“Now, that’s right,” said John much relieved.  “You’ll go to the cabin Monday—­for sure.”

“Yes—­who told you to tell me?”

John, prudently cautious, refused to answer.  “Now, let me out, I must go.  I can’t tell you how sorry I will be—­” and he was tempted to add his aunt, but was wise in time.  He had done his errand well, and was pleased with the success of his adventure and the flavour of peril in what he had done.  He let himself into Grey Pine and went noiselessly upstairs.  Then a window was closed and a waiting, anxious woman went to bed and lay long awake thinking.

John understood the unusual affection of his aunt’s greeting when before breakfast she kissed him and started George Grey on his easy conversational trot.  She had compromised with her political conscience and, notwithstanding, was strangely satisfied and a trifle ashamed that she had not been more distinctly courageous.

At church they had as usual a good congregation of the village folk and men from the mills, for Rivers was eminently a man’s preacher and was much liked.  John observed, however, that Josiah, who took care of the church, was not in his usual seat near the door.  He was at home terribly alarmed and making ready for his departure on Monday.  The rector missing him called after church, but his knock was not answered.

When Mr. Grey in the afternoon declared he would take a walk and mail some letters, Mrs. Ann called John into the library.  “Well,” she said, “did you see Josiah?”

“Yes, aunt.”  It was characteristic of John Penhallow even thus early in life that he was modest and direct in statement.  He said nothing of his mode of reaching Josiah.  “I told him of his risk.  He will hide in—­”

“Do not tell me where,” said Ann quickly; “I do not want to know.”

He wondered why she desired to hear no more.  He went on—­“He has money in the county bank—­two hundred dollars.”

“He must have been saving—­poor fellow!”

“I wrote a cheque for him, to bearer.  I am to draw it tomorrow and take it to him in the afternoon.  Then he will be able to get away.”

Here indeed was something for Ann to think about.  When Josiah was missed and legal measures taken, a pursuit organized, John having drawn his money might be questioned.  This would never do—­never.  Oddly enough she had the thought, “Who will now shave James?” She smiled and said, “I must keep you out of the case—­give me the cheque.  Oh, I see it is drawn to bearer.  I wonder if his owner could claim it.  He may—­he might—­if it is left there.”

“That would be mean,” said John.

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully.  “Yes—­I could give him the money.  Let me think about it.  Of course, I could draw on my account and leave Josiah’s alone.  But he has a right to his own money.  I will keep the cheque, John.  I will draw out his money and give it to you.  Good gracious, boy! you are like James Penhallow.”