eed never know I was a
thief that I don't seem to care much for anything else."

Nellie was happy, too. She came to me and told me of her happiness. It
was all on George's account, of course.

"The poor fellow had lost money in investments," she said, "and he
thought I would not care for him if I found out he was poor. He isn't
poor, of course, but if he was it would make no difference to me. I am
so glad to see him without that dreadful worried look on his face that
I--I--Oh, you must think me awful silly, Roscoe! I guess I am. I know I
am. But you are the only one I can talk to in this way about--about him.
All Ma wants to talk about now is the wedding and clothes and such, and
Pa always treats me as if I was a child. I feel almost as if you were
the closest friend I have, and I know George feels the same. He says you
have helped him out of his troubles. I was sure you would; that is why I
wrote you that letter. We are both SO grateful to you."

Their gratitude and the knowledge of their happiness were my sole
consolations in this trying time. They kept me from repenting what I
had done. It was hard not to repent. If Colton had only made known his
purchase and closed the Lane at once, while my resolution was red hot,
I could have faced the wrath of the village and its inevitable
consequences fairly well, I believed; but he still kept silent and made
no move. I saw him once or twice; on one occasion he came into the bank,
but he came only to cash a check and did not mention the subject of the
Lane. He did not look well to me and I heard him tell Taylor something
about his "damned digestion."

The wedding day came. I, as best man, was busy and thankful for the
bustle and responsibility. They occupied my mind and kept it from
dwelling on other things. George worked at the bank until noon, getting
ready to leave the institution in my charge and that of Dick Small,
Henry's brother, who had reported for duty that morning. The marriage
was to take place at half past one in the afternoon and the bridal
couple were to go away on the three o'clock train. The honeymoon trip
was to be a brief one, only a week.

Every able-bodied native of Denboro, man, woman and child, attended that
wedding, I honestly believe. It was the best sort of advertising for
Olinda Cahoon and Simeon Eldredge, for Olinda had made the gowns worn
by the bride and the bride's mother and a number of the younger female
guests, and Sim had sold innumerable