It was a bitterly cold, clear night, a few weeks later. Runners squeaked and boot-heels crunched in the road. David had passed Green's house at seven o'clock, going to the store; he always went by there at that time, Saturdays, and passed again, returning home, at about eight. When he reached the gate, on his return, Green was standing there, apparently waiting. “Come into the house a minute, David,” he said; “I want to see you.” He led him into the kitchen. “My wife's gone over to Aunt Nathan's for the evening,” he said. He shut the door, and locked it. “There!” he said; “I can't stand it any longer;” and he laid upon a table at David's side a wallet. David took it up and opened it; it held a great roll of bills. “What does this mean?” he said; “why--this is mine! You don't mean--” “I mean I stole it,” said Green. David sat down. “I wish you had put it in the fire,” he said, “and never told me.” “There 's just one thing I want to say,” said Green. “I picked it up, first, to give it to you, and when I saw that you 'd forgot it, I thought I 'd have a little joke on you for a while; and then, when I saw how things was going, I kind o' drifted into keeping it. You know how I come home,--all my voyage eat up, and a hundred dollars' debts besides, and children sick. But every dollar 's there. “Now, what I ask,” he added, “is four days' time to ship and get away. What are you going to do?” “Nothing,” said David; “settle your debts and pay me when you can.” And taking five twenty-dollar bills from the wallet, he left them on the table and went away. End of Project Gutenberg's Five Hundred Dollars, by Heman White Chaplin