“All right,” answered Sidney.  “I’ll be here.  You needn’t worry.”

It was not until he was in the train and half way to his destination that he thought of the five-dollar bill.  He was provoked with himself that he had not spoken of it to his mother.

“But I’ll write as soon as I get to Meadville,” he thought; “and they’ll get the letter to-morrow.”

But there was a great deal to occupy him when he reached his uncle’s home.

His cousins were fond of fun and were always ready for anything, and he was so hurried from one place to another and had so many calls on his time, that it was little wonder that the writing of that letter was postponed.  He fully intended to write it, but it wasn’t written.

Only the recollection of Fannie’s parting words made him resist an invitation to a sleighing party and start for home on Friday.  He knew how the girls would talk if he were not there to make those calls on New Year’s Day.

He occupied himself while on the train with thinking on whom he would call and what he would talk about.  His visit to Meadville would give him one subject, at least, for conversation.

It was nearly eleven o’clock at night when he reached home, but he found his father and mother and two sisters still up.  They were finishing some preparations for the celebration of the next day.

“So you have actually come!” cried Fannie, as Sidney entered the room and went to the fire to warm his half-frozen hands and feet.  “One good intention kept, at least.  I’ll score that to your credit, Sidney.”

“It seems as if I had been gone a good deal longer than four days,” said Sidney.  “I’ve been in a perfect whirl of excitement ever since I left here.”

“We’ve had some excitement, too,” said Clara.  “Father’s discharged Harry Stuart.”

“Yes, just think, Sidney, he stole five dollars,” said Fannie.

“We merely suspected him of stealing it, my daughter,” said Mr. Dent.  “I did not accuse him of it; but I fear there is no room to doubt that he is guilty.  He was the only one in the office while I was out.”

“It is very hard to believe Harry Stuart a thief,” said Mrs. Dent.  “He had as open and frank a face as I ever saw, and every one says he is devoted to his mother; but then of course he was greatly tempted, needing the money as he did.”

“Do you mean the five-dollar bill Aunt Susan sent to me, father?” asked Sidney.

He had grown very pale and his voice trembled as he spoke.

“Yes; how did you hear of it?  The letter came the very day you left.”

“Oh, father, I read the letter, and—­and it was I who took the money!  I fully intended to tell you, but—­”

And there Sidney broke down utterly and could not go on.

“You took it!” repeated his father.  “Oh, what trouble and sorrow you have brought upon an innocent person, Sidney, by not letting me know that sooner!”