Gerald had learned to look upon Mr. Nugent as a friend upon whose advice and assistance he could rely. On Friday evening he called at the house of his old friend and was cordially received.

"Let me know how you are getting on," said the old gentleman.

Gerald briefly recounted what had passed.

"So your stepmother wishes you to remain with Mr. Tubbs?" said Mr. Nugent.

"Yes, sir."

"And you object?"

"I don't care to remain with a man who doubts my honesty."

John Nugent smiled.

"Would you prefer me as an employer to Mr. Tubbs?" he asked, after a pause.

"Very much," answered Gerald, brightening up.

He wondered, however, what Mr. Nugent could have for him to do. There seemed no chance in his establishment for a boy like himself unless Mr. Nugent needed some one to work for him. Gerald was willing to do this, though he would have preferred some out-of-door employment.

"Perhaps you wish me to do some writing?" he suggested, in a tone of inquiry.

"No, I may wish to send you on a journey. Would you object to that?"

"No, sir; I should be delighted to have the chance to travel."

"So I supposed," said Mr. Nugent, with a benevolent smile. "Most young people enjoy that."

"Am I to go with you, sir?"

"No. I am not a good traveler. A cold, which I should be very apt to contract, would be likely to bring on my old enemy, rheumatism. At my age a man prefers to linger by his own fireside. You are not afraid of rheumatism?" he added, in a jocular tone.

"No, sir."

After a pause Mr. Nugent resumed:

"Two days ago I received a letter from Montana, from a man I supposed to be dead.

"The contents took me very much by surprise. I will read you the letter, and this will prepare the way for the proposal I will make you."

The old gentleman drew from his desk a letter written on coarse paper, and addressed in a hand made tremulous by age or infirmity.

It was post-marked at Campville, Montana.

The letter was passed to Gerald, who read as follows:

"Mr. John Nugent—If you turn to the signature of this letter you will recognize the name of a man who once did you a great wrong. Twenty years ago I was in the employ of the firm of which you were a senior member. I had access to the safe, and one day I appropriated twenty thousand dollars in negotiable securities and fled. You notified the police but I succeeded in getting away with my ill-gotten gains. I visited different parts of the great West, but finally settled down in an out-of-the-way place in Montana. I have been here ever since. Part of the money I deposited in a Chicago bank, part I brought with me. At that time, as now, mining was the chief business in Montana. I engaged in it with varying success.Upon the whole I have greatly prospered. Probably I have in my possession at least twenty-five thousand dollars.

"But I have not been happy. I have lived the life of a recluse, cut off by my own act from friends and society, and my wealth has done me no good. My business has occupied my mind, and afforded me in that way my only relief from remorse. Latterly my health has been poor, and I have felt myself breaking down. I am probably about your own age, but I feel sure that I shall not live long. I have some distant relatives at the East, but I feel that what property I have should be left, in the way of atonement, to the man I have wronged.

"I am not able to go East. Would it be possible for you to come here and receive the money and property I possess, merely leaving me enough to see me through the short time I have yet to live? If not—if you, too, are unable to travel—will you send me some trusted friend who will act in your behalf? If possible, send me some one who will remain with me to the end. There are rough people hereabouts who might rob me. Fortunately, partly from my poor way of living, I am not supposed to have much money. Probably no one supposes me to be worth over three to four thousand dollars. I dread the time when I shall be quite helpless, as then I should be at the mercy of designing and unscrupulous parties.

"You may be surprised that I have learned your address. Lately I fell in with a stranger from the East, who spoke of you and gave me the information I desired. I trust this letter will be received and that you will feel like acting upon it. I shall die easy if I am able, even at this late day, to make some atonement for my wrong-doing.

"Yours respectfully,

"Thomas Nixon."

Gerald read this letter with interest, but could not understand how it could bear any relation to him.

"What do you think of it, Gerald?" asked Mr. Nugent.

"The man seems truly penitent," answered Gerald.

"You think, then, that it seems sincere and truthful? You would be likely to put confidence in it?"

"Yes, sir."

"I remember this man Nixon; he was a trusted clerk in our bank when I was a merchant in New York. We all felt amazed when he turned out a thief; he had no bad habits or extravagant tastes so far as any of us knew."

"Did you put the police on his track?"

"The matter was reported, of course; but we found that a considerable expenditure was required to excite interest and spur on the police detectives to active efforts. Finally the search was given up and the matter was well-nigh forgotten."

"Then the sum taken did not embarrass the firm?"

"Only slightly and temporarily. Twenty years have passed, as the letter says, and I had well-nigh forgotten Nixon and his crime till this letter reached me."

The old gentleman paused, and Gerald felt like asking, "What are you going to do about it?" but Mr. Nugent anticipated him.

"I have been thinking over this letter, and the writer's request, and it embarrasses me. Of course it is out of the question for me to go out to Montana, in my state of health."

"So I suppose, sir. You might send some one."

"True, but whom shall I send? Ten years ago, when I was more in touch with the world, I might have thought of some one. But, partly on account of my health, I have withdrawn from society and from business, and actually I cannot think of any one whom I should wish to trust with such a weighty responsibility."

Gerald quite entered into his feelings and views, but was unable to offer a suggestion. Of what Mr. Nugent had in his mind he had not the remotest conception.

"You will want to do something?" he said. "Such a sum of money is worth securing."

"So most people would say. In my case, having abundant means, I am less likely to be influenced by this consideration. My chief object, if I comply with the writer's request, is to bring relief to his mind by enabling him to make atonement for his offence. It was only this afternoon that I thought of one whom I could send out to Montana as my agent."

"Is it any one I know?" asked Gerald.

Mr. Nugent smiled.

"Probably you know him better than any one else in the world. I mean yourself!"

Gerald started in amazement.

"You really mean it?" he asked.

"Yes."

"But I am only a boy."

"True, but you are a good, sensible, reliable boy. How old are you?"

"Sixteen, sir."

"So I supposed. The qualities I mentioned are not a matter of age. Sometimes a boy is more reliable than a man."

"I thank you very much for your good opinion of me," said Gerald; "I am afraid you think too well of me."

"It may be so, but I have a good deal of confidence in you."

"I am very young for such a responsible commission."

"That's true. I wish you were older, but that is a matter that cannot be hastened. The sum of it all is, that failing you I know of no one whom I would care to trust. It must be either you or none. Are you willing to undertake the task?"

"Yes, sir, if you think me competent. I am not only willing, but shall be very glad to."

"You are quite sure that you will like it as well as staying with Mr. Tubbs?"

Mr. Nugent said this with a smile.

"I should not be willing to stay with Mr. Tubbs at any rate."

"When do you leave him?"

"To-morrow evening."

"Very well. I will get you ready to start for Montana on Monday."

When Gerald reached home it was five minutes past ten o'clock. Abel met him at the door.

"Ma says she won't have you comin' home so late," he said. "She'll give it to you!"