“Mother,” he said, “I’ve got very particular reasons for not doing this, and for not even mentioning that I was in the wood. Now, I want you to promise me not to say a word about it, for a week at least.” “But if I see Philip,” said his mother, “I can’t keep silent.” “You must, for my sake, mother. You don’t know how much depends upon it.” “I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Gilbert, thoroughly bewildered. “No, I suppose not; but I have a strong reason that I can’t mention just yet.” “I hope there’s nothing wrong going on,” said his mother, alarmed. “If there is, it isn’t anything that I’m to blame for. Only there’s a secret that I can’t tell just yet. You’ll know it in good time. I want to consult Uncle Obed to-night about it, and you won’t mind if I don’t tell you just yet?” “Give the boy his way, ma’am,” said Mr. Wilkins. “If there is anything very bad about it he wouldn’t tell me.” His mother was somewhat reassured, and left the two to themselves. Then Harry began and told his story. Mr. Wilkins listened with attention, and not without surprise. “Really, Harry, it’s quite an adventure, I call it,” he said. “Do you know this man Temple?” “I know that he’s a sort of tramp. I didn’t suppose he was a thief before.” “You never saw this other man before?” “No; never heard of him.” “They’re a pair of rascals, I reckon. Now, what have you thought of doing?” “Of going to New York to-morrow to find out what I can about the burglary, or whatever else it was. If I can find out who has been robbed, I’ll go and tell them about it, and where the bonds are hid.” Uncle Obed nodded approvingly. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “What puzzles me,” continued Harry, “is how to explain to mother why I go to the city. I can’t tell her, and she’ll feel nervous.” “I can manage that,” said Mr. Wilkins. “I’ll tell her you have gone on business for me.” “But will it be true?” asked Harry. “Yes; I’ve got some cowpons”—that’s the way the old man pronounced the word—“that you can get the money for.” “Shall I have any difficulty about it, Uncle Obed?” “No; you can go to a broker, and he’ll give you the money for it, taking out his commission. How much does it cost to go to New York?” “The price of an excursion ticket is a dollar.” The old man took from his pocket a two-dollar bill. “There,” said he; “that’ll pay your ticket and get you some dinner.” “But, Uncle Obed, you ought not to pay my expenses.” “Why not? Ain’t you going on my business?” “I’m going principally on my own,” said Harry. “Well,” replied the old man, smiling, “then you must take it because I am your uncle.” “I know I call you so.” “You seem a good deal more kin to me than Philip. He’s ashamed of his old uncle, and so is his mother; but you are not. “No, no, Harry; it’s all right. I ain’t exactly poor, but I’d rather my niece would think so. So don’t you say anything to them about the cowpons.” “I’m not likely to, Uncle Obed.”