Quiet and self-contained and little given to impulse as he was, Seabrooke, when roused to anger or resentment, was a very lion in his wrath, and there was one thing which he could never tolerate or overlook, and that was any attempt to take an unfair advantage of him. He had been exasperated to a great degree by Flagg's endeavor to drug him on the night of the expedition to Rice's, and that with good reason; and now his suspicions, nay, more than suspicions aroused that he was trying to make it appear that he, Seabrooke, had wrongfully kept Percy's money and then pretended that the latter had taken it from him by stealth, enraged him beyond bounds.

Striding in among the group of boys who were still discussing the very question of the disappearance of the money which had been the main topic of interest ever since the loss was discovered, the bank-note in his hand, he advanced directly to Flagg, who was taking an active part in the conversation—that is, he had been doing so within the last few moments, since he had returned after a short absence from the school-room, looking, as more than one of the boys observed, "flushed and rather flurried."

Indeed one boy had remarked:

"You seem to be short of breath, Flaggy; you're purring like a steam-engine. What ails you?"

"Can't a fellow take a run around the house without anything being the matter with him?" asked Lewis, sharply, but with a little nervous trepidation in his tone and manner; but the subject was now dropped, and he had more than recovered his composure and was taking an apparently interested part in the renewed discussion over Percy's loss, when the enraged Seabrooke entered the room.

"You scoundrel!" he ejaculated between his set teeth, and with his eyes actually blazing, "you stole this, did you?"—flourishing the note before the now terrified Lewis, who, taken thus by surprise, had no time to collect his wits and assume an appearance of unconcern and innocence. "You stole this, and to make it appear that I was the thief—the thief!—you put it in my trunk. Don't deny it," as Lewis endeavored to speak, "don't dare to deny it.—You were seen to do it!"

No other thought entered the head of the terrified Lewis than that Seabrooke himself had seen him at his shameful work, and that he had chosen to confront and convict him with it here in the presence of the rest of the school. He would have denied it could he have found words in which to do it, had he had time to frame a denial, but he was so entirely off his guard, so confounded by Seabrooke's sudden accusation and this evidence of the dastardly deed he had performed that he was utterly overwhelmed, and stood speechless, and the picture of detected guilt.

The doctor happened to be in one of the adjoining recitation rooms in conference with some of the other teachers over this very matter, and the raised tones—so very unusual—of Seabrooke's angry voice arrested his attention and called him into the main schoolroom.

To him Seabrooke, without waiting to be questioned, made known his complaint, and again displayed the note in proof thereof, accusing Lewis Flagg of stealing it and then placing it in his trunk for the purpose of criminating him, hoping that it might be found there before school broke up.

In this he did Flagg some partial injustice. Lewis had searched for and taken the money with the object of playing an annoying trick upon Seabrooke and Percy, but proposing, after giving both "a good fright," to put it back where he had found it, or in some other place in Seabrooke's alcove where he might be supposed to have mislaid it.

But once in his possession, the note excited his cupidity and a strong desire to keep it. If it were but his, he could easily clear off sundry debts which he had contracted, especially the remainder of that to Rice, which he had only partially satisfied. On his return to school after the Easter holidays it might well appear that he had an unusual amount of funds; a boy's relations were apt to be generous at such times, and no one need ever know the extent of his riches.

So reasoned this unprincipled boy, and he had actually made up his mind to make no attempt to restore the money to a place where it might be found, but to retain it for himself, when the doctor's address and a dread that his crime might after all be detected, decided him to return to his first intentions.

There was little time to be lost now. Seizing the first opportunity of slipping away from his schoolmates, he rushed upstairs to the dormitory with the design of throwing the note under Seabrooke's bed or bureau, where it might be supposed to have fallen; but seeing the trunk standing there ready packed, the impulse had taken him to put it in that, and without reflecting—perhaps hardly caring—that this would place Seabrooke in a still more embarrassing position, he thrust the note within, as Charlie Henderson saw, and fled from the room. He was rid of it in any event, and he cared little what the consequences might be to any one else, especially Seabrooke.

And now he was confronted with the evidence of his misdeeds, and even when he began to recover himself a little, knew not what to say, what excuse to make. And here was Dr. Leacraft awaiting his answer to Seabrooke's accusations, and regarding him with stern and questioning eyes.

The doctor was a just man, however, and would condemn no culprit unheard, and he had no proof that Lewis Flagg was the culprit in the present case, other than Seabrooke's asseverations and the boy's own guilty appearance. As the latter stood hesitating for words which would not plunge him deeper, Dr. Leacraft turned to Seabrooke.

"Who saw Flagg do this thing?" he questioned. "Did you, Seabrooke?"

"No, sir," answered Seabrooke, who was becoming more calm; "I did not see him myself, but he was seen to do it."

"By whom?" persisted the doctor.

Seabrooke hesitated. He was beginning to realize that he was placing Charlie Henderson in rather an unpleasant position: that young involuntary detective might be scouted at by the boys for the part he had taken in bringing Flagg to justice, for "telling." He knew that there were those among the older scholars who would make the child's school-life a misery to him if they heard that he had informed, and he would not betray him to them.

