"You don't know me, Miss Bethia, nor him, or you would not say that."

"Your father would have made it his business to do him good."

"But I am not like my father, very far from that."

"Well, your father was nothing by himself. You are bound to do the same work, and you can have the same help. And it will pay in the long run.

Oh, yes! it will pay!"

"I have been telling David that he may do that pleasant-spoken youth much good, if he is faithful to him and to himself," added she, as Mrs Inglis came into the room.

"And I have been telling Miss Bethia that she does not know me, or him, or she wouldn't say that, mamma," said David.

"She must know you by this time, I think, Davie," said his mother, smiling.

"I used to know him pretty well, and he seems to be getting along pretty much so. I don't know as I see any change for the worse in him. He has had great privileges, and he has great responsibility."

"Yes," said his mother, gravely; "and I quite agree with you, Miss Bethia, he may do Mr Philip good by a diligent and faithful performance of his daily duties, if in no other way. He has done so already."

"Oh, mamma!" said David, "Miss Bethia will think you are growing vain."

"No, I sha'n't. But he must be faithful in word as well as in deed.

Oh! I guess he'll get along pretty well--David, I mean, not young Mr Oswald."

Jem came home while they were still talking.

"Mamma," said he, as he followed his mother out of the room, "we saw Philip going into d.i.c.k's saloon as we were going up the street and Violet said he'd be just as pleased and just as popular there as in our own home among the children, and she said he was as weak as water. That is all she knows! Violet is hard on Phil."

"She cannot think it right for him to spend his evenings in such a place," said his mother.

"But he sees no harm in it, and I don't suppose there is much."

"I should think it great harm for one of my boys," said his mother, gravely.

"All right, mamma!" said Jem. "But, then, as Miss Barnes says, our bringing up has been different."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

When it was fairly decided that Miss Bethia's pleasant plan for the summer was possible, there was little time lost in preparation. Miss Bethia went away at once, to have all things ready for their coming, and in a few days Mrs Inglis and Violet and the children followed. The little Oswalds went with them, and Jem and possibly Frank Oswald were to follow when their holidays commenced. Whether David was to go or not, was to be decided later, but he did not let the uncertainty with regard to his own prospects of pleasure interfere with his in all that the others were to enjoy. He helped cheerfully in all the arrangements for their departure, and made light of his mother's anxiety and doubts as to the comfort of those who were to be left behind.

But when they were gone, and Jem and David left in the deserted house alone, they were neither of them very cheerful for a while. They were quite alone, for Mrs Lacy, the neighbour whom Mrs Inglis had engaged to care for their comfort, had a home of her own and little children to care for, and could only be there a part of the day. The unwonted silence of the house pressed heavily upon their spirits.

"It's queer, too," said Jem, who had been promising himself great enjoyment of the quiet time so that he might the better prepare for the school examinations that were coming on. "I used to think the children bothered with their noise and their chatter, but the stillness is ten, times more distracting, I think."

David nodded a.s.sent.

"They will be in Gourlay long ago," said he. "I wonder how it will seem to mamma to go back again."

Jem looked grave.

"It won't be all pleasure to her, I am afraid."

"No; she will have many things to remember; but I think she would rather have gone to Gourlay than anywhere else. I wish I could have gone with her."

"Yes; but she has Violet and the children; and mamma is not one to fret or be unhappy."

"She will not be unhappy; but all the same it will be a sorrowful thing for her to go there now."

"Yes; but I am glad she is there; and I hope I may be there, too, before the summer is over."

Jem's examinations pa.s.sed off with great credit to himself; but he did not have the pleasure of telling his triumph, or showing his prizes to his mother and the children till after their return to Singleton; for Jem did not go to Gourlay, but in quite another direction.

When an offer was made to him, through one of his friends at the great engine-house, to accompany a skillful machinist to a distant part of the country where he was to superintend the setting up of some valuable machinery in a manufacturing establishment, he gave a few regretful thoughts to his mother and Gourlay, and the long antic.i.p.ated delights of boating and fishing; but it did not take him long to decide to go.

Indeed, by the time his mother's consent reached him, his preparations were far advanced, and he was as eager to be gone as though the sole object of the trip had been pleasure, and not the hard work which had been offered him. But, besides the work, there was the wages, which, to Jem seemed magnificent, and there was the prospect of seeing new sights far from home; so he went away in great spirits, and David was left alone.

He was not in great spirits. Jem had left him no earlier than he must have done had it been to join his mother and the children in Gourlay.

But, somehow, when he thought of his brother out in the wonderful, strange world, about which they had so often spoken and dreamed, David had to struggle against a feeling which, indulged, might very easily have changed to discontent or envy of his brother's happier fortune.

