“O, Betty!” exclaimed Uncle John. “Why, Squire, I don’t know what to say. It’s awful!—Tell you what.—I can’t, but I must.—Jim never stole a cent.—Betty, do you mind those old, blue jeans overalls?—I had ’em on, that day. When the money was missed, I was so torn up by it, I didn’t remember where I’d put ’em. I found ’em, hangin’ up in the barn, three days ago, and there was the fifty dollars, in one o’ the pockets. I was most sick. O, Jim, I’m a poor, old, miserable sinner! I’m glad you got out——”
“Thank God!” ejaculated the Squire. “I haven’t got to do it! Hurrah!”
“Hurrah!” shouted Rodney, but Jim could not have said a word, if he had tried, for Aunt Betty was almost choking him.
“It’s all right, Bronson,” said the Squire. “I’ll telegraph to the New York authorities. ’Twon’t really hurt Jim, in the long run. I’m going——”
“I’ll go, too,” said Rodney. “I want to send word to our folks.”
“Come right back, Rodney,” said Jim.
“I will,” said Rodney, but he was hurrying away with the Squire and one of the consequences was that when, just before supper time, Mr. and Mrs. Kirby came over to the Nelson store to ask if there was any news, a telegraph messenger went in with them.
“Read it aloud! What is it?” exclaimed Mrs. Kirby. “Is it from Rod?”
“O, do hear!” said Mrs. Kirby, and she read:
“Mother. We got here. They found the money. Jim’s all right. He didn’t do it. Tell Millie. Tell everybody.”