Not necessarily, that was true; but Charlie had, in Jed’s presence, expressed himself as needing money, a sum approximately that which was missing; and he had added that he would do almost anything to get it.  And—­there was no use telling oneself that the fact had no bearing on the case, because it would bear heavily with any unprejudiced person—­Charlie’s record was against him.  Jed loyally told himself over and over again that the boy was innocent, he knew he was innocent.  But—­ The dreadful “but” came back again and again to torment him.

All that day he went about in an alternate state of dread and hope.  Hope that the missing four hundred might be found, dread of—­many possibilities.  Twice he stopped at the bank to ask Captain Sam concerning it.  The second time the captain was a trifle impatient.

“Gracious king, Jed,” he snapped.  “What’s the matter with you?  ’Tain’t a million.  This institution’ll probably keep afloat even if it never turns up.  And ’twill turn up sooner or later; it’s bound to.  There’s a chance that I left it at old Sage’s.  Soon’s the old cuss gets back and I can catch him by telephone I’ll find out.  Meanwhile I ain’t worryin’ and I don’t know why you should.  The main thing is not to let anybody know anything’s missin’.  Once let the news get out ’twill grow to a hundred thousand afore night.  There’ll be a run on us if Gab Bearse or Melissa Busteed get goin’ with their throttles open.  So don’t you whisper a word to anybody, Jed.  We’ll find it pretty soon.”

And Jed did not whisper a word.  But he anxiously watched the inmates of the little house, watched Charles’ face when he came home after working hours, watched the face of his sister as she went forth on a marketing expedition, even scrutinized Babbie’s laughing countenance as she came dancing into the shop, swinging Petunia by one arm.  And it was from Babbie he first learned that, in spite of all Captain Hunniwell’s precautions, some one had dropped a hint.  It may as well be recorded here that the identity of that some one was never clearly established.  There were suspicions, centering about the bank messenger, but he stoutly denied having told a living soul.

Barbara, who was on her way home from school, and had rescued the long-suffering Petunia from the front fence where she had been left suspended on a picket to await her parent’s return, was bubbling over with news and giggles.

“Oh, Uncle Jed,” she demanded, jumping up to perch panting upon a stack of the front elevations of birdhouses, “isn’t Mr. Gabe Bearse awfully funny?”

Jed sighed.  “Yes,” he said, “Gabe’s as funny as a jumpin’ toothache.”

The young lady regarded him doubtfully.  “I see,” she said, after a moment, “you’re joking again.  I wish you’d tell me when you’re going to do it, so Petunia and I would know for sure.”

“All right, I’ll try not to forget to remember.  But how did you guess I was jokin’ this time?”