LITMIR.BIZ

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mystery—that he knew the real thief. I am in search of him. Some time I hope to find him, and make clear my innocence by the aid of his testimony."

      "Oh, Simeon, if you only could!" exclaimed Mrs. Barton, clasping her hands.

      "I shall try, at all events."

      "I wonder if it would not be well to consult Uncle Jacob?"

      "Uncle Jacob!" repeated Simeon Barton in surprise.

      "Yes; I have not told you. He has returned from California, and is now in New York."

      "Have you seen him?"

      "Yes; he spent a week at our house."

      Mrs. Barton went on to give the particulars of Uncle Jacob's visit.

      "He is a poor man," she concluded. "As I understand, he brought home but five hundred dollars, but he is lucky enough to be employed in an office in New York at a salary of twelve dollars a week."

      "If I were earning that, and could hold up my head an honest man, without a stain—an undeserved stain—upon my name, I should be happy."

      "Can you tell me Uncle Jacob's address?" he asked, after a pause. "I don't think I shall venture to call upon him, for I am subject to arrest on the old charge, as you know, and the New York detectives are sharp, but I might write to him and ask his advice. But stay! he thinks me dead, does he not?"

      "Yes."

      "And Bert—is that what you still call him?—he still thinks that he has no father living?"

      "You wished it so, Simeon."

      "Yes; but the time may come when the secret can be revealed to him. I may disclose myself to Uncle Jacob. I don't remember him very well, but–"

      "He is the best and kindest of men. I wish, he could have found employment here."

      "Did he visit Albert?"

      "Yes; he remained at his house one night."

      "Was he well received?"

      "At first; for, coming from California, Albert supposed him rich. When he found he had but five hundred dollars, he lost no time in turning him out of the house."

      "Poor Uncle Jacob! It must have hurt the old man's feelings."

      "I feared it would, but he only seemed amused—not at all offended."

      "He has seen so much of the world that he probably expected it. The old man seemed in good spirits, then?"

      "Yes; he declared that he was well able to earn his own living still, though he is sixty-five, and was as gay and cheerful as a young man. He insisted on paying his board while he was with us."

      "There is nothing mean about Uncle Jacob."

      "No; and it is a mystery to me why such men as he, who would make so good use of riches, should almost always be poor."

      "And men like Albert Marlowe are rich."

      "Yes."

      "There are a good many things that are difficult to make out. Where are you going to stay to-night, Simeon?" she asked, after a pause.

      "I—don't know."

      "I wish I could invite you to the house where you have the best right to be."

      "I wish so, too."

      "Bert doesn't know that you are alive. Perhaps I might introduce you as an old friend of his father."

      "If you think it would do. He would not speak of your having a visitor?"

      "Not if I told him not to do so."

      "You have tempted me strongly, Mary. I should like to see our boy, to see with my own eyes how he is looking at fifteen. And it would be a comfort to rest once more beneath the same roof as the wife from whom I have been so long separated."

      "I think we can risk it, Simeon. I must introduce you under another name."

      "Call me Robinson. That is the name I have borne for some years past."

      "Mother!" was heard from a little distance.

      "Bert has come out in search of me, being alarmed by my long absence. Now, be on your guard."

      "Is that you, mother? Where have you been so long? I got quite anxious about you."

      "I met an old friend of your father, Bert, and in talking with him I forgot how time was passing. Mr. Robinson, this is my son Herbert."

      Bert greeted the stranger politely. As his hand rested for a moment in the hand of Mr. Robinson, he felt the latter tremble.

      "Do you remember your father, Herbert?" asked the supposed stranger.

      "Not very well. He died when I was quite a young boy."

      "True! It was indeed a long time since," murmured Robinson, with a sigh.

      "Bert, I have invited Mr. Robinson to stay with us to-night. It is long since I have seen him and we may not meet again for some time. He will share your room."

      "Certainly, mother."

      They went together to the cottage. Mrs. Barton prepared some tea, and they sat down to a slight meal.

      "Oh, if it could only continue thus!" thought Simeon Barton, as he looked wistfully at the wife and son from whom he had been so long separated. "It is like a sight of the promised land."

      "Do you know my mother's cousin, Albert Marlowe?" asked Bert, during the evening.

      "I used to know him some years ago."

      "Shall you call upon him? He is a rich man now."

      "I think not I never—liked—him much."

      Bert laughed.

      "Ditto for me!" he said. "He is a cold, selfish man. He is not popular with his workmen."

      "By the way, Bert," said his mother, "you need not mention Mr. Robinson's visit. His business requires secrecy."

      "All right, mother! I'll bear it in mind."

      CHAPTER X.

      STOLEN MONEY

      Saturday afternoon arrived, and with it came Bert's discharge from the shoe shop. He put the four dollars in his pocket, and with a sober face went home.

      "There are my week's wages, mother," he said. "I don't know when I shall have any more money to hand you."

      "We won't borrow trouble to-night, Bert," responded Mrs. Barton, concealing her solicitude under a cheerful exterior. "To-morrow is Sunday, and we will defer all worldly anxieties till it is over."

      "You are right, mother," said Bert, readily chiming in with her cheerful humor. "I am young and strong, and there is plenty of work to be done in the world."

      "Keep up your courage, Bert, and you will be more likely to win success."

      When Sunday was over, however, Bert felt that he must begin to look about him. But the more he looked the more downhearted he became. He went to the village store, having heard that the boy employed there was about to leave. After buying a pound of sugar for his mother, he ventured to say, "Mr. Jones, don't you want to hire a boy?"

      "Why should I want to hire a boy?" asked the store-keeper, in a tone of surprise.

      "I thought that Herman was going to leave you."

      "So he was, but he has changed his mind."

      "Oh!" ejaculated Bert, disappointed.

      "Are you asking for yourself?" inquired the merchant.

      "Yes, sir."

      "I thought you were at work in the shoe shop."

      "So I was, but I have lost my place."

      "Ha!" exclaimed the store-keeper suspiciously. "If Squire Marlowe has discharged you, I don't want to hire you."

      "You are mistaken, Mr. Jones, about the cause of my discharge. He had no fault to find with me."

      "So you say," returned Jones, in evident skepticism. "Boys don't get discharged

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