"I know all about it. You and Ben Smart put your heads together to be revenged on the squire; you set his barn afire, and then stole Leman's boat." "No, sir; I didn't set the barn afire, nor steal the boat, nor help to do either." "You and he were together." "We were; and if it wasn't for being mean to Ben, I would tell you all about it." "Mean to Ben! As soon as it was known that you and Ben were missing, everybody in the village knew who set the barn afire. All you have got to do is to clear yourself, if you can; Ben is condemned already." "If you will hear my story I will tell you all about it." Harry proceeded to narrate everything that had occurred since he left the house on the preceding night. It was a very clear and plausible statement. He answered all the questions which Mr. Nason proposed with promptness, and his replies were consistent. "I believe you, Harry," said the keeper, when he had finished his examination. "Somehow I couldn't believe you would do such a thing as set the squire's barn afire." "I wouldn't," replied Harry, warmly, and much pleased to find he had re-established the confidence of his friend. "But it is a bad case. The fact of your being with Ben Smart is almost enough to convict you." "I shouldn't have been with him, if I had known he set the barn afire." "I don't know as I can do anything for you, Harry; but I will try." "Thank you." Mr. Nason left him, and Harry had an opportunity to consider the desperate circumstances of his position. It looked just as though he should be sent to the house of correction. But he was innocent. He felt his innocence; as he expressed it to the keeper afterwards, he "felt it in his bones." It did not, on further consideration, seem probable that he would be punished for doing what he had not done, either as principal or accessory. A vague idea of an all-pervading justice consoled him; and he soon reasoned himself into a firm assurance that he should escape unharmed. He was in the mood for reasoning just then--perhaps because he had nothing better to do, or perhaps because the added experience of the last twenty-four hours enabled him to reason better than before. His fine scheme of getting to Boston, and there making a rich and great man of himself, had signally failed. He did not give it up, however. "I have failed once, but I will try again," said he to himself, as the conclusion of the whole matter; and he picked up an old school book which lay on the table. The book contained a story, which he had often read, about a man who had met with a long list of misfortunes, as he deemed them when they occurred, but which proved to be blessings in disguise. "Oft from apparent ills our blessings rise, Act well your part; there all the honor lies." This couplet from the school books came to his aid, also; and he proceeded to make an application of this wisdom to his own mishaps.