FFROM the time that George had seen the children's money, he did not cease to think of it, and soon he began to wish for it.

"'Tis a shame," he said to himself; "those two little snips having such a lot of money, and here I have next to none. Father is so awful stingy about giving me money."

This was not true, for Mr. Moore would give his son money for any needful purpose; but as George was apt to waste his allowance, he gave him but a small one. George had been envious when he heard how much more Mr. Bradford gave his sons, and now when he saw what the little girls had earned, he kept saying to himself that he wished he had half or even a quarter of what was in that box. The wish grew stronger and stronger; then came the thought how easily he might get at it some time when there was no one in Mrs. Bradford's room. Then he began prying and watching and looking at the drawer where the money lay, thinking how fine it would be if he could only wish the bank-notes out of it into his own pocket. Conscience whispered loudly, struggling with the evil spirit which was gaining such a hold upon him, but all in vain, he would not listen; and her voice grew fainter and fainter.

At last he resolved that he would have some of that money, come what might, although he had in the mean while found out from the boys with what purpose the dear little girls were saving it. And "chance" (as he called it) threw a fine opportunity in his way.

"This bill is bad," said Mrs. Moore to her husband, one morning when George was in the room. "It was among those you gave me yesterday, and was refused in a store where I offered it."

Mr. Moore took it from her. "A counterfeit certainly," he said; "it is unmistakably bad. I wonder I should have been so careless as to take it." Then twisting it up, he tossed it among a heap of waste paper that lay in a little basket, for Mr. Moore was rather a careless man. That note should have been destroyed at once when he knew it was bad.

A terrible thought came into George's mind, and he did not shut it out. He lingered a moment behind his parents, and snatching the false note, thrust it far down in his pocket; then he followed to the breakfast-room. But he could eat nothing; the food lay untouched upon his plate. A guilty, almost sick feeling took from him all appetite, made him hate the sight of those happy faces about the table, and think that every look which was turned upon him was full of anger and scorn. Once when Harry accidentally touched him, he clapped his hand over his pocket with a sudden fear that he was about to drag forth the note and expose him; and when tender-hearted little Bessie came to him, saying that, since he had eaten no breakfast, he should have half of her orange, he pushed her rudely from him, and would not take the gift she offered so prettily. His father reproved him sharply for his ill-manners, and his mother said she was sure George was not well, something had been wrong with him for two or three days; he must see the doctor.

Yes, something was wrong, very wrong with George, but it was not what his anxious mother thought; it was far worse than any sickness of the body; it was the evil of a bad heart, of a guilty purpose, and no doctor could cure him since he would not go to the great Physician. All the morning he crept about the house, wretched and uneasy, looking miserable enough to give cause for his mother's anxiety. Once or twice his wicked resolution almost gave way, and he half determined to throw away the note and think no more of the money in the box; but again the tempter whispered, drowning the feeble voice of conscience, and giving him many reasons why he should take what he wished for.

That afternoon he was left alone. His mother and Mrs. Bradford went out, taking Maggie and Bessie with them, leaving him behind at his own request. The boys were at school; his father and Mr. Bradford far away down town; it really seemed as if all had been arranged for him to carry out his purpose.

Rising from the sofa, upon which his mother had left him, he stole softly to the door and peeped out. How still the house was! He went slowly along the hall, watching the turn of the stairs lest a head should suddenly appear above it, reached Mrs. Bradford's door, pushed it open and entered. Now, quick—not a minute to lose. Hark! What is that? Nothing but old nurse crooning softly to her baby in the nursery.

Noiselessly he pulled open the drawer, lifted the box, the secret of which Maggie had showed him, from its corner, took out one of the fresh clean notes, and put in its place the crumpled, worthless bill his father had thrown aside that morning.

Whenever he had felt reproached for the meanness he was guilty of towards the dear little girls who had been so kind to him, he would say to himself that it was not at all likely they would suffer from it; probably the bad note would be paid away with the others; his father had taken it without noticing that it was false, why should not others do so? Even if it should be found out, Mr. Bradford would give his children another in the place of it; he was a rich man, a dollar was nothing to him.

He was about to put the box back, when the thought came to him, why take only one? Forgetting in his guilty haste that the loss of a second would make the change of the first more easily discovered, he touched the spring once more, took out another dollar, and then hastily replaced the box.

The deed once done, half his fears seemed to pass away. How easy it had been! No one had seen him, no one heard him; he was going away with his father and mother in two days, and probably no one would find out—the theft he would not say to himself—he called it the loss.

While Mr. Moore was out, he thought that he had been careless in the matter of the false note, and when he came home, looked for it, that he might destroy it. But it was gone, and his wife could tell him nothing of it. He called George, and asked him if he had seen it. George hesitated, and seemed so confused that his father was sure he had it, and asked how he had dared take it, when he knew it to be bad.

"I only took it to play with," stammered George. "I am always playing store with Maggie and Bessie, and I thought it would be nice for money."

This was true, as Mr. Moore knew, and, more gently, he told his son to give him the note.

"I threw it away," said the wicked boy; "I thought maybe you would not like me to have it, and I put it in the fire."

