It was Saturday night, the Saturday after the above conversation, and Mr. Lynn was making ready to pay the men. James Meeking was payer in a general way; but James Meeking was also packer; that is, he packed, with assistance, the goods destined for London. A parcel was being sent off this evening, so that it fell to Mr. Lynn's lot to pay the workmen. He stood before the desk in the serving-room, counting out the money in readiness. There was a quantity of silver in a bag, and a great many brown paper packets of halfpence; each packet containing five shillings. But they all had to be counted, for sometimes a packet would run a penny or twopence short.

The door at the foot of the stairs was heard to open, and a man's step came up. It proved to be a workman from a neighbouring manufactory.

"If you please, Mr. Lynn, could you oblige our people with twelve or fourteen pounds' worth of change?" he asked. "We couldn't get in enough to-day, try as we would. The halfpence seem as scarce as the silver."

Now it happened that the Ashley manufactory was that evening abundantly supplied. Samuel Lynn went into the counting-house to the master, who was seated at the desk. "The Dunns have sent in to know if we can oblige them with twelve or fourteen pounds' worth of change," said he. "We have plenty to-night; but to send away so much may run us very short. Dost thee happen to have any gold that thee can spare?"

Mr. Ashley looked at his own cash drawer. "Here are six, seven sovereigns."

"That will be sufficient," replied Samuel Lynn, taking them from his hand, and going back to the applicant in the serving-room. "How much has thee need of?" asked he.

"Fourteen pounds, please, sir. I have the cheque here, made out for it. Silver or copper, it doesn't matter which; or a little gold. I have brought a basket along with me."

Mr. Lynn gave the money, and took the cheque. The man departed, and the Quaker carried the cheque to Mr. Ashley.

Mr. Ashley put the cheque into one of the pigeon-holes of his desk. He had the account in duplicate before him, of the goods going off, and was casting it up. William and Cyril were both in the counting-house, but not engaged with Mr. Ashley. William was marking small figures on certain banded gloves; Cyril was looking on, an employment that suited Cyril amazingly. His want of occupation caught the Quaker's eye.

"If thee has nothing to do, thee can come and help me count the papers of coppers."

Cyril dared not say "No," before Mr. Ashley. He might have hesitated to say it to Samuel Lynn; nevertheless, it was a work he especially disliked. It is not pleasant to soil the fingers counting innumerable five-shilling brown-paper packets of copper money; to part them into stacks of twelve pence, or twenty-four halfpence. In point of fact, it was James Meeking's work; but there were times when Samuel Lynn, William, and Cyril had each to take his turn at it. Perhaps the two former liked it no better than did Cyril Dare.

Cyril ungraciously followed to the serving-room. In a few minutes James Meeking looked in at the counting-house. "Is the master ready?"

Mr. Ashley rose and went into the next room, carrying one of the duplicate lists. The men were waiting to pack—James Meeking and the other packer, a young man named Dance. The several papers of boxes were ready on a side counter; and Mr. Ashley stood with the list in his hand, ready to verify them. Had Samuel Lynn not been occupied with serving, he would have done this.

"Three dozen best men's outsizes, coloured," called out James Meeking, reading the marks on the first parcel he took up.

"Right," responded Mr. Ashley.

James Meeking laid it upon the packing-table—clear, except for an enormous sheet of brown paper as thick as card-board—turned to the side counter and took up another of the parcels.

"Three dozen best men's outsizes, coloured," repeated he.

"Right," replied Mr. Ashley.

And so on, till all the parcels were told through and were found to tally with the invoice. Then began the packing. It made a large parcel, about four feet square. Mr. Ashley remained, looking on.

"You will not have enough string there," he observed, as the men were placing the string round it in squares.

"I told you we shouldn't, Meeking," said George Dance.

"There's no more downstairs," was Meeking's answer, "I thought it might be enough."

Neither of the men could leave the parcel. They were mounted on steps on either side of it. Mr. Ashley called to William. "Light the lantern, and go upstairs to the string-closet. Bring down a ball."

Candles were not allowed to be carried about the premises. William came forth, lighted the lantern, and went upstairs. At the same moment, Cyril Dare, who had finished his disagreeable copper counting, strolled into the counting-house. Finding it empty, he thought he could not do better than take a survey of Mr. Ashley's desk, the lid of which was propped open. He had no particular motive in doing this, except that that receptacle might present some food or other to gratify his curiosity, which the glove-laden counters could not be supposed to do. Amidst other things his eyes fell on the Messrs. Dunns' cheque, which lay in one of the pigeon-holes.

