"It has been a very unfortunate mistake," said Mr Oswald, at last.

"All's well that ends well," said his son lightly.

"I am very sorry that you should have been made unhappy about it, David.

I might have known that _you_ were not to blame, but there seemed to be no one else. I beg your pardon sincerely," said Mr Oswald.

"I am very glad it is all right, sir," said David, quietly.

"I should like to know one thing," said Philip. "How came Frank to write to me? He must have thought I was the thief--the young rascal.

Did you think so, Davie?"

"No," said David, "I never thought you took it. I don't know what Frank thought. I never spoke to him about it, nor to any one," added David, after a moment's hesitation.

"Well! never mind. I'll sift that matter by and by. Come up to the house with me, Davie. I am very sorry for all the pain you have had about this business. Come home with me to-night."

"No; I am going home by myself. I have a headache. You were not to blame."

"Yes, he was to blame," said Mr Oswald. "It was a very unbusiness-like way of doing things, and it might have ended badly for all concerned."

"It has been bad enough all through for David Inglis. Mr Philip, if you wish to make amends to him, you should offer to take his place and let him go to the country to amuse himself with the rest for a few days."

Philip opened his eyes.

"I am afraid I could not fill David's place in the office," said he.

"I am afraid of that, too. But you would be better than n.o.body, and we would have patience with you. And David must go for awhile, whether you take his place or no."

"Yes," a.s.sented Mr Oswald, rather absently. "He might as well have a holiday now as any time. And, Philip, I expect you to take your own place in the office after this regularly."

Philip shrugged his shoulders, when his father was not looking to see.

"I'll give it a trial," said he.

"And can I go to-morrow, Mr Caldwell?" said David. "I have no preparations to make, and I should like to take them by surprise."

"By all means. I should like to go with you and see it," said Philip.

"But, I suppose, that would hardly do--just at present."

David bade them good-night, and went down the street with Mr Caldwell.

"I am much obliged to you, sir. I am very glad to get away from the office for awhile, to say nothing of going to Gourlay and seeing them all."

David's eyes sparkled at the thought.

"Well! You have borne your trouble not so ill," said Mr Caldwell; "and you may tell your mother I said so."

David laughed; but he looked grave in a moment.

"I don't think you would say I bore it well, if you knew all the angry thoughts I had. But I am very glad and thankful now, and I am sure mamma will thank you for all your kindness. I know now you never thought me capable of doing so wrong a thing."

"We are all poor creatures, David, my man. There is no saying what we mightna' do if we were left to ourselves. Be thankful and humble, and pray for grace to keep in the right way; and mind that yon young man's eyes are upon you, and that you are, in a measure, responsible for his well-doing or his ill-doing, for awhile, at least; and may the Lord guide you," said Mr Caldwell, solemnly, and then he went away.

David stood gazing after him with astonished eyes.

"I responsible for him! That can hardly be. I am nothing to him. I wonder what mamma would say? I shall have nothing to do with him for awhile, at least. I like Frank much the best. Oh! isn't it good to be going home!"

David had one thing to do with Philip Oswald before he went away. He came to the station with a parcel which he wished him to take to his little sisters, and to see him off. He was merry and good-humoured, though he pretended to be dreadfully afraid of not being able to fill David's place in the office to the satisfaction of Mr Caldwell.

"If Aunt Mary will ask me, I will come to Gourlay and spend some Sunday with you," said he. "I have a settlement to make with Master Frank. I did not think that he and Violet would have called me a dishonest person, even to clear you. I am very angry with them both."

He did not look very angry, for he said it with laughing lips. But David was shocked.

"Violet never thought that of you. She only said that--that--"

"Well! What did she say?" demanded Philip.

"She said it was quite impossible," went on David. "She said there was no motive--I mean--She said you were foolish, and frivolous, and thought first of your own pleasure--but--"

There was not time for another word, if David would not lose the train.

He was indignant with himself. Why could he not have kept silence for two minutes longer? And yet, as he caught a glimpse of Philip's astonished face as the train swept past him on the platform, he could not help laughing a little, and hoping that the truth might do him good.

For it was true, and Philip did not hear unpleasant truths too often for his welfare.

"At any rate, I am not going to vex myself about it now," said David.

And he was quite right.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

And were they not glad to see David in Gourlay? Almost always something happens to mar, a little, the pleasure of a surprise that has been planned beforehand; but nothing happened to mar David's. He travelled to Gourlay in a late train; and as he went up the familiar road, and saw the lights gleaming through the trees, as he had seen them so often in the old days, a great many thoughts crowded upon him, and, if the truth must be told, there were tears in his eyes and on his cheeks, too, when he opened the door and went in among them.

They were all there. Even little Polly, by some happy chance, was up at the unusual hour. Was there ever music so sweet, as the glad cry that greeted him? There were tears on more cheeks than David's; but his mother did not ask if his trouble was over; she knew by his face,-- though it was wet,--that he was at peace with himself, and troubles from without, do not hurt much, when the heart's peace is undisturbed. The words that rose to Violet's lips were kept back, as she looked from her mother's face to David's. But Frank could see n.o.body's face, and his own was very pale and anxious, as he listened to the happy tumult of voices around him.

"Has Philip come home?" asked he, after a little. "Did he get my letter? Is it all right, Davie?"

David laughed.

"Oh, yes! it's all right. He got your letter, but I am afraid he couldn't read it very well. It brought him home a fortnight sooner than he meant to come, however."

"And is it all right?" asked Frank, anxiously.

"All right! Only I am afraid he will be sorry he came, for he has taken my place in the office for ten days at least, and he will be very sick of it before that time is over. Oh, yes! it is all right as right can be. Mamma, you were right. I need never have fretted, about it at all.

But Philip has something to say to you, Frank, and to Violet," added David, laughing a little at the remembrance of his last glimpse of Philip's astonished face.

But there was no more said then. Of course, the story of David's troubled summer was all told afterwards, to his mother first, and then to Frank and Violet. It was told to his mother before he slept, when she went to say "good-night" and take his lamp, as she used to do, long ago, in that very room. If David had had to tell the story of Mr Oswald's suspicions, before Philip's return had proved their injustice, he might have grown angry as he went on with it, and indulged in bitter words, as he had sometimes indulged in bitter thoughts. He had no temptation now to do this, and he did not seek to conceal from her how angry he had been at first, and how faithless and unhappy afterwards.

He ended by giving Mr Caldwell's message to her, "that he had borne his trouble not so ill," and his mother agreed with Mr Caldwell, though she said less than she felt with regard to the whole matter.

"You should have written to me, Davie," said she.