The time had now arrived when Henry was to be freed from his troubles, and to obtain a satisfactory victory over malignity and base design. On the evening after his father had taken leave of him, and when he, in company with his friend George, was sitting at his bed-room window, admiring the beauties of the setting sun, and enjoying the calmness of the surrounding scenery, an unusual noise was heard upon the stairs. Henry instantly rose from his seat and opened the door, when in rushed little Ned, breathless, and almost speechless. He had his hairy cap in his hand, and had contrived to run one of his legs through his long pin-afore, as he made his way up the stairs. His face was far more red than usual, and full of anxiety.

"What is the matter, Ned?" said Henry as he entered: "you seem in a hurry."

"In a hurry!" Ned replied, gasping for breath: "in a hurry! Why, it's all found out!" said he, waving his cap over his head.

"What is found out?" asked George, laughing heartily at Ned's grotesque appearance. "Look at your leg through your pin-afore."

"Never mind," said he: "Kitty will mend that. But it is all found out! the thief is found out." As he uttered these words, he seized Henry by the hand, who, with George and himself, hastened down stairs, Ned repeating all the way, "It's all found out! I have found him out!" He dragged them both into the school-room, where most of the boys were assembled. Dr. Harris, who was disturbed by the noise, also followed; and, upon his entering, Ned called out, with a loud voice, "I charge you, Charles Greene, with stealing Scott's money, and will prove it!"

Greene started, as though he had seen something unnatural. "I,—I," was all he could articulate, and he turned as white as possible.

"Yes," says Ned, "I have just been into Dame Birch's, the pie-woman, who said that you had then been to pay the money you owed her, and that she was very glad she had got clear of you."

He then related to Dr. Harris, the conversation he had had with the pie-woman about ten minutes before. "As I was walking to the shop, Sir," he said, "I saw Greene take his leave, when he was busily thrusting something into his pockets, I went into the shop, and Mrs. Birch told me that Greene had just paid her the remainder of his debt. I asked what debt it was; and she told me that it had been owing a long time: that, about a month ago, he went there and changed a sovereign, and paid her eight shillings out of fourteen he owed her; and that he wished the whole of the sovereign had belonged to himself, but it did not; for one of the other boys was to have half, as he had been with him when he had found it."

Greene, who had by this time in some measure recovered from his first shock, here interrupted Ned by saying, "I never told her so: I said my father gave it to me, which he did. He told me that my uncle from London had called and left it for me."

Ned declared he had told Dr. Harris the truth, and every word that Dame Birch had said, except that she added, "I believe I should never have got the money, if I had not threatened to go to his master."

Dame Birch was now sent for, and confirmed what little Ned had stated; and in answer to a question from Dr. Harris, why she allowed the boys to get so much in debt? said, that she could not help it with Greene, for he would have what he chose; but that it was not all for cakes: part of it was payment for two squares of glass, which he broke when fighting, one day, with another boy.

During the interview, Henry and George, and one or two of their school-fellows, hastened to Mr. Greene's house, (for he fortunately lived at a short distance from the village,) to have his son's account either confirmed or denied. On their reaching the door, they knocked with great authority; and upon the servant's opening it, they demanded to see his master immediately, as they had some very important business with him. The servant informed Mr. Greene of their visit, and he came out of the parlour and demanded what business they could have with him; when George said, "Sir, we have taken the liberty to call upon you, to know whether you gave your son Charles a sovereign about a month ago.

"Gave him what?" said the old gentleman: "gave him a sovereign! Not I, indeed: I hope I know better what to do with my money. His mother might have given him six-pence or so; but we should never think of giving him any thing like a sovereign."

He then returned into the parlour, and they heard him ask Mrs. Greene, if she knew of Charles's having a sovereign about a month ago, when she answered, "No, my dear."

This was quite satisfactory to Henry and his friends; and without waiting any further ceremony, they started off for the school.

In the mean time Greene, having ascertained that they were gone to his father's to make enquiry, had confessed that it was he who had stolen the money out of Scott's box; and when they returned, he was surrounded by all the boys, who were upbraiding and taunting him with his villany. His own friends too were against him; and, from shame and agitation of mind, he looked most wretchedly.

It is impossible to describe the scene which now took place in the school-room. Henry, whose mind was relieved from the depression occasioned by this disgraceful charge, was caressed and congratulated by every boy in the school. Mrs. Harris kissed him affectionately, and said she felt confident of his innocence from the first, and had never despaired of its being made evident. Juliana and Eliza were also amongst the first to bestow their approbation upon his conduct. George and little Ned were delighted beyond measure to see their friend once more made happy, and hoped soon to have him as the chief in their youthful sports.

But it was far different with Greene, who now felt all the wretchedness of one convicted of theft, and detected in basely attaching the disgraceful charge to an innocent and praiseworthy lad. He had taken his seat at the extremity of the school-room, and was hiding his face in his hands; and though a boy of wonderful spirits and strong nerve, was now bathed in tears, and sobbing aloud. Dr. Harris, who had been giving him a very severe lecture, still stood over him, impressing upon him the necessity of retiring into his room, to seek from God that forgiveness in prayer and repentance, which, he too much feared, would not be easily obtained from his offended and disgusted school-fellows. He now, therefore, arose, and made his way towards the door, in doing which he had again to encounter the execrations and pointed fingers of the boys, who cried, as he passed them, "Go, thou thief!" and followed him until they saw him enter the house.

