, Harry? what has happened?" she exclaimed, as he entered;
"are you sick?"

"Yes, Mother, and I shall never be well again. I have been accused
of stealing, and Mr. Reid and the postmaster both believe it. I
cannot live here any longer. I have just come from the recruiting
office; I have enlisted for the Mexican war, and I hope I shall be
shot; I go the day after to-morrow. I will never be seen here again.
To think that any one should dare to accuse me of theft! Why did I
not knock him down? I hate the world, I hate all mankind, I hate
life, I want to die. If it were not for you, Mother, I believe I
should kill myself. O Mother, Mother! how can I live?" And the poor
fellow laid his head in his mother's lap and wept bitterly.

The poor mother--she spoke not, she did not weep; she laid her hands
upon her son's head, and looked up through the thin roof of her poor
cottage, far, far into the everlasting heavens, where alone are
peace and hope to be found. In her deep agony she called upon the
Almighty for aid. She looked like a marble image of despair.

"I must prepare to go," at last her son said; "I have enlisted, and
I must be ready. "What will you do with yourself, Mother?"

"Go with you, my child. Wherever you go, there I go too. I can cook
for the camp. You have done wrong, my son, in enlisting as a
soldier; why not come first to me? Your innocence will yet be
proved. Why were you so rash? All might have yet been well with us."

"I cannot bear it, Mother; I must go."

"Then I go with you; I will never desert you."

"But O, you will be killed with fatigue and exposure. Mother, dear
Mother, stay till I can get you a new home."

"I go, my son, where you go," said his mother; "my only home is with
you."

In two days their few possessions were sold, and they were gone.

We will now return to the counting room where our TRUE story began.
Some months had passed; the father and son are there. "George," said
Mr. Pratt, "I cannot but fear you made some mistake about that
letter. Money is seldom stolen out of letters. Were you very
particular about the name and place in your direction?"

"The truth is, Sir, that Frank directed the letter; I wrote and
folded and sealed it; but just as I was going to direct it, Harry
Flint called me to speak to some one, and I let Frank direct it; but
I told him to be sure to direct it to Mr. John Reid, and I know he
did so, just as well as if I had seen it."

The father looked much