"It would set me up for a fortnight, that fourteen pounds!" ejaculated he. "No one would find it out, either. Ashley would suspect any one in the manufactory before he'd suspect me!"

He stood for a moment in indecision, his hand stretched out. Should it be drawn back, and the temptation resisted; or, should he yield to it? "Here goes!" cried Cyril. "Nothing risk, nothing win!"

He transferred the cheque to his own pocket, and stole out of the counting-house into the small narrow passage which intervened between it and Mr. Lynn's room, where the parcel was being made up. Passing stealthily through the room, at the back of the huge parcel, which hid him from the eyes of the men and of Mr. Ashley, he emerged in safety into the serving-room, took up his position close to Samuel Lynn, and began assiduously to count over some shilling stacks which he had already verified. Samuel Lynn, his face turned to the crowd of men who were on the other side the counter receiving their wages, had not noticed the absence of Cyril Dare. Upon this probable fact Cyril had reckoned.

"Any more to count?" asked Cyril.

Samuel Lynn turned his head round. "Not if thee has finished all the packets." Had he seen what had just taken place, he might have entrusted packets of coppers to Mr. Cyril less confidently.

Cyril jumped upon the edge of the desk, and remained perched there. William Halliburton came back with the twine, which he handed to George Dance. Blowing out the lantern, he returned to the counting-house.

The parcel was completed, and James Meeking directed it in his plain, clerk-like hand—"Messrs. James Morrison, Dillon, and Co., Fore Street, London." It was then conveyed to a truck in waiting, to be wheeled to the parcels office. Mr. Ashley returned to his desk and sat down. Presently Cyril Dare came in.

"Halliburton, don't you want to be paid to-night? Every one's paid but you. Mr. Lynn's waiting to close the desk."

"Here is a letter for the post, William," called out Mr. Ashley.

"I am coming back, sir. I have not set the counter straight yet."

He received his money—thirty shillings a week now. He then put things straight in the counting-house, to do which was as much Cyril's work as his, and took a letter from the hands of Mr. Ashley. It contained one of the duplicate lists, and was addressed as the parcel had been. William generally had charge of the outward-bound letters now; he did not forget them as he had done in his first unlucky essay. He threw on the elegant cloak of which you have heard, took his hat, and went through the town, as far as the post-office, Cyril Dare walking with him. There they parted; Cyril continuing his way homewards, William retracing his steps.

All had left the manufactory except Mr. Ashley and Samuel Lynn. James Meeking had gone down. On a late night, as the present, when all had done except the master and Samuel Lynn, the latter would sometimes say to the foreman, "Thee can go on to thy supper; I will lock up, and bring thee the keys." Mr. Ashley was setting his desk straight—putting sundry papers in their places; tearing up others. He unlocked his cash drawer, and put his hand into the pigeon-hole for the cheque. It was not there. Neither there nor anywhere, that he could see.

"Why, where's that cheque?" he exclaimed.

It caused Samuel Lynn to turn. "Cheque?" he repeated.

"Dunns' cheque, that you brought me an hour ago."

"I saw thee put it in the second pigeon-hole," said the Quaker, advancing to the desk, and standing by Mr. Ashley.

"I know I did. But it is gone."

"Thee must have moved it. Perhaps it is in thy private drawer?"

Mr. Ashley shook his head: he was deep in consideration. "I have not touched it since I placed it there," he presently said. "Unless—surely I cannot have torn it up by mistake?"

He and Samuel Lynn both stooped over the waste-paper basket. They could detect nothing of the sort amidst its contents. Mr. Ashley was nonplussed. "This is a curious thing, Samuel," said he. "No one was in the room during my absence except William Halliburton."

"He would not meddle with thy desk," observed the Quaker.

"No: nor suffer any one else to meddle with it. I should like to see William. He may possibly throw some light upon the subject. The cheque could not vanish into thin air."

Samuel Lynn went down to James Meeking's, whom he disturbed at supper. He bade him watch at the entrance-gate for the return of William from the post-office, and request him to walk into the manufactory. William was not very long in making his appearance. He received the message—that the master and Mr. Lynn wanted him—and in he went with alacrity, having jumped to the conclusion that some conference was about to be held touching the French journey.

Considerably surprised was he to learn what the matter really was. He quite laughed at the idea of the cheque's being gone, and believed that Mr. Ashley must have torn it up. Very minutely went he over the contents of the paper-basket. Its relics were not there.

"It's like magic!" exclaimed William. "No one entered the counting-house; not even Mr. Lynn or Cyril Dare."

