If Mr. Johnson Miles had charged him of theft with a loud voice, Hal could not have felt the accusation more keenly than he felt it in the aviator’s look and tones. And the worst feature of the situation was the fact that the finger of circumstantial proof pointed directly at the boy.

At first, almost overcome with dismay, Hal suddenly realized the injustice of the suspicion against him, and stiffening with anger, he blazed forth:

“What do you mean, sir? Do you mean to say that I stole it?”

Mr. Miles did not answer the question. He merely looked stern and asked another, while a score of boys gathered around, gazing on the two with startled wonder.

“Can you tell me where you got it?” inquired Mr. Miles.

“Yes, sir, I can,” Hal replied defiantly. “I found it in the cave.”

“Where you found my bag of souvenirs?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why didn’t you turn it over to me with the bag?”

“Because I didn’t find them at the same time. I found that nugget to-day after we finished the bridge through the waterfall.”

“Why didn’t you say something about it? Why did you hide it in your pocket and keep still? A boy would naturally become pretty excited on finding a gold nugget.”

“I didn’t hide it in my pocket,” was Hal’s choking reply. “I didn’t know what it was and just stuck it in my pocket.”

“Why didn’t you throw it away?”

“It wasn’t like an ordinary stone. It was heavy, and I wanted to look at it in the light.”

“Where are the rest of them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean the other nuggets,” said the aviator with continued sternness. “There were six in the bag.”

For a moment Hal’s eye blazed with indignation; then his spirit seemed to collapse. The implied charge and the suspicious circumstances were too much for him.

“I don’t know,” he said hoarsely, and with a furtive glance at the boys around him, he walked out of the wash room.

Hal was late at supper that evening. In fact, there were only a few left at the tables when he entered the dining room. He took a seat at a table alone and ate in moody silence. He felt bitter and wished he could leave the school never to return, although no experience in his life had ever been more pleasant than his three years at Lakefarm.

This was the second time that suspicion had been directed toward him regarding the disappearance of the aviator’s nuggets, and now he could see no possible way of proving his innocence. Unluckily, he had had no idea of the real nature of his find until Walter Hurst pronounced it gold and the owner appeared on the scene and claimed it.

After supper he went gloomily to his room and sat down and waited to be summoned to the doctor’s office. Of course, Mr. Miles had gone straight to Dr. Byrd and informed him of the scene in the wash room, and the owner of Lakefarm would soon call Hal to account.

But no call came, and Hal soon found himself imagining all sorts of direful explanations of the seeming inactivity. Probably the doctor had sent for the town marshal to come and take the nugget-thief to jail. Or possibly the owner of the school had decided to have nothing more to do with this bad boy and was even now writing to his father to come and take him away.

In a short time Hal had worked himself up to a very nervous and unhappy state. Then he began to plan wildly how he might escape the undeserved punishment that he saw ahead.

“If I could run Mr. Miles’ airship I’d fly away in it,” he said bitterly. “And it’d serve him right, too. He didn’t have any business to condemn me without a hearing. He might have given me the benefit of the doubt until I’d had a chance to prove I was innocent. But I couldn’t prove anything with him looking at me that way.”

“Hello, Hal, what’s the matter?”

Pickles, his roommate, interrupted his unhappy reverie with this cheery interrogation as he entered the room. Pickles was a quiet little fellow who seldom took anything very seriously and had a habit of stealing on one and surprising him with an unexpected “boo!” Hal started visibly on this occasion, much to the glee of Pickles.

“What’s the matter?” repeated the smaller boy as he observed the glum look on Hal’s face.

“Nothing,” was the half surly reply; “only I’m goin’ to run away.”

“Run away! Hal! What for?”

“Don’t speak so loud, Pick,” cautioned Hal. “Yes, I’ve really made up my mind. I’m going to-night; and I want you to keep my secret.”

“Oh, Hal, you mustn’t,” Pickles gasped under his breath. “What would I do here without you? You’re the best friend I’ve got.”

