Jim’s face became white as death, and he trembled violently. Beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, a film gathered before his eyes, his throat was parched, and he could not utter a word. "Come," repeated his master sternly; "I must have an answer to my question. Where is the missing money?" "I don’t know, sir," answered Jim huskily. "That’s rubbish. No one but you has been in the shop." "Only Johnson." "Was he near the till?" "That is a foolish question," thought Mr. Farrant. "Of course he’ll shift the blame to the errand-boy. Broad has given him a fine chance to wriggle out of it." The same idea flashed through Jim’s mind, but he rejected it scornfully. "No," said he, with the utmost deliberation, "he did not go near the counter. I took the bag from him myself, and he went out again." "Then, if you didn’t steal the money, where is it?" asked the stationer testily. He was really a kind-hearted man, and the miserable business upset him terribly. "Come, my boy," said Mr. Farrant; "this is a sad case, but you will do no good by denying your guilt. Better make a clean breast of it, and trust to your master’s leniency." Now if I have drawn anything like an accurate picture of James Hartland, you will not be surprised that this well-meant suggestion made him very angry. The blood rushed to his face, his eyes glowed, and, as Dicky would have said, "the monkey was up" with a vengeance. "I don’t know that it is any business of yours," he exclaimed. "I’m responsible to my master, and not to you," which was very rude, and very ill-advised. "Oh, all right," said Mr. Farrant; "go your own way. You’ll feel a trifle less high and mighty when you’ve been in prison a week or two." "It will be an awful disgrace, Hartland. You’ll be ruined for life," observed Mr. Broad. "Come, my boy, tell me the truth; I have no wish to be severe with you. Where is the money?" "I haven’t seen it," answered Jim sullenly. "This isn’t the first time, you know," continued his master. "I have missed money before when you were left in charge, but I did not like to be positive. Unfortunately for you, there can be no question about it this time. If you will confess, I will forgive you, for your mother’s sake; if not, I must ask my friend to fetch a policeman." The boy shuddered at this threat. He had a strong imagination, and he instantly conjured up the whole pitiful scene. He saw himself marched to the station, and brought up next morning before the magistrates. He pictured the grief and horror in his mother’s face, and thought of Susie when she should hear of what had happened. Mr. Broad understood what was passing through his mind, and said in an encouraging tone,— "Come; which is it to be?" "I really can’t confess anything," cried Jim hopelessly. "I have not been near the till."