to run away so's you wouldn't know what I've done."

"My dear boy," and Aunt Hannah vainly tried to raise her head, "I never thought for a single minute that you came downstairs for any other purpose than to leave the house secretly."

"An' that's jest the truth. Now don't say a word till I've told you all about it, an' please not look at me."

Then, speaking hurriedly lest she should interrupt him in what was an exceedingly difficult task, Seth told of the advertis.e.m.e.nt, of the counterfeit money he had unwittingly pa.s.sed, and of his flight, aided by Teddy and Tim.

"I didn't mean to do it," he concluded, amid his sobs; "but I reckon I'd tried to get rid of it some time, 'cause I couldn't afford to lose so much money. Of course they'll put me in jail, if the detectives catch me, an' if I should be locked up for ever so many years, won't you let Gladys take care of poor little Snippey?"

"Come here an' kiss me, Seth," Aunt Hannah said softly. "I wish I could put my hand on your head! And you've been frightened out of your wits because of that counterfeit nickel?" she added when he had obeyed. "You poor little child! If you had told me, your troubles would soon have come to an end; but you must understand that in this world the only honest course is to atone for your faults, rather than run away from them. The good Book says that 'your sins shall find you out,' and it is true, my dear, as true as is every word that has come to us from G.o.d. But I'm not allowin' that you have committed any grievous sin in this matter. Do you know, Gladys read your story in the paper before I sent her for a walk, and that is why I wanted to be alone with you."

Seth looked up in surprise which was almost bewilderment, and Aunt Hannah continued with a bright smile that was like unto the sunshine after a shower:

"Take up the newspaper lying on the table. I told Gladys to fold it so you might find the article I wanted you to read."

Seth did as she directed, but without glancing at the printed sheet.

"Can you read, dear?"

"Not very well, 'cause I have to spell out the big words."

"Hold it before my eyes while I make the attempt. There isn't very much of a story; but it will mean a great deal to you, I hope."

Seth was wholly at a loss to understand the little woman's meaning; but he did as she directed, and listened without any great show of enthusiasm to the following:

Messrs. Symonds & Symonds, the well-known attorneys of Pine Street, are willing to confess that they are not well informed regarding the character of the average newsboy of this city, and by such ignorance have defeated their own ends. Several days ago the gentlemen were notified by a professional brother in San Francisco that a client of his, lately deceased, had bequeathed to one Seth Barrows the sum of five thousand dollars. All the information that could be given concerning the heir was that he had been living with a certain family in Jersey City, and was now believed to be selling newspapers in this city. His age was stated as about eleven years, and he owed his good fortune to the fact that the dead man was his uncle.

"It is not a simple matter to find any particular street merchant in New York City; but Messrs. Symonds & Symonds began their search by advertising in the newspapers for the lad. As has been since learned, the friends of the young heir saw the notice which had been inserted by the attorneys, and straightway believed the lad was wanted because of some crime committed. The boy himself must have had a guilty conscience, for he fled without delay, carrying with him into exile a small white terrier, his only worldly possession. The moral of this incident is, that when you want to find a boy of the streets, be careful to state exactly why you desire to see him, otherwise the game may give you the slip rather than take chances of being brought face to face with the officers of the law."

It was not until Aunt Hannah had concluded that Seth appeared to understand he was the boy referred to, and then he asked excitedly:

"Do you suppose the Seth Barrows told about there can be me?"

"Of course, my dear. Isn't this your story just as you have repeated it to me?"

"But there isn't anybody who'd leave me so much money as that, Aunt Hannah! There's a big mistake somewhere."

"Do you remember of ever hearing that you had an uncle in California?"

"Indeed I don't. I thought Snip was all the relation I had in the world."

"Why did the man in Jersey City allow you to live with him?"

"I don't know. I had pretty good clothes then, an' didn't have to work, 'cause I was too small."

"Well," the little woman said with a sigh, as if the exertion of talking had wearied her, "I don't pretend to be able to straighten out the snarl; but I'm certain you are the boy spoken of in the newspaper story, for it isn't reasonable to suppose that two lads of the same age have lately run away from New York because of an advertis.e.m.e.nt.

The money must be yours, my dear, and instead of being a homeless wanderer, you're quite a wealthy gentleman."

"I wouldn't take the chances of goin' to see about it," Seth said thoughtfully, "'cause what we've read may be only a trap to catch me."

"Now, don't be too suspicious, my dear. I'm not countin' on your going into that wicked city just yet. I've sent for Nathan Dean, an' you may be sure he'll get at the bottom of the matter, for he's a master hand at such work."

Then Mrs. Dean entered to take up her duties of nurse once more, and Seth went into the barn, where he could be alone to think over the strange turn which his affairs appeared to be taking.

Gladys joined him half an hour later, and asked abruptly:

"What did Aunt Hannah say to you?"

"Why do you think she counted on talkin' to me?"

"Because I read that story in the newspaper. Then she wanted me to go out for a walk, and said I'd better ask Mr. Dean to come over this afternoon. I couldn't help knowing it was about you; but didn't say anything to her because Mrs. Dean thinks she oughtn't to be excited.

Did you tell her why you and Snippey ran away?"

"Of course I did, an' was countin' on doin' that same thing the first chance I had to speak with her alone, though I made sure she'd send me away."

Then Seth repeated that which he had told Aunt Hannah, and while he was thus engaged Mr. Dean entered the house.

During the two days which followed, Gladys and Seth held long conversations regarding the possible good fortune which might come to the latter; but nothing definite was known until the hour when Aunt Hannah was allowed to sit in an easy-chair for the first time since the accident.

Then it was that Mr. Dean returned from New York, and came to make his report.

There was no longer any question but that it was really Seth's uncle who had lately died in San Francisco, or that he had bequeathed the sum of five thousand dollars to his nephew.

It appeared, according to Mr. Dean's story, as learned from Messrs.

Symonds & Symonds, that Daniel Barrows had cared for his brother's child to the extent of paying Richard Genet of Jersey City a certain sum of money each year to provide for and clothe the lad. Mr. Genet having died suddenly, and without leaving anything to show whom Seth had claims upon, the boy was left to his own devices, while his uncle, because of carelessness or indifference, made no effort to learn what might have become of the child.

There were certain formalities of law to be complied with before the inheritance would be paid, among which was the naming of a guardian for the heir.

Aunt Hannah declared that it was her duty as well as pleasure to make the lame boy one of her family, and to such end Mr. Dean had several conferences with Symonds & Symonds, after which the little woman was duly appointed guardian of the heir.

There is little more that can be told regarding those who now live on the Morse farm, for the very good reason that all which has been related took place only a few months ago; but at some time in the future, if the readers so please, it shall be the duty of the author to set down what befell Aunt Hannah, Seth, Gladys, and Snip after the inheritance was paid.

That they were a very happy family goes without saying, for who could be discontented or fretful in Aunt Hannah's home? And in the days to come, when Father Time lays his hand heavily upon the little woman, Seth knows that then, if not before, he can repay her in some degree for the kindness shown when he and Snip were fugitives, fleeing from nothing worse than a newspaper advertis.e.m.e.nt.

THE END.