“That night when the Colonel missed the bonds,” began Tom, “I was coming home some time after nine, when I happened to look into the window, and there I saw Phil Ross with his father’s little trunk open before him. I saw him take out a couple of bonds, and slip them into his inside pocket. Then he carefully locked the trunk again, laid the keys on the desk, and left the room. That’s all I saw.” “It’s a falsehood!” ejaculated Colonel Ross, furiously. “You just ask Phil about it, Colonel,” said Tom, composedly. Colonel Ross looked around for Philip, but no Philip was to be seen. “I seed him slip out of the door just as Tom was beginnin’ to talk,” said a small urchin. Overcome with mortification, and compelled to suspect that Tom’s story was true, Colonel Ross hurried home, where he found Philip. Sternly calling him to account, the Colonel extorted a confession, not only that he had taken the bonds, but what had become of them. The result was that information was sent to the police of New York, and James Congreve was arrested. I may as well finish this part of the story by saying that Congreve was compelled to give up what remained of his ill-gotten gains, but Colonel Ross failed to prosecute him, because he could not do so without involving his own son also. It was only two months, however, before Congreve was detected in a more serious affair, for which he was forced to stand trial, and is even now serving a term of imprisonment, received as a penalty for the later crime. As for Philip, he was so mortified and shamed by the exposure of his dishonesty, and his attempt to fix the crime upon another, that he asked his father to send him to a boarding school at a distance, and his request was complied with. Tom Calder was immediately discharged by Colonel Ross, but within a week he was engaged elsewhere at an advanced salary. His new employer was Mr. Obed Wilkins, better known to us as Uncle Obed. If this statement excites surprise, I must refer my readers to the next chapter for an explanation. CHAPTER XLII — CONCLUSION The house of Colonel Ross was the finest in the village, with one exception. A certain Mr. Carrington, a city merchant, had, five years before, built a country villa surpassing it, a little distance away on the same street. It was provided with handsome grounds, and originally cost, everything included, thirty-five thousand dollars, exclusive of furniture. It was the day after Harry’s triumphant acquittal that Uncle Obed remarked, casually: “I hear that Mr. Carrington is anxious to sell his estate.” “I am not surprised,” answered Mrs. Gilbert. “He bought it chiefly to please a young wife, and her sudden death sadly disturbed all his plans.” “I have made some inquiries,” continued Uncle Obed, “and find that he is willing to sell everything, even to the furniture, for fifteen thousand dollars.” “That is a great bargain, for he could scarcely have paid less than forty thousand dollars for the whole.”