"You may go, Master Henry," said Dr. Harris, in the kindest manner possible, "and I have no doubt that the thief will be found out; and then those who have accused you will have cause to be ashamed of themselves."
George, little Ned, and a great number of his school-fellows, now crowded round Henry, congratulating him upon his victory, as they were all anxious to see him fairly acquitted of the charge. Eliza and Juliana also joined the little throng, and, by their caresses, endeavoured to rally him into his usual good spirits, which they continued to do for some days after. As, however, no discovery was made about the money, he felt himself very uneasy, and could not but think that many of the boys looked upon him as a thief; especially as insinuations were sometimes thrown out by the elder boys, which made him very miserable; and those who had first accused him, would frequently ask, in his hearing, "Who stole Scott's money?"
[CHAP. IV.]
A fortnight had now nearly elapsed, and the affair began, in some measure, to wear off. Indeed, it was seldom mentioned, except by those boys who appeared, from the commencement, so desirous of obtaining a verdict against Henry. His school-fellows, generally, were anxious to play with him, and endeavoured to rouse his spirits by every means in their power. They never commenced a new game, but he was solicited to join them; and they never went for a walk, but he was anxiously requested to accompany them. All their endeavours however, were fruitless: they could not make him what he was before this charge was brought against him. He evidently had something preying upon his mind; for instead of being one of the most lively boys in the school—one who had hitherto shown a desire to join in any good-natured frolic—he was now become quite serious, and even melancholy. In vain did his friend George use every exertion: he who before could have persuaded him to any thing, and to whose advice he had always paid a great regard, now entreated him, in vain, to cheer his drooping spirits. Mrs. Harris, with her two daughters, also endeavoured to laugh him out of what they called his sulky mood; but he replied, that he could not help it; that he should never again be happy till it was discovered who it was that stole Scott's money; and that its being lost while he was his bed-fellow, certainly threw a suspicion upon him that he could not get over, and to labour under which made him truly miserable.
Dr. Harris felt a great deal of uneasiness about the matter, not merely because he saw Henry labouring under so serious a charge, but that an affair of such a nature should remain so long undetected, and that he should hitherto have been foiled in his attempts to clear up the mystery. In this state he continued, when, one morning, after he had returned from his usual early walk, and was crossing the lawn that led from the school to the parsonage-house, he observed a poor woman, rather shabbily dressed, looking in at the school-room window. Not appearing to find the object of her search, she was turning towards the house, when she encountered the person of the Doctor.
"Who are you looking for, good woman?" asked he.
"I—I want," apparently somewhat disturbed by meeting the master, "I want to see one of the little boys, Sir," she said, curtsying very low.