“Some money is missing from my desk, Wimble. Have you seen it?”
“Me, sir?” said Jem, stooping down and peering in all directions under the desks. “No, sir, I harn’t seen it. Let’s see, I don’t think I’ve been here only when I locked up.”
“By some mischance I left my desk unlocked when I went out in a hurry yesterday. Lindon here has found one piece on the floor.”
“P’r’aps tothers is there, too,” said Jem eagerly.
“No; we have looked. Call your wife. Perhaps she may have found them when sweeping.”
“Not she, sir,” said Jem. “If she had she’d ha’ told me. ’Sides, how could they ha’ got on the floor?”
“That remains to be proved, Wimble,” said Uncle Josiah, drily. “Call your wife.”
Jem went to the door, rubbing his ear, and as it happened, seeing his wife outside the cottage, telegraphed to her to come by working one arm about furiously.
Little Mrs Wimble came up in a hurry, looking scared.
“Take off that there dirty apron,” whispered Jem, making a dash at the offending garment, and snatching back his hand bleeding from the scratch of the pin by which it was fastened.