Kenyon was surprised. He had had no idea that any of his associates regarded him with such affection, and this manifestation moved him not a little.

“Pickles,” he said warmly; “you’re a peach of a kid. I’ve never got mad at you since I first met you, and you’ve never got mad at me. That’s sayin’ a whole lot. Some kids you’ve got to get mad at every minute to keep ’em from walking all over you.”

“Bad, for instance.”

“Yes—and no. Bad’s a bad one unless you know how to handle him. We’ve always been good friends, and I like him.”

“So do I, but he’s mean sometimes. I like Bun better. But what you going to run away for, Hal? Is it the nugget?”

“Yes—and Mr. Miles. He thinks I’m a thief. And so do all the rest.”

“I don’t, Hal, if you say you’re not,” declared the faithful Walter.

“Pickles, you’re the best fellow on earth,” said Kenyon warmly, stepping close and putting both hands on his friend’s shoulders. “You almost make me feel like sticking. But I can’t.”

“Why not, Hal?”

“Everybody—excepting you—thinks I’m a thief, and I can’t prove I’m not. So I’m just going to cut loose. Some day I’ll come back and prove I’m innocent.”

“I’m sorry I picked up the nugget, Hal. I wish I hadn’t told what it was. But I was so surprised I couldn’t help it.”

“That’s all right, Pick. It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you a bit.”

“When you goin’, Hal?”

“To-night—just as soon as everybody’s asleep.”

“Where you going—home?”

“I don’t know. Maybe; maybe not. Anyway, I’ll write home and tell mother and father I didn’t steal.”

“Let me go with you, Hal.”

“No, Pickles, you mustn’t think of doing such a thing. You must stay here and tell them all I’m not a thief. Oh, Pick, it’s terrible to be called such a thing. You don’t know how I feel about it. Your father’s rich and mine’s poor, but I wouldn’t steal if I was starving—any more’n you would. Even when I was selling newspapers in Denver and making only half or quarter of a cent on each paper, I couldn’t think of stealing. I’d run a block to catch a man if I found I’d given him the wrong change. I’ll write to Dr. Byrd and tell him all about it, for I’ll have to thank him for what he has done for me.”

“Hal, I’ll do anything you want me to, but I’d rather go along. If you’ll wait, I’ll write to my father and he’ll come here and fix everything up for you.”

“No, it’s all settled what I’m going to do,” Hal answered determinedly. “You stay here, and when I get settled in a job somewhere, I’ll write you.”

“Well, it’s half an hour till bedtime,” said Pickles. “I’m going out till then.”

“Don’t give me away.”

“I should say not. You’ll be here when I come back?”

“Yes.”

Walter slipped softly out of the room, as was his custom. In the library he found Fes Sharer and whispered a few words in his ear. Then the two started out on a hunt and soon rounded up Bun and Bad. The four chums then held a whispered conference out on the lawn. As they separated, Pickles said:

“Remember, in an hour, under the big poplar.”

Half an hour after bedtime, three boys might have been seen to slip out of a window of the dormitory to the ground. It was dark, the stars twinkling sharply in the clear sky. Swiftly they sped away from the building, along the edge of the campus and two hundred yards beyond, until they came to a great tall tree, whose abundant branches and foliage hugged close and tapering to the trunk. There they stopped, sat down, with the tree between themselves and the school, and whispered excitedly to each other.

Ten minutes later another dark form emerged from another window of the dormitory and took a similar course. He carried a bundle under one arm. Hardly had he left the shadow of the school buildings and the bordering trees when another youth slipped from the same window and followed him.

The three forms under the tree hugged close to the ground as the boy with the bundle passed within twenty feet of them. Presently the fifth boy reached the tree and the three forms under it stood erect.

“Come on,” beckoned the last youth, and all four started in pursuit of the one ahead.

Presently the latter heard a footstep behind and threw a startled look backward. With a half-choked cry of astonishment, he broke into a run and fairly flew along the road that led toward Mummy CaÑon.