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Chapter XII: The Counterfeit Bill

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FOR several hours, Arthur was delirious, and imagined himself back in the gloomy cell. It was deeply affecting to those who watched by his side to hear him pour out his prayers to God for help in his trouble.

"Dear, 'dear' Father in heaven," he murmured again and again, "help me to get out of this dreadful place. I know Thou canst do it, for Thou canst do every thing, and Thou knowest I did not mean evil."

Then he imagined that Joseph was by his side, and he cried out:

"Oh, Joseph Hickie! How could you treat me so? You used to be kind to me; and I've prayed for you almost every day. Don't you know God sees you all the time?"

It was not till afternoon, when the medicine prescribed by the physician had taken effect and the boy lay in a quiet sleep, that Hepsah would leave him long enough to explain to Mrs. Olmstead how she had so soon obtained his release.

"I had made up my mind," she began, "that there was no help for it, and we must stay all night. I meant to stay with Arthur; and they found 'twas no use to try and get me out. I told the jailor, or turnkey, or whatever you call him, that the child was as innocent as a babe unborn—that he didn't know anything about counterfeit bills; and they ought to be ashamed to keep him shut up a minute. I told 'em Arthur had friends, rich ones too, who wouldn't see him abused by any body, law or no law. I believe I frightened them at last," she added, with a grim smile, "for the jailor sent a man with an iron stool, and told me I might as well sit as stand all night. I pushed it up against the wall, and then held Arthur's head until he fell into a troubled sleep, his nerves twitching all the while.

"In the cell next to the one where we were, a prisoner was very noisy. The oaths he uttered made my blood chill in my veins. The jailer came, at last, and took away his bed. I saw it on the iron railing as I passed his door. Then all was still for a while. At last I heard some loud voices and a child crying angrily. They came nearer and nearer until they stopped at our cell. Then a flash of light from a lantern showed me the figures of two stout men with the police officers' medals on their breasts. They pushed a child forward.

"'There is the young villain,' exclaimed one of the men. 'Is this the boy, sonny, who gave you the bill to change?'

"The noise had started Arthur, and he sprang wildly to his feet, pressing his hand to his head. He seemed bewildered at first, but in an instant he seized Joseph's hand, and begged him to tell the policeman that he had given the bill.

"Joseph was sullen at first, and wouldn't answer a word. But after a smart cuff on his ears from one of the men, he began to cry again,—

"'Let me alone, and I'll confess. There was a man offered to give me an X if I'd change the fifty-dollar bill, but I couldn't, 'cause, nobody 'd take it. They said I'd stole it, so I got Arthur to go in. I didn't know 'twas any hurt.'

"'Oh!' sneered the officer, 'you aren't quite so green as you pretend. I know you well for a liar and a street nuisance. Now you may occupy this young gent's room: but you ought to ask his pardon on your knees for giving him so much trouble.'

"The moment I found I could take Arthur away, I didn't tarry long for compliments, I assure you. I told the officer, I'd thank him to accompany me home, for I wasn't in the habit of being out alone at this late hour. And then wishing the jailor much joy in his reflections that he had abused a poor orphan child, I came away."

For a week Arthur's fever ran high. Then he began to mend, and at the end of a fortnight was able to make his way down to the library, where Mr. Olmstead was by this time sitting up in a chair. Mrs. Olmstead and Hepsah helped him to the lounge and propped his head with pillows, so that he could look around him.

Ann came from the kitchen with a dropped egg on a piece of crisp toast, and wished him a welcome down-stairs. Indeed every one seemed so kind that the dear child could only repeat the words: "Thank you, thank you," every moment.

When he had eaten the toast, and Hepsah had held the wet napkin for him to wipe his mouth, her mistress motioned her to a seat. She herself pulled a chair close to the lounge and took Arthur's thin hand in hers.

"Would you like a new mother?" she asked tenderly.

He gazed in her face with a smile.

This was the time Mr. Olmstead had chosen to tell Arthur that they had resolved to adopt him for a son, and that legal instruments had been drawn up making him their heir.

At first, the dear child could not comprehend their meaning. But presently, a little flush came into his pale cheek, and he suddenly covered his face with his hands, the tears coursing through his fingers.

"So, you see, I'm your mother now," added the old lady bending over the lounge to kiss his forehead.

He put his arms round her neck and whispered something in her ear.

Only Hepsah heard him. "I'll ask God to make me a good son. I'll be just like your Sammy, if I can."

Then he covered his eyes again, and remained quiet so long they thought he was asleep.

But he was not, his heart was too full for sleep. He was thinking how the good Lord had led him to this pleasant home and now had prepared the hearts of these kind friends to love him,—and how thankful he ought to be. Nor in this hour of joy, too deep for words, did he forget poor guilty Joseph. He had always known that Jo could not remain a mere beggar. He would either see the folly of his course and turn from it, or he would grow worse.

But the good child had never conceived of so sudden a downfall. Mr. Irvington had visited him in his chamber one day, and explained to him the business of counterfeiters, with the heavy punishment the law threatened for their crime. He told Arthur also that on Joseph's trial, he had confessed who the men were that employed him to put these bad bills into circulation, and they had been arrested, and were now waiting their trial. Joseph was still in jail, but on account of his youth, it had been recommended that he be sent to the Farm School for juvenile offenders.

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The load of chipsChapter XII: The Counterfeit Bill

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