Happier fortune, indeed! How foolish his thoughts were! David laughed at himself when he called up the figure of Jem, with bared arms and blackened face, busy amidst the smoke and dust of some great work-shop, going here and there--doing this and that at the bidding of his master.

A very hard working world Jem would no doubt find it; and, as he thought about him, David made believe content, and congratulated himself on the quiet and leisure which the summer evenings were bringing, and made plans for doing great things in the way of reading and study while they lasted. But they were very dull days and evenings. The silence in the house grew more oppressive to him than even Jem had found it. The long summer evenings often found him listless and dull over the books that had been so precious to him when he had only stolen moments to bestow on them.

There had been something said at first about his going to the Oswald's to stay, when the time came when he should be alone in the house. Mr Philip had proposed it at the time when they were making arrangements for the going away of his little sisters. But the invitation had not been repeated. Mr Philip had gone away long before Jem. He had, at the last moment, joined an exploring party who were going--not, indeed, to Red River, but far away into the woods. Mr Oswald had forgotten the invitation, or had never known of it, perhaps, and David went home to the deserted house not very willingly sometimes, and, with a vague impatience of the monotony of the days, wished for something to happen to break it. Before Jem had been gone a week, something did happen.

Indeed, it had happened a good while before, but it only came to David's knowledge at that time.

Mr Caldwell had just returned from one of his frequent business journeys, and one night David lingered beyond the usual hour that he might see him and walk down the street with him as far as their way lay in the same direction; and it was while they were going towards home together that Mr Caldwell told him of something very unpleasant that had occurred in the office. A small sum of money had been missed, and the circ.u.mstances connected with its loss led Mr Caldwell to believe that it had been taken by some one belonging to the office. Mr Caldwell could not give his reasons for this opinion, nor did he say much about it, but he questioned David closely about those who had been coming and going, and seemed troubled and annoyed about the affair.

David was troubled, too, and tried to recall anything that might throw light upon the painful matter. But he did not succeed.

The circ.u.mstances, as David learned them then and afterwards, were these: Mr Oswald, as treasurer for one of the benevolent societies of the town, had, on a certain day of the preceding month, received a sum of money, part of which could not be found or accounted for. The rest of the sum paid into his hands was found in that compartment of his private safe allotted to the papers of the society. A receipt for the whole sum was in the hands of the person who had paid the money, and an entry in the society's books corresponded to the sum named in this receipt. Mr Oswald was certain that he had not made use of any part of it, because such was never his custom. The accounts of the society were kept quite distinct from all others, and all arrangements with regard to them were made by Mr Oswald himself. It did not make the loss a matter of less importance that the sum missed was small. Nor did it make Mr Oswald and Mr Caldwell less anxious to discover what had become of it.

The loss had not been discovered until some time after it had taken place, when the quarterly making up of the society's accounts had been taken in hand, and Mr Oswald could not remember much about the circ.u.mstances. The date of the receipt showed the time. The person who paid the money remembered that part of it had been in small silver coins, made up in packets, and this was the part that had disappeared.

All this was not told by Mr Caldwell that first afternoon. It came to David's knowledge, little by little, as it was found out. The matter was not, at first, discussed by the clerks in the office. Mr Caldwell had asked David not to speak of it to them, or to any one.

When Mr Caldwell told him that nothing had been said to them of the loss, he thought it was strange; but it never came into his mind that the reason was that Mr Oswald feared that he was the person guilty, and wished to keep it from the knowledge of the rest. But, as time went on, he began to notice a change in Mr Oswald's manner toward him. He had never said many words to him in the course of the day. It was not his way with those in his employment, except with Mr Caldwell. He said less than ever to him now, but David fancied that he was more watchful of him, that he took more note of his comings and goings, and that his manner was more peremptory and less friendly when he gave him directions as to his work for the day.

Mr Caldwell did not remain long in Singleton at this time, and having no one to speak to about the mysterious affair of the missing money, David, after a day or two, began to think less about it than he might otherwise have done. Once he ventured to speak to Mr Oswald about it.

"Have you heard anything about the lost money, sir?" said he, one night, when there were only they two in the office.

Mr Oswald answered him so briefly and sharply that David was startled, changing colour and looking at him in astonishment.

"No, I have not. Have _you_ anything to tell me about it? The sooner the better," said Mr Oswald.

"I know only what Mr Caldwell has told me," said David.

"You may go," said Mr Oswald.

And David went away, very much surprised both at his words and his manner. He did not think long about it, but every day he became more certain that all was not right between them. He had no one to speak to, which made it worse. He could not write to his mother or even to Violet, because there was nothing to tell. Mr Oswald was sharp and short in his manner of speaking to him, that was all, and he had never said much to him at any time. No; there was nothing to tell.