About a year afterward, having occasion to go to a tavern in Philadelphia, he saw a man in the bar-room, whom he at once recognized as the person who had sold him the horse. He walked up to him, and inquired whether he remembered the transaction. Being answered in the affirmative, he said, "I am the man who bought that horse. Didst thou know he was stolen?" With a stupified manner and a faltering voice, the stranger answered, "Yes."
"Come along with me, then," said Charles; "and I will put thee where thou wilt not steal another horse very soon."
The thief resigned himself to his fate with a sort of hopeless indifference. But before they reached the magistrate's office, the voice within began to plead gently with the Quaker, and turned him from the sternness of his purpose. "I am a poor man," said he, "and thou hast greatly injured me. I cannot afford to lose fifty dollars; but to prosecute thee will not compensate me for the loss. Go thy way, and conduct thyself honestly in future."
The man seemed amazed. He stood for a moment, hesitating and confused; then walked slowly away. But after taking a few steps, he turned back and said, "Where can I find you, if I should ever be able to make restitution for the wrong I have done?"
Charles replied, "I trust thou dost not intend to jest with me, after all the trouble thou hast caused me?"
"No, indeed I do not," answered the stranger. "I hope to repay you, some time or other."
"Very well," rejoined the Friend, "if thou ever hast anything for me, thou canst leave it with Isaac T. Hopper, at the corner of Walnut and Dock-streets." Thus they parted, and never met again.
About a year after, Friend Hopper found a letter on his desk, addressed to Charles Carey. When it was delivered to him, he was surprised to find that it came from the man who had stolen the horse, and contained twenty dollars. A few months later, another letter containing the same sum, was left in the same way. Not long after, a third letter arrived, enclosing twenty dollars; the whole forming a sum sufficient to repay both principal and interest of the money which the kind-hearted Quaker had lost by his dishonesty.
This last letter stated that the writer had no thoughts of stealing the horse ten minutes before he did it. After he had sold him, he was so haunted by remorse and fear of detection, that life became a burthen to him, and he cared not what became of him. But when he was arrested, and so unexpectedly set at liberty, the crushing weight was taken from him. He felt inspired by fresh courage, and sustained by the hope of making some atonement for what he had done. He made strenuous efforts to improve his condition, and succeeded. He was then teaching school, was assessor of the township where he resided, and no one suspected that he had ever committed a dishonest action.
The good man, to whom this epistle was addressed, read it with moistened eyes, and felt that the reward of righteousness is peace.