
the saving. Skulking by day, prowling by night--hungry, dirty,
beaten and sworn at--no wonder that he seemed God-forsaken as well as
man-forsaken.

Mr. Sargent had a large store in Rutgers street. He was a wholesale
dealer in iron ware, and Andrewsville was such an honest, quiet town
ordinary means were not taken to keep the goods from the hands of
thieves.

Back doors, side doors and front doors stood open all the day, and no
one went in or out but those who had dealings with the firm.

Suddenly, however, articles began to be missed--a package of knives, a
bolt, a hatchet, an axe, a pair of skates, flat-irons, knives and forks,
indeed hardly a day passed without a new thing being taken, and though
every clerk in the store was on the alert and very watchful, still the
thief, or thieves remained undetected.

At last matters grew very serious. It was not so much the pecuniary
value of the losses--that was never large--but the uncertainty into
which it threw Mr. Sargent. The dishonest person might be one of his own
trusted clerks; such things had happened, and sad to say, probably would
again.

"Fred," said his father, one Saturday afternoon, "I should like to have
you come down to the store and watch in one of the rooms. There is a
great run of business to-day, and the clerks have their hands more than
full. I must find out, if possible who it is that is stealing so freely.
Yesterday I lost six pearl-handled knives worth two dollars apiece. Can
you come?"

"Yes, sir," said Fred, promptly, "I will be there at one, to a minute;
and if I catch him, let him look out sharp, that is all."

This acting as police officer was new business to Fred and made him
feel very important, so when the town clock was on the stroke of one he
entered the store and began his patrol.

It was fun for the first hour, and he was so much on the alert that old
Mr. Stone, from his high stool before the desk, had frequently to put
his pen behind his ear and watch him. It was quite a scene in a play to
see how Fred would start at the least sound. A mouse nibbling behind
a box of iron chains made him beside himself until he had scared the
little gray thing from its hole, and saw it scamper away out of the
shop. But after the first hour the watching FOR NOT