“But instead of doing his duty by me, I have constantly had to reprove him for making a companion of a man whom I weakly, and against my better judgment, allowed in the yard; and the result is I have been robbed, and this man accuses Lindon of committing the robbery, and bribing him to silence.”
“But it is not true, Josiah. My son could not be guilty of such a crime.”
“He will have every opportunity of disproving it before the magistrates,” said Uncle Josiah, coldly.
“Magistrates!—my boy?” exclaimed Mrs Lavington, wildly. “Oh, no, no, no, brother; you will not proceed to such extremities as these. My boy before the magistrates. Impossible!”
“The matter is out of my hands, now,” said the old merchant, gravely. “I was bound to charge that scoundrel labourer with the theft. I could not tell that he would accuse your son of being the principal in the crime.”
“But you will stop it now for my sake, dear. Don, my boy, why do you not speak, and beg your uncle’s forgiveness?”
Don remained silent, with his brow wrinkled, his chin upon his breast, and a stubborn look of anger in his eyes, as he stood with his hands in his pockets, leaning back against his desk.
“Do you hear me, Don? Tell your uncle it is not true, and beg him to help you clear yourself from this disgrace.”
The lad made no reply, merely crossing his legs, and made his shoe-buckles rasp together as he slowly moved his feet.
“Don!”