ffair.

It appeared from his story that Tim had taken the wallet, abstracted
thirty dollars of the money, and then, when school was about to be
dismissed, had thrust the wallet into the prisoner's pocket.

Tony had not discovered the wallet. He had eaten his dinner and gone
immediately into the garden, where he had pulled off his coat, and
commenced picking the currants. Tim's plan had worked better than he
expected it would; for he supposed that Tony would find it in his
pocket, and be accused of abstracting the thirty dollars.

The jury gave in their verdict of not guilty, without leaving their
seats. As they did so, a gentleman, with a very long beard and
mustache, rose, and clapped his hands with great violence. His example
was followed by a large portion of the audience, and the sheriff had
much trouble in restoring order.

CHAPTER XX

THE STRANGER

The officer immediately released the prisoner from his confinement, and
Tony sprang into the waiting arms of his mother.

"Bless you, my boy!" she exclaimed, as the tears rolled down her
cheeks. "I knew you were innocent!"

"My carriage waits for you, Mrs. Weston," said Captain Sedley, after he
had cordially shaken the hand of Squire Benson.

The widow thanked the lawyer for his good service, and the party
withdrew from the court-room. In the street, amid the cheers of the
multitude, the boat club formed their column, and marched down to the
lake.

When they reached the Zephyr, they found her in charge of one of the
men who worked on the farm of Captain Sedley.

"Where is Uncle Ben?" asked Frank.

"Gone home," replied the man.

"What for?"

"I don't know."

"Call the numbers, Tony," said Frank.

Just as the oars were dipping, they were hailed from the shore.

"Boat ahoy," said a stranger on the bank.

Frank looked, and discovered the gentleman who had begun the applause
in the court-room. He was well dressed, wore a massive gold chain, and
appeared to be in affluent circumstances, if one might judge from
appearances. His face--that portion of it which was not covered by his
long black beard--was very dark, and apparently he had just returned
from a tropical climate.

The coxswain backed the boat to the shore.

"Can you tell me how I shall get to the house of John Weston, up the
lake?" inquired the stranger.

"John Weston is not living," replied Frank.

"Not living!" replied the stranger, with a sudden start. "Is Mrs.
Weston living?