But he must make haste. There is not a moment to lose. Almost forgetting his caution in his guilty hurry, he ran quickly up the few remaining steps, and along the hall to Mrs. Bradford's room. He stole in as he had done once before. The jet of gas in the burner over the dressing-bureau which held the coveted prize was turned down very low, but the bright fire dancing in the grate made the room quite light enough for his guilty purpose.
He opened the drawer and took up the box. How light it was! and there was no rattle of pennies, none of what dear little Maggie had called, in the joy of her heart, "her log-cabin music." He touched the spring, and the box flew open. Empty! He stood for a moment looking into it, then turned it up to the firelight to make sure there was nothing within. As he did so, he heard steps behind him; a hand was laid upon his shoulder, and looking up with a start, he saw Mr. Bradford's face sternly bent upon him, while at his elbow he met Fred's clear, honest eyes blazing with scorn and indignation. His own fell to the ground, and there he stood, like the mean, pitiful thing he was, trembling and cowering, the open box still in his hand.
There was a moment's silence, and then Fred broke forth.
"So it was you, you rascal! you mean, sneaking, cowardly thief! You are the fellow that robs little girls of their hard-earned money! You—you—you—" Fred's passion was choking him.
"Hush, hush, my son!" said Mr. Bradford, sadly; "it is not for you to reproach this unhappy boy. Leave him to me. Go to your play, if you can play after what you have seen."
Fred laid both his own hands on that which rested on George's shoulder. "Take your hand from him then, father; he is not fit to be touched by an honest man, by an honorable gentleman! A thief!"
"Go, go, Fred, and do not speak of this till you see me again."
Fred obeyed, as he knew he must when his father spoke in that tone.
"Now," said Mr. Bradford sternly to the guilty boy, "go in there;" and he pointed to the door of his dressing-room.