The men were really glad to see him, and nodded at one another, smiling, but, as usual, made no remark about the child. They knew he could not hear, but it seemed as if he could, and they were a little careful what they said before him.
"Yes," said Mr. Parlin, going on to speak of Caleb, "I considered him an honest, God-fearing man, and trusted him as I would one of my own sons. If there was any other way to account for that money, I should be glad, I assure you,—as glad as any of you."
"Where has Kellup gone to?" asked Mr. Griggs.
"Gone to Bangor, they say."
All this while Willy had not seated himself in his little chair, but was walking towards the bar. After muttering to himself a little while, he went in and took from the shelf the old account-book. Mr. Parlin looked at the teamsters, and put his finger on his lips as a hint for them to keep still, and see what the child would do.
Willy felt in the account-book for the key, then glided along to the money-drawer and opened it.
"There, now, it isn't here," said he, after he had fumbled about for a while with his chubby fingers; "the book isn't here that had the ox-money in it. Caleb mustn't have that money; it belongs to my father."
The men grew very much interested, and began to creep up a little nearer, in order to catch every word.
"Money all gone," sighed Willy; and then, appearing to think for a moment, added, "O, yes; but I know where I put it!"
Breathless with surprise, Mr. Parlin and his guests watched the child as he pattered with bare feet across the floor to the west side of the room, climbed upon a high stool, and opening the "vial cupboard," took out from a chink in the wall, behind the bottles, a little old singing-book.