Chapter II: The Lost Chain

BUT notwithstanding all her pains, the widow found herself unable to meet her bills. Prices for every kind of groceries were so high, and the cost of fuel so dear, she feared she should be obliged to give up housekeeping. She confided her trouble to Mr. Monks, the teacher, who at once proposed to pay more for his rooms; and this gave her means to keep on for another year.

At the time our story opens, her funds had again become exhausted, and, but for her children, she would have sunk at once.

One day she succeeded in making some root beer so superior a quality that she resolved to offer it for sale at the store. It contained sassafras, yellow dock, and sarsaparilla, and was considered very conducive to health.

She succeeded to well in disposing of it that she used to sit up till a late hour brewing and bottling it, ready for Frank to carry to the store in the morning.

This he insisted on doing before any of his companions were out of bed, for he was ashamed to have it known that he was reduced to such an extremity.

It was Frank's business, also, to dig the roots for his mother, and it was for this purpose he was searching behind the rocks when his companion found him. To be sure, he did think he heard his pencil drop, and felt among the grass to find it, otherwise he would not have told Lionel; but he was a truthful boy, and the thought that he did not tell the whole truth made his face burn like fire.

The next morning, as soon as it was light, he was back by the rocks, and dug a fine basket of roots, enough to supply a week's demand.

Toward the close of the school, in the afternoon, Mr. Monks, the teacher, requested his pupils to give him their attention for a minute.

"I have met with a serious loss," he said. "I speak of it now, that if you hear of a watch chain with seals and key attached, you will claim it for me. I had it in the morning, but probably lost it during a walk I took across the fields by the rocks."

Lionel Trask started and colored violently as he glanced at Frank.

"I see you know something about it," remarked the teacher with a smile.

"No, sir, I,—I mean—I don't know—I only suspect."

"And what do you suspect?"

"I—I saw a boy behind the rocks yesterday afternoon. He was bending over as if he had picked up something; and when I asked him what he was looking for, he grew very red."

"Did he not answer?"

"Yes, sir! He said—I lost a slate-pencil.'"

"Is the boy present?"

"Yes, sir."

"I shall take it as a favor if he will rise."

Ever since Lionel began to speak, Frank's mind had been in a tumult. It was his first impulse to get up and indignantly deny that he had seen the chain; but then he must explain why he was in that place and what he had been searching for. This he was too proud to do, and now he sat still, painfully embarrassed.

This, of course, confirmed Lionel in his opinion that he had picked up the chain and concealed it.

Mr. Monks waited a few moments for the boy to rise, then said kindly:

"I do not believe I have one pupil who would willfully keep a chain found under such circumstances. Though the article was very valuable from having been the gift of a friend, now deceased, yet I would far rather lose it, than to suspect one who was not guilty. If any of you have a word to tell me in private, I shall remain in my desk half an hour after school."

When the scholars were dismissed, Lionel, with a hesitating glance at Frank, who stood, cap in hand, in the entry, walked straight up the aisle to the platform.

Frank, who had almost resolved to confide his explanation to his teacher, who was also his mother's and his own best friend, stopped short on seeing this, and saying to himself, "I can tell him better at home," was rushing away, when he heard the words:

"Impossible! I can never believe it!"

He darted a defiant glance toward the spot where his companion stood, and, with his head very erect, walked slowly away.

"A thief!" he exclaimed to himself. "Suspected as a thief! What would my father say if he were alive? What a precious scamp that Lionel must be! Why, I should never imagine such a thing of a companion. O, dear! I'm sick of life! A thief, indeed! But Mr. Monks knows me too well. I've handled hundreds of dollars of his money, for he always sends me to the bank with his checks. Of course, he said, 'Impossible!'"

Still he was rather angry with his teacher for even listening to Lionel's story, and, hearing a hasty step behind him, put on a haughty air of indifference.

"Frank, stop a minute," called out the gentleman.

He turned, and looked Mr. Monks full in the face.

"Did you get the example right at last, my boy?"

This question was asked in so hearty a tone of friendship that Frank's displeasure vanished.

"Yes, sir, I did; I understand the whole principle, now."

"Capital!"

They were entering the gate when the boy stopped short.

"Mr. Monks," he began, "don't you know that I've seen you wear that chain every day for a year?"

"Yes."

"And that if I had found it, as Lionel suspects, and kept it to myself, I should be a thief—the worst kind of thief, stealing from my best friend?"

Mr. Monks answered, "Yes," with a smile.

Frank said no more, but walked off into the house.