One, two, three, four, five, six, sounded a deep-throated bell upon the evening air, and then a chime of bells played Luther’s Chant.
“O, dear!” groaned Johnny; “that’s the wonderful clock; I wish we had let it alone.”
“Hark!” exclaimed Eric.
His quick ear had caught the sound of footsteps upon the stairway leading to their room, and he fancied them to be his uncle’s. He was right. The door opened presently, and Mr. Van Rasseulger was with them.
“Well, what is all this nonsense?” he exclaimed, grasping Eric’s hand, and drawing Johnny into his lap. “A good-natured guardian lets you off for a good time, and you get into trouble the first thing.”
Eric related all that had occurred, a little embarrassed at Johnny’s admiring remark,—
“You ought to have seen him spin that little dancing Frenchman against the wall, papa. I wish I’d been big enough! I’d have thrashed him!”
“Hush, Johnny,” said his father. “Go on, Eric. You say he found the money in the fauteuil. How in the world did the things get into this room?”
“That is just what puzzles everybody,” answered Eric, earnestly. “Uncle John, how could it have got there? and the ring, too?”
“Where did you find the ring, Johnny?”