Paul Prescott's Charge

Dawkins turned pale at this allusion, and muttering some words to the effect that he would do what he could, left the counting-room.

This threat proved not to be without its effect. The next day he came to Mr. Danforth and brought the sum for which he had become responsible. He had represented to his father that he had had his pocket picked of this sum belonging to Mr. Danforth, and in that manner obtained an equal amount to replace it. It was some time before Mr. Dawkins learned the truth. Then came a storm of reproaches in which all the bitterness of his father’s nature was fully exhibited. There had never been much love between father and son. Henceforth there was open hatred.

We must return to Paul, whom we left in much trouble.

It was a sad walk which he took homeward on the morning of his dismissal.

“What brings you home so early?” asked Mrs. Cameron, looking up from her baking, as Paul entered.

Paul tried to explain, but tears came to his eyes, and sobs choked his utterance.

“Are you sick, Paul?” exclaimed Mrs. Cameron, in alarm.

“No, Aunt Hester.”

“Then what is the matter?” she asked anxiously.

“I have lost my place.”

“Poor boy! I am very sorry to hear it. But it might have been worse.”

“No, not very well, Aunt Hester, for Mr. Danforth thinks I have taken some of his money.”

“He is very unjust!” exclaimed Aunt Hester, indignantly, “he ought to have known better than to think you would steal.”

“Why, no,” said Paul, candidly, “I must confess the evidence was against me, and he doesn’t know me as well as you do, Aunt Hester.”

“Tell me all about it, Paul.”

Aunt Hester sat down and listened attentively to our hero’s story.

“How do you account for the money being found in your pocket?” she asked at length.

“I think it must have been put there by some one else.”

“Have you any suspicions?”

“Yes,” said Paul, a little reluctantly, “but I don’t know whether I ought to have. I may be wronging an innocent person.”

“At any rate it won’t do any harm to tell me.”

“You’ve heard me speak of George Dawkins?”

“Yes.”

“I can’t help thinking that he put the fifty dollars into my pocket, and took the rest himself.”

“How very wicked he must be!” exclaimed Mrs. Cameron, indignantly.

“Don’t judge him too hastily; Aunt Hester, he may not be guilty, and I know from my own experience how hard it is to be accused when you are innocent.”

Soon after the sexton came in, and Paul of course, told his story over again.

“Never mind, Paul,” said Uncle Hugh, cheerily. “You know your own innocence; that is the main thing. It’s a great thing to have a clear conscience.”

“But I liked Mr. Danforth and I think he liked me. It’s hard to feel that he and Mrs. Danforth will both think me guilty, especially after the kindness which I have experienced from them.”

“We all have our crosses, my boy,—some light and others heavy. Yours, I admit is a heavy one for a boy to bear. But when men are unjust there is One above who will deal justly with us. You have not forgotten him.”

“No, Uncle Hugh,” said Paul, reverently.

“Trust in him, Paul, and all will come out right at last. He can prove your innocence, and you may be sure he will, in his own good time. Only be patient, Paul.”

“I will try to be, Uncle Hugh.”

The simple, hearty trust in God, which the sexton manifested, was not lost upon Paul. Sustained by his own consciousness of innocence, and the confidence reposed in him by those who knew him best, his mind soon regained its cheerful tone. He felt an inward conviction that God would vindicate his innocence.

His vindication came sooner than he anticipated.

The next day as the sexton’s family were seated at their plain dinner, a knock was heard upon the outer door.

“Sit still, Hester,” said Mr. Cameron. “I will go to the door.”

Opening the door he recognized Mr. Danforth, who attended the same church.

“Mr. Cameron, I believe,” said Mr. Danforth, pleasantly.

“Yes, sir.”

“May I come in? I am here on a little business.”

“Certainly, Mr. Danforth. Excuse my not inviting you before; but in my surprise at seeing you, I forgot my politeness.”

The sexton led the way into the plain sitting-room.

“I believe Paul Prescott is an inmate of your family.”

“Yes, sir. I am sorry–”

“I know what you would say, sir; but it is needless. May I see Paul a moment?”

Paul was surprised at the summons, and still more surprised at finding who it was that wished to see him.

He entered the room slowly, uncertain how to accost Mr. Danforth. His employer solved the doubt in his mind by advancing cordially, and taking his hand.

“Paul,” he said pleasantly, “I have come here to ask your forgiveness for an injustice, and to beg you to resume your place in my counting-room.”

“Have you found out who took the money, sir?” asked Paul, eagerly.