And last, but not least, he had grown morally. For three months he had regularly attended the Sunday-school, and among the five hundred boys and girls that assembled regularly week after week there was not a more diligent inquirer than Benny. The spiritual discernment that Joe Wrag thought he lacked was being given, and the "old, old story" was beginning to have a wonderful fascination for him.
Mr. Lawrence was wonderfully pleased with his protégé, and had decided that if during the next six months he made such progress as he had done in the past, he should be promoted to a higher position.
Benny regarded his fortune as made. Never had life seemed so bright to him as, one Saturday afternoon, he was busy at work putting Mr. Lawrence's office in order. There was no one in the office but himself. Mr. Lawrence had just left, giving him instructions that he must wait till Mr. Morgan returned, who would lock up the offices, and then he (Benny) must bring up the keys to his residence.
Benny had swept out the inner office, put the few books that were lying about in their proper places on the shelves, and was busy dusting the furniture, humming to himself the song that haunted him continually—
"There is beauty all around,
When there's love at home,"
when Mr. Lawrence came in hurriedly, and went straight to his desk and began to search carefully among the few papers that were lying on it; then he looked behind it, around it, and underneath it, but it was evident, from the perplexed look on his face, that he could not find what he was in search of.
"Benny," he called, "come here."
And Benny came in from the outer office, to which he had retired on Mr. Lawrence's appearance.
"Has Mr. Morgan returned yet?" demanded Mr. Lawrence, in a stern voice.
"No, sir," said Benny, wondering what had happened.