"There, now, it isn't here," said he, after he had fumbled about for a while with his chubby fingers; "the book isn't here that had the ox-money in it. Caleb mustn't have that money; it belongs to my father."

The men grew very much interested, and began to creep up a little nearer, in order to catch every word.

"Money all gone," sighed w.i.l.l.y; and then, appearing to think for a moment, added, "O, yes; but I know where I put it!"

Breathless with surprise, Mr. Parlin and his guests watched the child as he pattered with bare feet across the floor to the west side of the room, climbed upon a high stool, and opening the "vial cupboard," took out from a c.h.i.n.k in the wall, behind the bottles, a little old singing-book.

It was only the danger of startling w.i.l.l.y too suddenly that prevented the amazed father from s.n.a.t.c.hing the book out of his hand.

"Yes, the ox-money is here," said w.i.l.l.y, patting the notes, which lay between the leaves.

How _do_ you suppose he could see them, with his eyes fixed and vacant?

Then he seemed to be considering for a s.p.a.ce what to do; but at last put the singing-book back again in the c.h.i.n.k behind the bottles, clambered down from the stool, and taking his favorite seat in the red chair, began to warm his little cold feet before the fire.

"Well, that beats all!" exclaimed Dr. Hilton, before any one else could get breath to speak.

Mr. Parlin went at once to the cupboard, and took down the singing-book.

"The money is safe and sound," said he, as he looked it over,--"safe and sound; and Caleb Cushing is an honest man, thank the Lord!"

"Three cheers for Caleb!" said Dr. Hilton.

"Three cheers for Kellup!" cried one of the teamsters.

And quite forgetting the sleeping child, the rest of the teamsters took up the toast, and shouted,--

"Three cheers for Kellup Cushing! Hoo-ra-a-ay!"

Of course that waked w.i.l.l.y, and frightened him dreadfully. Imagine yourself going to sleep in bed, and waking up in a chair in another room, in a great noise. It was the first time the little fellow had ever been roused from one of his "walking-spells," and they had to carry him away to his mother to be comforted.

He did not know that night what had happened; but next morning they told him that Caleb did not steal the money, and that papa had written a letter to beg him to come back.

"And how think we found out that Caleb didn't steal?" asked Stephen.

Of course w.i.l.l.y had not the least idea.

"Because you stole the money yourself!" replied the hectoring Stephen.

"O, what a story!" exclaimed w.i.l.l.y, angrily. "'S if _I'd_ steal!"

"Ah, but you did, little man! I'll leave it to father if you didn't!"

w.i.l.l.y stamped and kicked. He had a high temper when it was aroused, and his sister Love had to come and quiet him.

"You took the money in your sleep," said she. "You didn't mean to do it; you are not a thief, dear; and we love you just as well as we did before."

They all thought w.i.l.l.y must have had a dream about Caleb and the ox-money, or he would never have gone and taken the singing-book out of the drawer; but from that day to this he has never been able to remember the dream.

Caleb cried for joy when he received the letter, and fell on his knees,--so he afterwards told grandpa Cheever,--and thanked his heavenly Father for bringing him out of the greatest trial he had ever had in his life. He was very glad to go back to Mr. Parlin's, and everybody there received him like a prince. King George the Third, coming in his own ship from England, would not have been treated half so well; for the Parlins despised him,--poor crazy monarch,--whereas they now thought Caleb was the very pink of perfection. Even Seth begged pardon for his hasty judgment. Mrs. Parlin gave him "election cake," for supper, and some of her very best ginger preserves, and said she did not see how they could make up for the pain of mind he had suffered.

Caleb confessed that he _had_ felt "kind o' bad; but it wasn't worth speaking of now."

After this, when w.i.l.l.y told any improbable story, and insisted that it was true, as children often will, his mother had only to remark,--

"Remember Caleb! You said he wanted your father's money. Is this story any more reasonable than that?" and w.i.l.l.y would blush, and stammer out,--

"Well, _perhaps_ it isn't true, mamma. I won't tell it for certain; but I _think_ so, you know!"

