"Why, there's your money," said Tode, spreading out the ten dollar bill on the table before them. "You dropped it, you see, in the bookstore, and I picked it up. It blew to me, I didn't steal it, leastways I didn't think I did; but I don't know but it's just about as bad. At any rate I've brought it back, and there 'tis."
"Why!" said Mr. Stephens, "is it possible that I dropped a bill?" And he drew forth his pocket-book for examination. "Yes, that's a fact. Really, I deserve to lose it for my carelessness. And so you decided to bring it back? Well, I'm glad of that; but how came you to do it?"
"Oh," said Tode, "I couldn't sleep. The eyes of the Lord, you know, were looking at me, and I tumbled about, and thought maybe it wasn't right, and pretty soon I knew it wasn't, and then I asked the Lord Jesus to forgive me, and I didn't feel much better; and then I got up and thought I'd burn the mean thing up in the candle, and then I thought I musn't, 'cause it wasn't mine; and by that time I hated it, and didn't want it to be mine; and then after awhile I thought I ought to bring it to you, but I didn't want to, but I thought I ought to, and there 'tis."
Mr. Stephens watched the glowing face of his visitor during this recital, and said nothing. After he finished said nothing—only suddenly at last:
"Where do you live, my boy?"
"I live at one of the hotels—no, I don't, I don't live no where. I did till to-night, and to-night I sleep there, and after that I don't belong nowhere."
"Have you been employed in a hotel?"
"Yes, sir."
"Why do you leave?"
"'Cause I can't be putting bottles to my neighbors any longer. You know what Habakkuk says about that, I suppose?"