"Tell me the particulars," said the anxious father; whereupon his son related all that had taken place between himself and the merchant—all save that which related to Rexford's sharp practices, of which he had promised to say nothing.
After the story was finished, all were silent for a time. Both mother and boy looked heart sick, and gazed wistfully into the blaze that burned brightly in the open grate, as if they might discover there the secret of the mystery, while the father sat with knitted brows, studying carefully the statements which Fred had made.
At length he broke the silence, and said:
"My son, you have never deceived me. You came to your mother and me with true manhood, and told us of your first disgrace, while many boys would have tried hard to keep it from their parents. Though I never had reason to suspect you of wrong doing, yet that voluntary act upon your part proved to me that you had the courage to do right and own the truth. Now something has taken place that seems worse than the other; but as you say you are innocent, I believe it, and think that some great mistake has been made. I don't know where it can be, but we must try to clear it up."
Though these were welcome words to Fred, he was much cast down notwithstanding.
"But, father," he replied, "the people will all believe me guilty when they see I am out of the store, and learn the circumstances."
"It is far better for you, my boy, that they should suppose you guilty, when you are conscious of your innocence, than that the whole world should believe you innocent, if you were really guilty."
"Well, I don't see how we can show that I did not take the money."
"Neither do I, at present; but time will straighten this matter, as it does almost everything. Don't expect that we can accomplish much while we are sitting here and talking about it."
"What shall we do, then, father?"