Henry, however, was the only lad who did not upbraid him; for, though Greene had behaved in so disgraceful a manner towards him, he could not but feel distressed to see him appear almost brokenhearted. He still remembered, in the midst of his joy, that but a few hours had elapsed since he felt all the wretchedness of one supposed to be guilty of theft. "What then," he said to himself, "must be the feelings of him who stands convicted of the crime, and therefore has not the consciousness of innocence to support him? I cannot find in my heart to upbraid him," he said, as he took George and Ned by the hand and led them across the lawn.

They continued their walk until bed-time, when they returned, and Henry again experienced the sweets of a good night's rest, the sure reward of integrity.

Greene, on the contrary, was now distressed beyond measure: his night was restless and unrefreshing; and as the time was fast approaching when he must again face his master and his school-fellows, remorse and dread had taken possession of his mind, and he felt as if he had not strength to dress himself. "What shall I do?" he exclaimed, as he again threw himself across the bed: "I cannot enter the school-room, nor face my school-fellows; for I know they must despise me. I, who have hitherto taken the lead in the school, and have done as I chose with the boys, am now to be pointed at and spurned by the least in the place. I will leave the school directly," he added, rising from the bed, and making another attempt to dress: "I will leave the school directly, and hasten to my uncle's in London." With this rash determination he concluded, when, taking up his jacket, he discovered, upon the back of it, that which had before escaped his notice, the words "THIEF" and "LIAR," in large characters. This fresh assault cut him to the heart. He dropped the coat, and fell upon his knees at the foot of the bed, praying aloud to his Maker for forgiveness, and promising never to offend in the like manner again. He concluded by exclaiming, in great agitation: "Where shall I find a friend to plead for me? and to whom, among my school-fellows, can I now look for support?"

"To me! to me!" cried Henry, who was passing his chamber at the time, and whose kind heart overflowed with pity at the distressed bewailings of this repentant boy. "I will be your friend, and seek forgiveness from your school-fellows. Though you have grossly injured me, I cannot, must not bear malice. Dr. Harris tells us we should forget and forgive."

"And do you forgive me, Henry?" he exclaimed: "can you forgive one who has acted so basely towards you?"

"I can and do," he answered, "and will beg of Dr. Harris to forgive you also." He then seized him by the hand, and, half undressed as he was, with his coat under his arm, and his eyes swollen with crying, he drew him to the school-room, where Dr. Harris had just taken his seat. As he made his way towards the desk, the boys were greatly surprised, and wondered when they heard Henry ask Dr. Harris to forgive him. "I found him, Sir," continued Henry, "upon his knees, asking forgiveness of the Almighty, and making promises of future amendment. I therefore, as far as I am concerned, heartily forgive him, and I hope, Sir, you will do the same."

Dr. Harris then addressed Greene in his most impressive manner, telling him that he was glad to find he was made sensible of his error; and was also happy to see him so full of contrition: adding, "that, as it is the sincere wish of Henry, to whom you ought to be for ever grateful, I am willing to think no more of this matter. But it is not to me, so much as to your school-fellows, you need look for forgiveness; and to them you ought to apply, as being the parties offended."

Henry then took him down the school, and by his earnest entreaties and pathetic address, obtained his pardon.

Greene now retired, and in a short time returned to his lessons, somewhat happier than when he arose, but still depressed by shame.

The next day Mr. Wardour returned, and had the felicity to find his son restored to health and happiness. When he heard of his acquittal, and of his noble conduct in obtaining pardon for Greene, he pressed him to his bosom, and almost shed tears of joy. He then exhorted him to be always grateful for this providential discovery of his innocence, and to let all the future actions of his life be governed by the same noble principles as he had followed upon this trying occasion. After making a present to George and little Ned, for their friendly conduct towards his son, he obtained a holiday for the whole school, and took his leave.

Mr. Greene, upon hearing of his son's conduct, would have severely punished him, had not Dr. Harris assured him of his contrition, and begged of him to inflict no further chastisement than he had already received from his little school-follows. He therefore contented himself with making Scott a handsome present.

Mrs. Harris and her daughters had been lately busy in relieving the family of poor Martha Watson, whom the late circumstances had brought under their notice. The husband, by this good lady's well-timed attendance, had now recovered his health, and had gone to work, while the children were clothed and made decent in their appearance; and their mother never failed to bless the names of Henry and George, and to thank that Providence which had directed them to her cottage.

Greene still continued in a gloomy state, when he was happily relieved from it by his uncle prevailing upon his father to let him go a voyage to the East Indies with him; and, in less than a month, he departed from that place, which had now become irksome to him; but not without first being well convinced, that "honesty is the best policy."

Henry and George still continued to be beloved by their school-fellows; and each remained happy in the possession of a good conscience.

THE END.

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