"
"I am more anxious to know what he will do about it," responded John.
"We shall find out before long, no doubt," said Benjamin. "But I must
hurry home, or I shall have more trouble there than anywhere else.
Come, boys, let us go."
They hastened to their homes, not designing to divulge the labors of
the evening, if they could possibly avoid interrogation. They knew
that their parents would disapprove of the deed, and that no excuse
could shield them from merited censure. Not one of their consciences
was at ease. Their love of sport had got the better of their love of
right-doing. And yet they were both afraid and ashamed to tell of what
they had done. They were at home and in bed and asleep about as early
as usual.
Twenty-four hours passed away, during which Benjamin's fears had
increased rather than diminished. He was all the while thinking about
the stones--what the owner would say and do--whether he would learn
who took his stones away. His conscience was on duty.
It was evening, and Mr. Franklin took his seat at the fireside.
Benjamin was reading, the unattractive tallow candle furnishing him
light.
"Benjamin," said Mr. Franklin, after a little, "where were you last
evening?"
If his father had fired off a pistol he could not have been more
disturbed. His heart leaped into his throat. He thought of the stones.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101