They had been talking since eight.  Charles and his sister had had a long conversation following Captain Hunniwell’s visit and then, after a pretense at supper—­a pretense made largely on Babbie’s account—­the young man had come straight to the shop and to Jed.  He had found the latter in a state of extreme dejection.  He was sitting before the little writing table in his living-room, his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands.  The drawer of the table was open and Jed was, apparently, gazing intently at something within.  When Phillips entered the room he started, hastily slammed the drawer shut, and raised a pale and distressed face to his visitor.

“Eh?” he exclaimed.  “Oh, it’s you, Charlie, ain’t it?  I—­I—­er—­ good mornin’.  It’s—­it’s a nice day.”

Charles smiled slightly and shook his head.

“You’re a little mixed on the time, aren’t you, Jed?” he observed.  “It was a nice day, but it is a nice evening now.”

“Eh?  Is it?  Land sakes, I presume likely ’tis.  Must be after supper time, I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Supper time!  Why, it’s after eight o’clock.  Didn’t you know it?”

“No-o.  No, I guess not.  I—­I kind of lost run of the time, seems so.”

“Haven’t you had any supper?”

“No-o.  I didn’t seem to care about supper, somehow.”

“But haven’t you eaten anything?”

“No.  I did make myself a cup of tea, but twan’t what you’d call a success. . . .  I forgot to put the tea in it. . . .  But it don’t make any difference; I ain’t hungry—­or thirsty, either.”

Phillips leaned forward and laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder.

“Jed,” he said gently, “I know why you’re not hungry.  Oh, Jed, what in the world made you do it?”

Jed started back so violently that his chair almost upset.  He raised a hand with the gesture of one warding off a blow.

“Do?” he gasped.  “Do what?”

“Why, what you did about that money that Captain Hunniwell lost.  What made you do it, Jed?”

Jed’s eyes closed momentarily.  Then he opened them and, without looking at his visitor, rose slowly to his feet.

“So Sam told you,” he said, with a sigh.  “I—­I didn’t hardly think he’d do that. . . .  Course ’twas all right for him to tell,” he added hastily.  “I didn’t ask him not to, but—­but, he and I havin’ been—­er—­chums, as you might say, for so long, I—­I sort of thought. . . .  Well, it don’t make any difference, I guess.  Did he tell your—­your sister?  Did he tell her how I—­how I stole the money?”

Charles shook his head.

“No,” he said quietly.  “No, he didn’t tell either of us that.  He told us that you had tried to make him believe you took the money, but that he knew you were not telling the truth.  He knew you didn’t take it.”

“Eh?  Now . . . now, Charlie, that ain’t so.”  Jed was even more disturbed and distressed than before.  “I—­I told Sam I took it and—­and kept it.  I told him I did.  What more does he want?  What’s he goin’ around tellin’ folks I didn’t for?  What—­”