nd sentenced to imprisonment? It would be
terrible, Percy admitted to himself; but what could he do? He couldn't
confess, and incur the same punishment himself. The very thought made
him shudder. He walked about the streets in a very uncomfortable frame
of mind till about a quarter of ten. Then he suddenly encountered Bert,
who, in company with his lawyer, was on his way to a room in the town
hall where the trial was to take place. Bert held his head erect, but
his face was flushed with shame at the unpleasant predicament in which
he found himself. When he saw Percy approaching he said to himself
bitterly: "There is one who will rejoice at my misfortune."

What was his surprise, then, when Percy came up with a pleasant smile,
and said, "Good-morning, Bert."

Bert looked at him sharply, to see if there was anything triumphant in
his smile, but Percy's manner was cordial and friendly.

"Have you heard of my trouble, Percy?" asked Bert abruptly.

"Yes, Bert, and I am very sorry for it."

"Do you believe me guilty?"

"No, I don't," returned Percy, and he offered his hand.

"Thank you, Percy," said Bert, moved in spite of himself. "I misjudged
you. If _you_ don't believe me guilty, I hope others won't. Are you
going to the trial?"

"I wasn't thinking of doing so, but I will walk with you as far as the
town hall."

There was quite a crowd gathered near the entrance to the building, for
it was generally known that Bert was to be tried for the theft that
morning. Some of those composing it--in fact most--were Bert's friends;
but there were a few who delighted in scandal and looked forward with
eagerness to hearing the details, and did not care much how Bert might
be affected by it.

The surprise was general when Bert approached, apparently in friendly
converse with Percy Marlowe, a boy whose want of cordial feeling toward
him was generally known. The occasion was a trial for Bert, but Percy's
unexpected friendliness sustained him, though he had not got over his
surprise at it.

All parties entered the court-room, and presently Squire Marlowe himself
appeared. He walked with dignity to the platform, and took his seat
behind the desk over which justice was dispensed.

"Who is the complainant in this case?" he asked.

"I am, squire," said Mr. Jones, advancing eagerly.

"State your case."

"I charge this boy--Bert Barton--with stealing a twenty-dollar bill from
my desk last evening."

"Have you counsel?"

"No