"If Mr. Brandon searches for money, he will be disappointed," he said to himself, with a quiet smile. "He won't find enough to pay him for his trouble."
Grit was not anxious enough about his money to keep awake. When, therefore, his stepfather entered his chamber, he was fast asleep. Brandon listened for a moment to the deep breathing of the boy, and felt that there was no need of caution. He therefore boldly advanced, candle in hand, to the bedside. The candle he set on the bureau, and then took up Grit's clothes, which hung over a chair, and proceeded to examine the pockets.
His countenance changed as he continued the search.
At last he came to the purse, but it felt empty, and he did not open it with much confidence. Thrusting in his finger, he drew out the solitary dime which it contained.
"Only ten cents!" he exclaimed, with intense disappointment. "It isn't worth taking. On second thoughts, I'll take it, though, for it will pay for a drink."
He pocketed the coin, and resumed his search.
"The boy must have a pocketbook somewhere," he muttered. "He wouldn't carry bank-bills in a purse. Where can he keep it?" Once more he explored the pockets of his stepson, but he met with no greater success than before.
It is a curious circumstance that sometimes in profound sleep a person seems vaguely aware of the presence of an intruder, and the feeling is frequently strong enough to disturb slumber. Grit was a sound sleeper, but, however we may account for it, whether it was the instinctive feeling I have mentioned, or the glare of the candle, he woke up, and his glance rested on the kneeling figure of his stepfather rummaging his pockets. Instantly Grit realized the situation, and he felt more amused than indignant, knowing how poorly the searcher would be rewarded.