"When my poor husband left your office this receipt was in his possession," answered Mrs. Burton.

"I deny it," exclaimed Aaron Wolverton, in a tone of excitement.

"Where else should it be?" inquired the widow, eying him fixedly.

"I don't know. How should I?"

"So you deny that the signature is yours, Mr. Wolverton?"

"Let me see it."

"I would rather not," said Bob, drawing back the receipt from Wolverton's extended hand.

"That's enough!" said Wolverton quickly. "You are afraid to show it. I denounce it as a base forgery."

"That will do no good," said the boy, un-terrified. "I have shown the receipt to Mr. Dornton, and he pronounces the signature genuine."

"What made you show it to him?" asked Wolverton, discomfited.

"Because I thought it likely, after your demanding the interest the second time, that you would deny it."

"Probably I know my own signature better than Mr. Dornton can."

"I have no doubt you will recognize it," and Bob, unfolding the paper, held it in such a manner that Wolverton could read it.

"It may be my signature; it looks like it," said Wolverton, quickly deciding upon a new evasion, "but it was never delivered to your father."

"How then do you account for its being written?" asked Mrs. Burton, in natural surprise.

"I made it out on the day your husband died," Wolverton answered glibly, "anticipating that he would pay the money. He did not do it, and so the receipt remained in my desk."

Bob and his mother regarded each other in surprise. They were not prepared for such a barefaced falsehood.

"Perhaps you will account for its not being in your desk now," said Bob.

"I can do so, readily," returned Wolverton, maliciously. "Somebody must have stolen it from my desk."

"I think you will find it hard to prove this, Mr. Wolverton."

"It is true, and I don't propose to lose my money on account of a stolen receipt. You will find that you can't so easily circumvent Aaron Wolverton."

"You are quite welcome to adopt this line of defense, Mr. Wolverton, if you think best. You ought to know whether the public will believe such an improbable tale."

"If you had the receipt why didn't you show it to me before?" Wolverton asked in a triumphant tone. "I came here soon after your father's death, and asked for my interest. Your mother admitted, then, that she had no receipt."

"We had not found it then."

"Where, and when, did you find it?"

"I do not propose to tell."

Wolverton shook his head, satirically.

"And a very good reason you have, I make no doubt."

"Suppose I tell you my theory, Mr. Wolverton."

"I wish you would," and Wolverton leaned back in his chair and gazed defiantly at the boy he so much hated.

"My father paid you the interest, and took a receipt. He had it on his person when he met with his death. When he was lying outstretched in death"—here Bob's eyes moistened—"some one came up, and, bending over him, took the receipt from his pocket."

Mr. Wolverton's face grew pale as Bob proceeded.

"A very pretty romance!" he sneered, recovering himself after an instant.

"It is something more than romance," Bob proceeded slowly and gravely. "It is true; the man who was guilty of this mean theft from a man made helpless by death is known. He was seen at this contemptible work."

"It is a lie," cried Wolverton, hoarsely, his face the color of chalk.

"It is a solemn truth."

"Who saw him?"

"I don't propose to tell—yet, if necessary, it will be told in a court of justice."

Wolverton saw that he was found out, but he could not afford to acknowledge. His best way of getting off was to fly into a rage, and this was easy for him.

"I denounce this as a base conspiracy," he said, rising as he spoke. "That receipt was stolen from my desk."

"Then we do not need to inquire who took it from the vest-pocket of my poor father."

"Robert Barton, I will get even with you for this insult," said Wolverton, shaking his fist at the manly boy. "You and your mother."

"Leave out my mother's name," said Bob, sternly.

"I will; I don't think she would be capable of such meanness. You, then, are engaged in a plot to rob me of a hundred and fifty dollars. To further this wicked scheme, you or your agent have stolen this receipt from my desk. I can have you arrested for burglary. It is no more nor less than that."

"You can do so if you like, Mr. Wolverton. In that case the public shall know that you stole the receipt from my poor father after his death. I can produce an eye-witness."

Wolverton saw that he was in a trap. Such a disclosure would injure him infinitely in the opinion of his neighbors, for it would be believed. There was no help for it. He must lose the hundred and fifty dollars upon which, though he had no claim to it, he had so confidently reckoned.

"You will hear from me!" he said, savagely, as he jammed his hat down upon his head, and hastily left the apartment. "Aaron Wolverton is not the man to give in to fraud."

Neither Bob nor his mother answered him, but Mrs. Burton asked anxiously, after his departure:

"Do you think he will do anything, Bob?"

"No, mother; he sees that he is in a trap, and will think it wisest to let the matter drop."

This, in fact, turned out to be the case. Mortifying as it was to give in, Wolverton did not dare to act otherwise. He would have given something handsome, mean though he was, if he could have found out, first, who saw him rob the dead man, and next, who extracted the stolen receipt from his desk. He was inclined to guess that it was Bob in both cases. It never occurred to him that Clip was the eye-witness whose testimony could brand him with this contemptible crime. Nor did he think of Sam in connection with his own loss of the receipt. He knew Sam's timidity, and did not believe the boy would have dared to do such a thing.

All the next day, in consequence of his disappointment, Mr. Wolverton was unusually cross and irritable. He even snapped at his sister, who replied, with spirit:

"Look here, Aaron, you needn't snap at me, for I won't stand it."

"How will you help it?" he sneered.

"By leaving your house, and letting you get another housekeeper. I can earn my own living, without working any harder than I do here, and a better living, too. While I stay here, you've got to treat me decently."

Wolverton began to see that he had made a mistake. Any other housekeeper would cost him more, and he could find none that would be so economical.

"I don't mean anything, Sally," he said; "but I'm worried."

"What worries you?"

"A heavy loss."

"How much?"

"A hundred and fifty dollars."

"How is that?"

"I have lost a receipt, but I can't explain how. A hundred and fifty dollars is a great deal of money, Sally."

"I should say it was. Why can't you tell me about it?"

"Perhaps I will some time."

About two months later, while Bob was superintending the harvesting of the wheat—the staple crop of the Burton ranch—Clip came running up to him in visible excitement.

"Oh, Massa Bob," he exclaimed, "there is a ferry-boat coming down the creek with nobody on it, and it's done got stuck ag'inst a snag. Come quick, and we can take it for our own. Findings is keepings."

Bob lost no time in following Clip's suggestion. He hurried to the creek, and there, a few rods from shore, he discovered the boat stranded in the mud, for it was low tide.