rned that there
was a chance of your mother becoming rich, his unwelcome attentions
became more pronounced than ever; isn't that so, Carl?"

"I think you're right, Tom," said the other boy, but without smiling,
for he carried too heavy a load on his mind to feel merry. "You see my
mother had hunted up this precious receipt, and had it handy, meaning
to go over to Mr. Culpepper's office in the forenoon and ask for the
certificate of stock he has in his safe."

"So she laid it on the table, did she?" pursued Tom, shaking his head.
"Don't you think that it was a little careless, Carl, in your mother,
to do that?"

"She can't forgive herself for doing it," replied his chum, sadly. "She
says that it just shows how few women have any business qualities about
them, and that she misses my father more and more every day that she
lives. But none of the other children touched the paper. Angus, Elsie
and Dot have told her so straight; and it's a puzzle to know what did
become of it."

"You spoke of hunting in the garden and around the outside of the
house; why should you do that?"

"It happened that one of the sitting room windows was open half a foot
that day. The weather had grown mild you remember," explained the
other.

"And you kind of had an idea the paper might have blown out through
that open window, was that it?"

"It looked like it to me," answered the widow's son, frowning; "but
if that was what happened the wind carried it over the fence and far
away, because I've not been able to find anything of it."

"How long was it between the time your mother laid the paper on the
table and the moment she missed it?" continued Tom Chesney.

"Just one full hour. She went from the breakfast table and got the
paper out of her trunk. Then when she had seen the children off to
school, and dressed to go out it was gone. She said that was just a
quarter to ten."

"She's sure of that, is she?" demanded Tom.

"Yes," replied Carl, "because the grocer's boy always comes along at
just a quarter after nine for his orders, and he had been gone more
than twenty minutes."

At that the other boy stopped still and looked fixedly at Carl.

"That grocer's boy is a fellow by the name of Dock Phillips, isn't he?"
was what Tom asked, as though with a purpose.

"Yes," Carl replied.

"And he works for Mr. Amasa Culpepper, too!" continued Tom, placing
such a decided emphasis on these words that his companion started and
stared in his f