"Nay, boy, rid thy mind o' that. If ye were to hear of his crime, ye'd never know it was thy father's."
"It is a bitter sorrow, but I shall make the best of it," said
Trove.
"Ay, make the best of it. Thou'rt now in the deep sea, an' God guide thee."
"But I ask your help—will you read that?" said Trove, handing him the mysterious note that came with the roll of money.
"An' how much came with it?" said Darrel, as he read the lines.
"Three thousand dollars. Here they are; I do not know what to do with them."
"'Tis a large sum, an' maybe from thy father," said Darrel, looking down at tile money. "Possibly, quite possibly it is from thy father."
"And what shall I do with the money? It is cursed; I can make no use of it."
"Ah, boy, of one thing be sure; it is not the stolen money. For many years thy father hath been a frugal man—saving, ever saving the poor fruit of his toil. Nay, boy, if it come o' thy father, have no fear o' that. For a time put thy money in the bank."
"Then my father lives near me—where I may be meeting him every day of my life?"