The Inglises; Or, How the Way Opened

by Margaret M. Robertson

He was not in great spirits. Jem had left him no earlier than he must have done had it been to join his mother and the children in Gourlay. But, somehow, when he thought of his brother out in the wonderful, strange world, about which they had so often spoken and dreamed, David had to struggle against a feeling which, indulged, might very easily have changed to discontent or envy of his brother’s happier fortune.

Happier fortune, indeed! How foolish his thoughts were! David laughed at himself when he called up the figure of Jem, with bared arms and blackened face, busy amidst the smoke and dust of some great work-shop, going here and there—doing this and that at the bidding of his master. A very hard working world Jem would no doubt find it; and, as he thought about him, David made believe content, and congratulated himself on the quiet and leisure which the summer evenings were bringing, and made plans for doing great things in the way of reading and study while they lasted. But they were very dull days and evenings. The silence in the house grew more oppressive to him than even Jem had found it. The long summer evenings often found him listless and dull over the books that had been so precious to him when he had only stolen moments to bestow on them.

There had been something said at first about his going to the Oswald’s to stay, when the time came when he should be alone in the house. Mr Philip had proposed it at the time when they were making arrangements for the going away of his little sisters. But the invitation had not been repeated. Mr Philip had gone away long before Jem. He had, at the last moment, joined an exploring party who were going—not, indeed, to Red River, but far away into the woods. Mr Oswald had forgotten the invitation, or had never known of it, perhaps, and David went home to the deserted house not very willingly sometimes, and, with a vague impatience of the monotony of the days, wished for something to happen to break it. Before Jem had been gone a week, something did happen. Indeed, it had happened a good while before, but it only came to David’s knowledge at that time.

Mr Caldwell had just returned from one of his frequent business journeys, and one night David lingered beyond the usual hour that he might see him and walk down the street with him as far as their way lay in the same direction; and it was while they were going towards home together that Mr Caldwell told him of something very unpleasant that had occurred in the office. A small sum of money had been missed, and the circumstances connected with its loss led Mr Caldwell to believe that it had been taken by some one belonging to the office. Mr Caldwell could not give his reasons for this opinion, nor did he say much about it, but he questioned David closely about those who had been coming and going, and seemed troubled and annoyed about the affair. David was troubled, too, and tried to recall anything that might throw light upon the painful matter. But he did not succeed.

The circumstances, as David learned them then and afterwards, were these: Mr Oswald, as treasurer for one of the benevolent societies of the town, had, on a certain day of the preceding month, received a sum of money, part of which could not be found or accounted for. The rest of the sum paid into his hands was found in that compartment of his private safe allotted to the papers of the society. A receipt for the whole sum was in the hands of the person who had paid the money, and an entry in the society’s books corresponded to the sum named in this receipt. Mr Oswald was certain that he had not made use of any part of it, because such was never his custom. The accounts of the society were kept quite distinct from all others, and all arrangements with regard to them were made by Mr Oswald himself. It did not make the loss a matter of less importance that the sum missed was small. Nor did it make Mr Oswald and Mr Caldwell less anxious to discover what had become of it.

The loss had not been discovered until some time after it had taken place, when the quarterly making up of the society’s accounts had been taken in hand, and Mr Oswald could not remember much about the circumstances. The date of the receipt showed the time. The person who paid the money remembered that part of it had been in small silver coins, made up in packets, and this was the part that had disappeared.

All this was not told by Mr Caldwell that first afternoon. It came to David’s knowledge, little by little, as it was found out. The matter was not, at first, discussed by the clerks in the office. Mr Caldwell had asked David not to speak of it to them, or to any one.

When Mr Caldwell told him that nothing had been said to them of the loss, he thought it was strange; but it never came into his mind that the reason was that Mr Oswald feared that he was the person guilty, and wished to keep it from the knowledge of the rest. But, as time went on, he began to notice a change in Mr Oswald’s manner toward him. He had never said many words to him in the course of the day. It was not his way with those in his employment, except with Mr Caldwell. He said less than ever to him now, but David fancied that he was more watchful of him, that he took more note of his comings and goings, and that his manner was more peremptory and less friendly when he gave him directions as to his work for the day.

Mr Caldwell did not remain long in Singleton at this time, and having no one to speak to about the mysterious affair of the missing money, David, after a day or two, began to think less about it than he might otherwise have done. Once he ventured to speak to Mr Oswald about it.

“Have you heard anything about the lost money, sir?” said he, one night, when there were only they two in the office.