Mr. Paterson. "The boy was a good boy on the
whole."

"A good boy!" Miss Pinckney was screaming now. "Well, George
Paterson, your ideas of goodness and mine differ. You may please to
take yourself off now, for I've no time to spend in gossip;" and Miss
Pinckney began her operations by flapping with a duster the counter of
the shop, and taking from the drawers certain boxes of small articles
in which she dealt.

While she was thus engaged, she suddenly stopped short, and uttered an
exclamation of horror, turning a white face to her sister, who was
listening to the few words of comfort George had to bestow. "Look
here!" she exclaimed; "look here! The secret's out. The little tin
cash-box is gone, and the thief is out of reach. What do you say to
your good boy now, eh, George Paterson?"

George Paterson took one step into the shop, and said--

"How do you know he took it? He is the last boy I could think of as a
thief."

"Of course. Oh, he is a perfect boy--a good boy! I only wish he had
never darkened my doors--the young villain!"

"Hush, now Miss Pinckney. Calm yourself, and let us have a look for
the box. Where was it put?"

"Why, in the drawer, to be sure, under the counter. I keep the key of
the drawer in my key basket. I always locked it--always. He got the
key and opened it. There was four pounds and odd money in it--close on
five pounds."

"I am certain," said Patience, "Jack did not steal your money, sister
Amelia." Poor Patience was calm now. "It is impossible," she
continued. "He was--he was as honest as the day, and as true as gold."

"All that's very fine--very fine indeed. He stole the money, and made
off. If he didn't, who did?"

Patience stood wondering for a few moments, going over all that
day--that last day. Jack had been at school and out till nearly
tea-time; then he had sat with his books till supper; and then came the
uproar with his aunt, and he had rushed away--straight out of the
house. He could not have stopped in the shop on the way; besides, a
plot must have been laid to get the key. It was impossible Jack could
be guilty.

She looked at George, and read in his face deep sympathy, and also read
there a reassuring smile.

"No," he said. "Whoever is the thief, Jack is innocent. Circumstances
may be against him--his running off to sea, and his passion-fit against
you--but I believe him to be innocent. You had better leave things as
you found them, and