I believe this was the only time that w.i.l.l.y ever did anything in his sleep that is worth recording. The rest of his adventures occurred when he was wide awake; so, you see, if he did wrong there was not so much excuse for him.

CHAPTER V.

THE BOY THAT WORE HOME THE MEDAL.

The school-house was deep red, and shamed the Boston pinks, which could not blush to the least advantage near it. It stood on a sand-bank, with a rich crop of thistles on three sides, and an oak tree in one corner.

There were plenty of beautiful places in town; but the people of Perseverance, District Number Three, had chosen this spot for their school-house, because it was not good for anything else.

It was the middle of September, but the summer term was still in session, because school had not begun that year until after haying. It was Sat.u.r.day noon, and the fourth cla.s.s was spelling. The children were all toeing a chalk-mark in the floor, but w.i.l.l.y Parlin scowled and moved about uneasily.

"Order there," said Miss Judkins, pounding the desk with her ruler.

"What makes you throw your head back so, William Parlin?"

"'Cause there's somebody trying to tell me the word, and I don't want anybody to tell me," answered w.i.l.l.y, with another toss of his dark locks.

Fred Chase was sitting on a bench behind the cla.s.s, with an open spelling-book before him, and was the "somebody" who had been whispering the word to w.i.l.l.y; but w.i.l.l.y was naturally as open as the day, and despised anything sly. More than that, he knew his lesson perfectly.

Miss Judkins asked no more questions, for she was well aware that Fred Chase was constantly doing just such things. She smiled as she looked at w.i.l.l.y's n.o.ble face, and was well pleased soon after to hear him spell a word which had been missed by three boys above him, and march straight up to the head. She always liked to have w.i.l.l.y "Captain," for deep down in her heart he was her favorite scholar. There were only a few more words to be spelled; then w.i.l.l.y called out "Captain," the next boy said "Number One," the third "Number Two," and so on down the whole twenty; and after that the school was dismissed for the week.

The "mistress" put on her blue gingham "calash,"--a big drawn bonnet shaped like a chaise-top,--and as she was leaving the house she whispered to w.i.l.l.y, "Don't forget what I told you to say to your mother."

"No, marm; you told me to say you'd asked Mrs. Lyman _if it was so_, and Mrs. Lyman said, '_Yes, it is too true._'"

"That is it, exactly, dear," replied Miss Judkins, smiling. "And be sure you don't lose your medal."

She said that just for fun, and it was such a capital joke that w.i.l.l.y's eyes twinkled. Lose the quarter of a dollar dangling from his neck by a red string!--the medal which told as plainly as words can speak, that he had left off that day at the head of his cla.s.s!

As it was Sat.u.r.day, he was to keep the medal till Monday morning--a great privilege, and one he had enjoyed two or three times before. But there was this drawback; he had to slip the medal under his jacket, out of sight, on Sunday. It was the more to be regretted, as he sat in one of the "amen pews," not far from the pulpit; and if the medal might only hang outside his jacket, where it ought, Elder Lovejoy would certainly catch sight of it when he turned round, and looked through his spectacles, saying, "And now, seventhly, my dear hearers."

w.i.l.l.y would sit, to-morrow, swelling with secret pride, and wishing Elder Lovejoy's eyes were sharp enough to pierce through his jacket. But then, as he told his mother, he "liked the feeling of the medal, even if it _was_ covered up." I suppose there was some satisfaction in knowing he was more of a boy than people took him to be.

"Wonder what it is that Mrs. Lyman says is too true," thought w.i.l.l.y, taking a piece of chalk out of his pocket, and drawing a profile of Miss Judkins on the door-sill, while that young lady tripped along the road, brushing the golden-rod and sweet-fern with the skirt of her dress.