foolish. He
knew that all this trouble had not fallen on him by chance, and that out
of it some good must come. He said to himself that he had been growing
proud of his good name, of being his mother's right hand, and of having
the confidence of Mr Oswald, and perhaps this had been permitted to
happen to him to remind him that he must be watchful and humble, and
that he could do nothing good of himself. Gradually David came to see
how right Mr Caldwell had been when he said that it was a very great
matter how he bore his trial, and he grew ashamed of his anger and
impatience and distrust.

Just as if the Lord who loved him, and whom he loved, were not caring
for him all this time! Just as though this were a matter that could not
be committed to His care--trusted altogether to Him! Yes, he
acknowledged himself very foolish and wrong. A great many times every
day he asked that his good name might be cleared from the stain that
seemed to rest on it; but as often he asked, that whether it was to be
so or not, he might have grace and strength given to bear his trouble
well.

He did bear it pretty well, Mr Caldwell thought, and he watched him
closely through these days. Mr Oswald thought so, top, and wondered a
little. He could not really believe David Inglis to be guilty of theft,
but it seemed strange to him that he should be so cheerful and patient
under a false accusation. The only way in which he showed that he
resented his suspicion, was by being firm in continuing to refuse the
invitation to his house, which he again renewed. Frank told his father
that he did not wonder at the refusal; he tried all the same to shake
David's resolution, but he did not succeed.

David did not think he bore his trial well. In his heart, he was angry
and desponding often. And, oh! how he wanted his mother! It would not
have been half so bad if she had been at home, he thought, and yet he
could not bring himself to write to her about it. When it should be
made clear where the lost money had gone--so clear that even Mr Oswald
would not have a doubtful thought, then he would tell his mother, and
get the sympathy which would be so ready and so sweet. It would spoil
her happy summer to know that he was in trouble, he thought, and,
besides, he could not bear that she should know that any one had dared
to speak of him as dishonest. This was foolish, too, but he could not
tell her till afterwards.

His mother was not quite at