MMR. and Mrs. Moore and their son were to leave early the next morning, and as the day passed on, and George heard nothing of the stolen money, he began to think the loss would not be found out till he had gone; and then, he thought, he should be quite safe. He did not dare to spend it now, lest the Bradford children should wonder where the money came from; but when he went home, he could easily do so without discovery. He had been visiting at his uncle's before he came here, and it would be very easy to say he had given it to him. The last time he had been there, his uncle had given him five dollars; but this time, nothing. There were, or there had been, more than five dollars in that box; why had he not taken it all? It was just as easy to say he had received five dollars as two; and when it was missed, it would be thought some of the servants had taken it, or that it had been lost through some of Maggie's carelessness. He had gone so far in sin now, that he did not hesitate to go deeper and deeper; and determined, if possible, to have the rest of the contents of the box.

That evening it seemed as if "chance," as he called it, was again about to favor him. Mrs. Stanton and Miss Annie were there, and after dinner all the ladies and the younger children were gathered in the parlor; while the two boys were at their lessons in the little study-room at the head of the stairs. Mr. Moore was out. Mr. Bradford had left the room a short time since, saying he, too, must go out for a while, and the servants, George knew, were at their tea. Now was his time.

Making some excuse to leave the parlor, he ran up-stairs till he reached the first turning. The door of the study-room stood ajar. Pshaw! The boys would hear him. He peeped in. No one there but Harry, studying after his usual fashion, with his elbows on the table, his head between his hands, and his fingers thrust into his ears to shut out all sound that might take his attention from his book. Fred must have gone to his own room in the third story. He should hear him if he came down. Headlong, noisy Fred was sure to give notice of his coming.

But he must make haste. There is not a moment to lose. Almost forgetting his caution in his guilty hurry, he ran quickly up the few remaining steps, and along the hall to Mrs. Bradford's room. He stole in as he had done once before. The jet of gas in the burner over the dressing-bureau which held the coveted prize was turned down very low, but the bright fire dancing in the grate made the room quite light enough for his guilty purpose.

He opened the drawer and took up the box. How light it was! and there was no rattle of pennies, none of what dear little Maggie had called, in the joy of her heart, "her log-cabin music." He touched the spring, and the box flew open. Empty! He stood for a moment looking into it, then turned it up to the firelight to make sure there was nothing within. As he did so, he heard steps behind him; a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and looking up with a start, he saw Mr. Bradford's face sternly bent upon him, while at his elbow he met Fred's clear, honest eyes blazing with scorn and indignation. His own fell to the ground, and there he stood, like the mean, pitiful thing he was, trembling and cowering, the open box still in his hand.

There was a moment's silence, and then Fred broke forth.

"So it was you, you rascal! you mean, sneaking, cowardly thief! You are the fellow that robs little girls of their hard-earned money! You—you—you—" Fred's passion was choking him.

"Hush, hush, my son!" said Mr. Bradford, sadly; "it is not for you to reproach this unhappy boy. Leave him to me. Go to your play, if you can play after what you have seen."

Fred laid both his own hands on that which rested on George's shoulder. "Take your hand from him then, father; he is not fit to be touched by an honest man, by an honorable gentleman! A thief!"

"Go, go, Fred, and do not speak of this till you see me again."

Fred obeyed, as he knew he must when his father spoke in that tone.

"Now," said Mr. Bradford sternly to the guilty boy, "go in there;" and he pointed to the door of his dressing-room.

Trembling, and fearing he knew not what, but not daring to disobey, George did as he was told. Mr. Bradford followed, silently put beyond George's reach everything on which he might lay his hands, locked every drawer and closet, and then turned to leave the room.

George started forward. "What are you going to do?" he stammered.

"Leave you here till your father comes. I cannot deal with you, for, thank God, you are not my child."

"Oh, don't, don't!" said the wretched boy, falling on his knees. "Oh, I did not mean to—I was only looking—he will punish me so—I would not have taken—"

"Hush, hush," said Mr. Bradford, "and do not kneel to me. Do not add to your sin by trying to deny it, but think over what you have done; and when your poor father comes, be ready to make confession to him, and to the God against whom you have sinned."

"But don't tell father; he will be so angry; he minds such things so much. He—he never would forgive me."

"And yet the son of such a father could do this terrible thing? I grieve to tell him, George; rather, far rather, even for my own sake, would I pass over this in silence, and let you go unpunished; but it is a duty I owe to you, as well as to him, not to let you go on unchecked in sin. I see, too, poor boy, that it is the fear of punishment, not of distressing your kind father, which makes you so anxious that I should not tell him. You do not yet see your guilt, unhappy child; you only dread the pain and shame which it has brought upon yourself."

As Mr. Bradford ceased speaking, Mr. Moore's short, quick step was heard in the hall, and the next moment he rapped upon the door. Fred, going down-stairs, had met him coming in, and was asked where George was. He had answered, "Up-stairs;" but he had been so shocked and distressed by what he had seen that Mr. Moore had noticed his manner, and asked if anything were wrong with George. Fred would not say what the trouble was, but told Mr. Moore where he would find his son.

Mr. Bradford opened the door.

"Fred told me that George was here," said Mr. Moore, looking much disturbed. "What is wrong?" he asked, as he saw his son's guilty, miserable face.

"Will you tell your father, George, or shall I?" asked Mr. Bradford.

But George only cried and sobbed, saying, "he did not mean to—it was very hard—he was only looking"—till Mr. Moore once more asked Mr. Bradford to explain what all this meant.

Mr. Bradford told the story in as few words as possible,—how his little daughters had shown George the secret of the box, telling him why they were laying by the money; how that morning two of the notes had been missed, and the false one found in their place (as he spoke, taking the bill from his pocket-book and handing it to Mr. Moore); how Mrs. Bradford had put the rest of the money in a safer place; and lastly, how he and Fred had just seen George go to the drawer and take out the box, as if with the intention of adding to his sin by a new theft.

It was a hard thing for Mr. Bradford to do; he knew how he should feel himself if one of his own boys had done this. He was very much grieved for his friend, and when he had told all as gently as possible, he went away, and left him alone with his unhappy son. What passed between them it is not necessary to tell you. George would have denied his guilt even now, but the false note in his father's hand made this impossible.

Maggie and Bessie did not see him again, for Mr. and Mrs. Moore left the next morning at an hour even earlier than they had intended; for after this terrible sorrow had come upon them, they felt that they could not bear to meet any of Mr. Bradford's children again.

Perhaps you may like to know how Fred and his father discovered George's guilt. It so happened that Fred's quick temper had brought him into more trouble at school, and he did not know exactly how to act in the matter. He had finished his lessons, and was thinking this over when he heard his father come up-stairs and go to his dressing-room.

"I've a great mind to tell papa, and see what he says of it," he said to himself. To think and to do were with Fred one and the same thing; and the next moment he was with his father, asking if he would wait and hear his story. He might have been sure of that; Mr. Bradford always had time to spare if his children needed his help or advice.

Fred told his story, and they were sitting talking it over in low tones when George's step was heard in the next room. The dressing-room was quite in the shade, and though George neither saw nor heard those who were within, he himself was plainly seen through the open door, at his guilty work.

And now, like our Maggie and Bessie, we need have no more to do with this poor boy, and will take leave of him. The little girls were not told that the thief had been discovered. Their mother thought it would only shock and distress them, while it could serve no good purpose for them to know it. They wondered, and talked of it between themselves for a few days; and then there were so many pleasanter things to think of that they forgot all about it.