"All right then," said Mr. Moore, "but why are you so frightened? you have done nothing so very wrong, though it would have been better if you had not touched the note, and I am myself to blame for leaving it where there was any probability that it might be turned to a bad use."

George was only too glad that he had escaped so easily, and had no feelings of sorrow for having deceived his kind, good father.

The rest of that day and the whole of the next passed, and he heard nothing to alarm him. Every one was more kind than usual to him, though he himself was restless and fretful, for all thought he was not well. He kept out of the way of the other children, and spent half his time lounging on the sofa in his mother's room. He would willingly have spent the whole of his time there, but he was tormented with the fear that something might have been discovered, and would go about among the family to make sure that all was safe.

"Mamma," said Maggie, dancing into her mother's room, on the morning of the third day,—"mamma, nurse says this is the tenth of the month."

"Well, Dimple, what of that?"

"Why, mamma, you know that is the day you give us the glove-money, and here are my gloves,—the best ones quite, quite good, and the second-best are very nice, too; Jane mended them yesterday; and here comes Bessie with hers, and they are very nice; and I have had only one pair of boot-laces this month, mamma, and so do you not think we have enough for the log-cabin library, and for Mary's sack, too? We want to buy it and give it to her for Christmas, if you will let Jane make it. I think we shall have enough, mamma; don't you think so?"

Certainly her mother's name of "Dimple" was well suited to Maggie just then; for mouth, cheeks, and chin seemed running over with smiles, while her eyes looked as if they would dance out of her head. Nor was Bessie much less eager, as she stood beside her sister, and the four little hands each held up a pair of gloves.

"We will see," said mamma. "Papa is not quite ready to go down-stairs; we shall have time to count it up. I think you have over five dollars in your box, and these two,"—as she spoke, Mrs. Bradford took some money from her purse—"will make over seven. I think we shall manage to buy Mary's sack out of that."

She sat down upon a low chair, the children standing on each side, and taking the box from the drawer, emptied it into her lap.

"A pair of bootlaces for Maggie and one for Bessie, that leaves two dollars and fifteen cents for this month. Now here is—Why, what a crumpled note! How came this here?" and Mrs. Bradford took up the bill which George had vainly endeavored to smooth out. "I thought all those notes papa gave you were quite clean and fresh."

"So they were, mamma, nice and new and pretty; and, mamma, I am quite sure I did not muss that up so, and—Why there are only two bills, and we had three! I did not lose any, mamma,—I know I did not," said poor Maggie, all in a flutter, lest her mother should think this was some of her old carelessness.

"Do not be frightened, dear," said Mrs. Bradford; "no one is going to accuse you, or think you have been careless unless there is good reason for it. Henry, will you come here for one moment?"

Mr. Bradford came from his dressing-room, hair-brush in hand.

"Do you know anything of this bill? Have you changed any of the children's money?" asked his wife.

He took the note from her hand.

"This is a counterfeit, and a very poor one too," he said, the moment he looked at it. "Have either of you ever seen it before, children?"

"No, papa," said Maggie. "I know it is not one of our bills. We kept them just as nice as you gave them to us, and one is gone too."

"When did you last have out your money?" asked Mrs. Bradford.

"The day we went to the dentist's, mamma. When papa gave me the dollar that evening, I went for the box and put it in, and George counted the money for us, and there were three bills there, all clean and new."

"And we told Harry how much it was, and he put it in his little book," said Bessie; "he always keeps how much we have in his little book, mamma."

"Some one has meddled with it," said Mr. Bradford. "The notes I gave the children were all new ones on the —— Bank."

"Will we never find our own dollars, do you think, papa?" said Maggie, with a very long face.

"Yes, indeed, my darling,—at least, you shall have others in their place. This loss must not fall on you after all your efforts."

"I should have locked up the box," said Mrs. Bradford. "I wish I had taken your advice, Henry."

Mr. Bradford took from his pocket-book two other bank-notes, and gave them to the children.

"I do not wish you to speak of this to any one," he said to them; and they promised to obey.

Then mamma counted up all the money and it came to seven dollars, sixty-nine cents,—five for the library, and the rest for Mary's sack; for Mrs. Bradford said there was quite enough to buy some warm, cheap cloth, and she would let Jane make it at once, that it might be ready. They should go out with her that day and help choose the cloth.

Mr. Bradford carefully put away the counterfeit note, thinking that it might help to find out the guilty person, and when he went down-stairs, called Harry and Fred into the library.

"Harry," he said, "how much money was in the children's box when you counted it for them the other day?"

"Five dollars, sixty-nine cents, papa,—here it is written down;" and Harry, who was very neat and orderly in all his ways, pulled out his memorandum-book and read "M.'s and B.'s box, Dec. 5th, $5.69 cents." This was the sum which should have been in the box, and showed that the money had been taken within the last few days. Mr. Bradford told the boys of the loss, for he wished that they should know of it, but he charged them to be silent. Both he and his wife were very uncomfortable. There were one or two new servants in the house, but they had come with good characters, and there was no reason to think they had taken the money. None of them knew where it was kept, or the secret of the box. Only one besides their own children knew that.