"Could I see you a moment alone, sir?" he asked the doctor.

Dr. Leacraft assented, and retired with Seabrooke to one of the adjoining class-rooms, bidding every boy remain where he was till their return.

Alone with the doctor, Seabrooke told his story and besought him not to let it be known that Charlie had been the unsuspected observer of Flagg's actions.

"The boy is as honest as the day, doctor," said Seabrooke.

"I know it; above suspicion. A most honest and loyal little fellow," said the doctor. "His secret shall be kept, if possible."

Then he went up to see Charlie, and received from him the fullest confirmation of all that Seabrooke had told; and he assured the boy that his knowledge of the transaction should not be betrayed to the others.

Charlie himself had taken such precautions against "being found out" as he was able to do; he would not even drink his coffee until he had persuaded Mrs. Moffat to let him go to his own dormitory, lest any of the "big fellows" should find him in their quarters. He told Mrs. Moffat enough to let her understand that he had unwittingly seen something he was not intended to see, and she, knowing enough of boys in general and of that senior class in particular, to be sure that Charlie would not go scot free, if the truth were known, hastened to comply with his request. Charlie had faith enough in Seabrooke to believe that he would not betray him if it were possible not to do so, and as no boy save he and Flagg had been into the dormitory, he hoped that it would not be discovered that he had been there.

And it was so; when the boys came up to make the final preparations for leaving, Charlie was in his own room, all tokens of his presence in that of the senior class removed by Mrs. Moffat's willing hands, and no one suspected that the boy had slept off his headache in any other than his usual place.

During the doctor's absence, and when he had time to collect his thoughts a little, Lewis had made up his mind as to the course he would pursue. He was in a bad position, there was no doubt of that; but he resolved to brave it out and to treat the whole affair as a huge joke. He might be punished; there was little doubt but that he would be, and probably his misconduct would be reported at home, but he would make the best he could out of a bad business. As he did not know who it was that had seen him in the dormitory, he did not dare to deny having been there; his suspicions turned toward Mrs. Moffat, and as she was an old and trusted member of the household, he knew very well that her word would be taken at any time against his own, which had not too much credit with either teacher or scholars.

He broke forth into a hoarse, forced laugh, looking around him with defiance and an assured contempt upon the circle of his schoolmates, who were, one and all, regarding him with suspicion and unconcealed scorn. The most careless and reckless among them were shocked at the enormity of the offence with which he stood charged, a theft of such magnitude, and then the scoundrelly attempt to make it appear that another had been guilty of it.

"What a row about a small matter!" he exclaimed. "The whole thing was a joke; but I never thought it would be so successful as this, putting the whole school in a fever. See here; I did take that bank-note, of course. I wanted to see Seabrooke and Neville in a war over it, and then I was going to put it in some place here it would be found. I was going to throw it under Seabrooke's bed or somewhere; but I saw his trunk standing there, and the chance was too good to be lost. I knew he would find it there, and send it to Percy as soon as he reached home. If it hadn't been for old Moffat it would all have worked right."

Utter silence met this tissue of impudence, defiance, truth and falsehood, and he saw plainly enough that he was believed to have committed the theft of Percy's money for theft itself, pure and simple, and that fear of detection only had induced him to make the effort at restoration.

"I say, Neville," he continued, "you know I did not mean to keep the money, don't you?"

But Percy only turned contemptuously away without any reply in words.
None were needed. Lewis was answered.

"I'm going to do my best not to be sent back here," said Lewis, striving to continue his bravado, although his heart was sinking as he began to realize more and more in what a predicament he had placed himself. "Such a set of muffs, teachers and scholars, I never met. No one can take a joke, or even see it."

"I think it likely your efforts will be crowned with success," said Raymond Stewart, himself a boy of not too much principle, but who, in common with the rest of the school, had been inexpressibly shocked and revolted by Lewis' conduct.

"You are dismissed," said Mr. Merton, appearing at the door. "Lewis
Flagg, you are to go to the doctor in his study."

What sentence was meted out to Lewis in that interview with the doctor the boys did not know until their return to school after the holidays, when he did not appear among them, and they were told on inquiry that he would not do so.

He endeavored to brazen it out with Dr. Leacraft as he had with the boys, insisting that the whole affair, the abstraction of the money and the placing it in Seabrooke's trunk, was "only a joke;" but the doctor altogether refused to look upon it in any other light than that of an unmitigated theft and an atrocious attempt to fasten it upon another when he feared detection for himself.

No protestations to the contrary served Lewis' turn, and from this day forth his evil influence was happily lost to the school.

And this was the story which Percy had to pour into the ears of his innocent young sister on his return home.

On the first opportunity which presented itself the morning after his arrival at his uncle's he told her all, extenuating nothing of his own misconduct and weakness in the beginning, and acknowledging that he had almost wilfully suffered himself to be led into disobedience and wrong, and richly deserved all the shame and trouble which had fallen upon him.

