llars; and there were notes and other
papers of great value," replied Squire Walker.

"Well, I haven't seen or heard anything about it."

"I remember taking it out of my great-coat pocket, and putting it into
a pocket inside of my vest, when I got out of the wagon."

"I don't think you lost it here. Some of us would have found it, if
you had."

Here was a dilemma for Harry. He had determined to restore the
pocketbook; but he could not do so without exposing himself. Besides,
if there had been any temptation to keep the treasure before, it was
ten times as great now that he knew it belonged to his enemy. It would
be no sin to keep it from Squire Walker.

"It would be stealing," said the voice within.

"But if I give it to him, he will carry me back to Jacob Wire's. I'll
be--I'll be hanged if I do."

"She hopes you will be a good boy."

There was no resisting this appeal; and again the demon was put down,
and the triumph added another laurel to the moral crown of the little
hero.

"It will be a dear journey to me," continued Squire Walker. "I was
looking all day yesterday after a boy that ran away from the
poorhouse, and came to the city for him. I had better let him go."

"Did you find him?"

"No. I brought that money down to put in the bank. It is gone, I
suppose. Confound the boy!"

Harry waited no longer; but while his heart beat like the machinery in
the great factory at Rockville, he tumbled out of his nest, and slid
down the bale of goods to the pavement.

"Ah, Master Harry West! You are here--are you?" exclaimed Squire
Walker, springing forward to catch him.

Harry dodged, and kept out of his reach.

"Catch him!" shouted the squire to the ostler.

"Wait a minute, Squire Walker," said Harry. "I won't go back to Jacob
Wire's, anyhow. Just hear what I have got to say; and then, if you
want to take me, you may, if you can."

It was evident, even to the squire, that Harry had something of
importance to say; and he involuntarily paused to hear it.

"I have found your pocketbook, squire, and--"

"Give it to me, and I won't touch you," cried the overseer, eagerly.

It was clear that the loss of his pocketbook had produced a salutary
impression on the squire's mind. He loved money, and the punishment
was more than he could bear.

"I was walking along here, last night, when I struck my foot against
something. I picked it up, and found it was a pocketbook. I haven't
opened it. Here it is;" and Har