"Cyril Dare was with me," said the Quaker. "Verily it seems to savour of the marvellous."

It certainly did; and no conclusion could be come to. Neither could anything be done that night.

It was late when William reached home—a quarter past ten. Frank was sitting over the fire, waiting for him. Gar had gone to bed tired; Mrs. Halliburton with headache; Dobbs, because there was nothing more to do.

"How late you are!" was Frank's salutation; "just because I want to have a talk with you."

"Upon the old theme," said William, with a smile. "Oxford or Cambridge?"

"I say, William, if you are going to throw cold water upon it——But it won't put a damper upon me," broke off Frank, gaily.

"I would rather throw hot water on it than cold, Frank."

"Look here, William. I am growing up to be a man, and I can't bear the idea of living longer upon my mother. At my age I ought to be helping her. I am no nearer the University than I was years ago; and if I cannot get there, all my labour and my learning will be thrown away."

"Not thrown away," said William.

"Thrown away as far as my views are concerned. I must go to the Bar, or go to nothing—aut CÆsar, aut nullus. To the University I will go; and I see nothing for it but to do so as a servitor. I shan't care a fig for the ridicule of those who get there by a golden road. There's Lacon going to Christchurch at Easter, a gentleman commoner; Parr goes to Cambridge, to old Trinity."

"They are the sons of rich men."

"I am not envying them. We have not faced the difficulties of our position so long, and made the best of them, for me to begin envying others now. Wall's nephew goes up at Easter——"

"Oh, does he?" interrupted William. "I thought he could not manage it."

"Nor can he manage it in that sense. His father has too large a family to help him, and there's no chance of the exhibition. It is promised, Keating has announced. The exhibitions in Helstonleigh College don't go by right."

"Right or merit, do you mean, Frank?"

"I suppose I mean merit; but the one implies the other. They go by neither."

"Or you think that Frank Halliburton would have had it?"

"At any rate, he has not got it. Neither has Wall. Therefore, we have made up our minds, he and I, to go to Oxford as servitors."

"All right! Success to you both!"

Frank fell into a reverie. The friend of whom he spoke, Wall, was nephew of the under-master of the college school. "Of course I never expected to get to college in any other way," continued Frank, taking up the tongs and balancing them on his fingers. "If an exhibition did at odd moments cross my hopes, I would not dwell upon it. There are fellows in the school richer and greater than I. However, the exhibition is gone, and there's an end of it. The question now is—if I do go as a servitor, can my mother find the little additional expense necessary to keep me there?"

"Yes, I am sure she can: and will," replied William.

"There'll be the expenses of travelling, and sundry other little things," went on Frank. "Wall says it will cost each of us about fifteen pounds a year. We have dinner and supper free. Of course, I should never think of tea, and for breakfast I would take milk and plain bread. There'd be living at home between terms—unless I found something to do—and my clothes."

"It can be managed. Frank, you'll drop those tongs."

"What we shall have to do as servitors neither I nor Wall can precisely tell," continued Frank, paying no attention to the warning. "Wall says, brushing clothes, and setting tables for meals, and waiting on the other students at dinner, will be amongst the refreshing exercises. However it may be, my mind is made up to do. If they put me to black shoes, I shall only sing over it, and sit down to my studies with a better will when the shoes have come to an end."

William smiled. "Blacking shoes will be no new employment to you, Frank."

"No. And if ever I catch myself coveting the ease and dignity of the lordly hats, I shall just cast my thoughts back again to our early privations; to what my mother struggled through for us; and that will bring me down again. We owe all to her; and I hope she will owe something to us in the shape of comforts before she dies," warmly added Frank, the tears rising to his eyes.

"It is what I have hoped for years," replied William, in a low tone. "It is coming, Frank."

"Well, I think I do now see one step before me. You remember papa's dream, William?"

William simply bowed his head.

"Lately I have not even seen that step. Between ourselves, I was losing some of my hopefulness; and you know that is what I never lost, whatever the rest of you may have done."

"We none of us lost hope, Frank. It was hope that enabled us to bear on. You were over-sanguine."

"It comes to the same thing. The step I see before me now is to go to Oxford as a servitor. To St. John's if I can, for I should like to be with Wall. He is a good, plodding fellow, though I don't know that he is over-burthened with brains."

"Not with the quick brains of Frank Halliburton."

Frank laughed. "You know Perry, the minor canon? He also went to St. John's as a servitor. I shall get him to tell me——"

Frank stopped. The tongs had gone down with a clatter.