Lena was inexpressibly shocked by the account of this last wickedness of Flagg's, for she, in common with Dr. Leacraft and every one else who heard the tale, gave him credit only for the deliberate theft of Percy's money and then of the effort to throw it upon Seabrooke, either as an act of revenge or else because he feared that it would be found in his possession.

He returned to her the hundred-dollar note which had such a story attached to it, and in his turn had to hear from Lena her belief that the second sum sent for his relief had come from Hannah, and that the old nurse had sacrificed the gold which she had destined for her own glorification to his rescue from his predicament.

She reproached him for having appealed to Hannah, a servant in his father's house, for aid; and in her turn had to hear his reproaches for believing that he would condescend to such a thing, and received an emphatic and solemn denial that he had been guilty of this, or that he had ever let Hannah know of the straits he was in. He had never, he asseverated, spoken or written to any one concerning this, save herself; if he had done so it would have been to his indulgent uncle, Colonel Rush, to whom he would have applied.

How then had Hannah become possessed of his secret, was the question which the brother and sister now asked of each other and of themselves. Here was a mystery, indeed; for that it had been Hannah who sent that second hundred dollars could not be doubted after Miss Trevor's revelations. And why should she have sent the money unless she had known that Percy was in sore need?

"Did you tell Hannah anything about it?" he asked.

"No!" answered Lena, indignantly. "How could I tell her such a thing?
And you know how you told me I must never, never tell."

"And you did not show her my letter?" asked the puzzled Percy, who was by no means pleased, as may be imagined, by the knowledge that one other, at least, must share the secret.

"No," repeated Lena, still more vexed that he should suppose her to be capable of such an evasion, which to her sense of uprightness would have been as bad as speaking a falsehood by word of mouth; "no, of course I did not, that would have been telling her, would it not? One can do a falsehood as well as tell it," and although she had intended no reflection upon her brother, no thrust at him, Percy was ashamed as he remembered how often, during the last few months, he had done this very thing; how he had shuffled and evaded, and thought it no great harm as long as he did not put his falsehood into actual words.

"Well, no one knows how thankful I am to you, Lena, dear," he said.
"What can I ever do for you?"

"Tell Uncle Horace. I wish, oh, I do wish you would tell him," said his sister.

"Tell Uncle Horace; no, never!" exclaimed Percy. "I couldn't. Think of that look in his eyes when he hears of anything he thinks shabby or—well—dishonorable. He'd be ready to put me out of his house if he heard about that letter, even though we didn't know what was in it. I couldn't, Lena; I couldn't."

"I think it would be better for you," said his sister, "for Aunt May knew about Hannah and Miss Trevor, and she is sure to have told him. They have said nothing about it to me; but I know Uncle Horace will ask you, and then you must confess. It will be best to tell him without waiting till you must; he will not think so badly of you."

But Percy could not be persuaded to do this; he lacked the moral courage to follow his sister's advice and to confess all to his uncle before he should be obliged to do so, hoping that after all she might be mistaken and that he should still escape that humiliation. Since Colonel Rush had not spoken at once upon the subject, Percy believed that he would not do so at all, either because he had no knowledge of these money transactions or because he thought the matter of no importance.

"Why should Uncle Horace worry himself about Hannah's money?" he said to his sister. "She is nothing to him, and what she chooses to do with it is no business of his. She is not his servant."

"No," said the sensible and more far-sighted Lena; "but she is in his house. And you are his nephew and under his care, and he must think it strange that a servant would send you so much money and in such a secret way, and he must know that something is wrong; he must suspect that you are in some very bad scrape."

But Percy was still immovable. Easily swayed as he was in general, he was not to be influenced in the only right direction now, and all Lena's arguments were thrown away.

"But I say, Lena," he said, with a sudden change of subject and with his usual, easy-going facility for putting aside for the time being anything which troubled him, "I say, isn't it queer that the girl you are all trying to win this prize for should be the sister of Seabrooke? How things do come around, to be sure. I can tell you he's as uppish as the Grand Panjandrum himself about it, too; says his sister is not an object of charity, and her father and brother are able to look after her."

"Oh, did you tell him? How could you, Percy?" exclaimed Lena. "And now he'll tell her, and we meant it to be a surprise to her if any one gained it for her. What will the girls say, Maggie and Bessie, and the others who are trying for her!"

"I let it out without intending to," said Percy. "I was so taken by surprise myself when Seabrooke told me what he intended to do with that money, that I just let it out without thinking. But afterwards I told him it was a secret, and he said he wouldn't say anything about it. But he was awfully high and mighty, I can tell you. You won't make the thing go down with him. But who is likely to win it,—you won't, of course, whatever your chances may have been in the beginning—any one of your chums? Maggie Bradford or Bessie, or those?"

"I don't know," answered Lena. "Maggie would, of course, if it were for the best composition written by the class; but it is not for that, you know, but for the greatest general improvement in composition. But so many of the girls are interested about Gladys Seabrooke that I think almost any of our class would give it to her. But it somehow seems as if Maggie or Bessie ought to have the pleasure because we are the ones who found her out. The girls are all going to Miss Ashton's on Saturday morning, when they will be told; and if any one gains the prize who will give it to Gladys Seabrooke, it will be sent to her as an Easter present."