The boy had a flash from the gray eyes then. “Didn’t I tell you that there wasn’t a word of truth in that wretched story? That dreadful boy, who was three older than Derrick and ought never to have been his companion, was the thief; and Derrick, because of a false sense of honor, wouldn’t even explain the circumstances that would have helped to find out the truth. Don’t you know that there are boys trustworthy in all other ways who have a mistaken idea of friendship? They think they must shield a friend even to the extent of doing injustice to others, no matter what he has done.”
Derrick Forman flushed under this remark and shot a quick questioning glance at his aunt; did she possibly surmise how sorely he was being tempted just now in that very direction? A “false sense of honor,” was it really that? How much did she know, anyhow? Whatever she knew or surmised she made no sign, and continued her story:
“Well, that is just what poor Derrick did; stuck to it that he was telling the truth, and did not know anything about that money belt. And as he was used to being believed he was amazed to find that they doubted him. In a moment of horror over the discovery that some people actually thought him a thief, he did, as you said, the very worst thing for himself that he could do—ran away.”
“Was my father at home then?” interrupted Derrick.
“Oh, no; Joseph had been gone from home for two years, when Derrick went away.”
“But didn’t father go back home for vacations and such things?”
“Not very often, nor for long at a time; he was with your Grandfather Stuart, you know. I don’t think he was very happy at home. He and Evarts didn’t get on well together.”
“I don’t wonder at that!” young Derrick interrupted under his breath. His aunt took no notice.
“And mother—mother didn’t understand boys very well; Evarts was the only boy she ever had, you know, and Joseph and Derrick were different from him, and so—well, I needn’t go into that; but after I was grown up I had a feeling that perhaps mother was—was a little hard on Derrick; I don’t know; she meant to be good.”
Aunt Elsie’s eyes had dimmed and her voice faltered. Her nephew was watching her with keen, searching eyes. In his heart was a thought that, given voice, would have been: “If she goes back on her own mother I won’t have anything to do with her.” He was conscious of a distinct feeling of relief when her voice dropped into silence. Still he was eager for more and urged her on with a question: