"Why don't you find it, then?" "I have found it, father!" "What!" "It's in a crack under the platform," replied Lawry. "You don't mean so!" exclaimed the ferryman. "It's no use to talk round the barn, father; the pocket-book is just where you put it." "Where I put it? What do you mean, Lawry?" "There it is in the crack under the drop, a foot above the water. It did not wash in there of itself. Oh, father!" Lawry, unable longer to control his feelings, burst into tears. "What are you crying about, Lawry? Do you think I hid the pocketbook?" "I know you did, father," sobbed Lawry. "Do you accuse me of stealing?" demanded Mr. Wilford, with a weak show of indignation. "I don't accuse you of anything, father; but there it is." "You mean to say that I stole it?" "Oh, father!" "Stop your whining, Lawry! What possessed you to poke round after what did not concern you? Now, shut up, and go off about your business." "You will not keep it, father?" "I haven't got it. If you have found it, I suppose there is time enough to think what is best to be done." "I don't want any time to think of it," replied Lawry; and before his father could prevent him, he took the pocketbook from its place of concealment. "What are you going to do with it?" demanded Mr. Wilford. "I'm going to find Mr. Randall, and give it back to him, as quick as I can." "What's the use of doing that?" "Because it's the right way to do." "That isn't the way to get rich." "But it's the way to keep honest." "Give it to me, Lawry." "What are you going to do with it, father?" "That's my business." "I shall give it back to the owner." "No, you won't, Lawry. Do you want to get me into trouble--to have me sent to jail?" "If I give it back to Mr. Randall, there will be no trouble." "Lawry, I've been poor and honest long enough. I'm going to do as other men do. I'm going to get rich." "By keeping this money?" exclaimed the son. "You needn't talk any more about it; I put the money where you found it." "I know you did." "Give it to me." "I will not, father, if you mean to keep it." "I do mean to keep it. Do you think I have run all this risk for nothing? Give me the pocketbook." "Don't think of such a thing as keeping it, father," pleaded Lawry. "I'm going to be rich," replied the father doggedly. "You know what mother said about making haste to be rich: 'Haste makes waste.'" "It will make waste if you don't give me the pocket-book." "Mr. Randall will not be satisfied till he gets his money, and you will certainly be found out." "No, I shall not be found out. I'll go to New York and change off the money this very night." "But only think of it, father. You will be a thief. You never will have a moment's peace as long as you live."