“I!” cried the merchant, in horror.  “A likely thing!”

“We shall see,” I said.  “In the meantime be careful of what you say against me, or I will have you arrested before sundown.”

Mr. Woodward gave me a look that was savageness itself.  Apparently he was on the verge of giving way to a burst of temper.  But he seemed to think better of it, and turning, he jumped into his buggy and drove away.

It was the last time I ever saw him.  On the following day Mr. Harrison, Uncle Enos, and myself drove down to Newville and engaged a first-class lawyer to take up the case.  This legal gentleman pushed matters so fast that on the following Monday all the papers necessary for Woodward’s arrest were ready for execution.

The officers came to Darbyville late in the afternoon to secure their man.  They were told that Mr. Woodward had gone to New York on business.  They waited for him the remainder of the day and all of the next.

It was useless.  The highly respected head merchant of Darbyville did not appear; and an examination showed that he had mortgaged his house and his business, and taken every cent of cash with him.

It was an open acknowledgment of his guilt, and Kate was for letting it go at that.

“It will do no good to have him locked up,” she said.

“One thing is certain, sech a rascal ain’t fit to be at liberty,” put in my Uncle Enos.

“He may turn around and rob somebody else,” added the Widow Canby.

“That’s just it,” I said; and determined to bring the man to justice, I set a detective on his track.

The search was successful, for in a week Aaron Woodward was caught in Boston, preparing to embark for Europe.  He was brought back to Newville to await the action of the grand jury.  But he never came to trial.  In less than a week he was found in his cell one morning, dying.  Rather than face the humiliation of going to jail he had taken his life.  What became of Duncan I did not know for a long while until, through Mr. Harrison, I learned that he was in Chicago working for one of the railroads.  He had the making of a good fellow in him, and I trust that he became one.  Chris Holtzmann disappeared, and his Palace of Pleasure is a thing of the past.  John Stumpy went to Texas, and I heard that Pultzer went with him.

It was not long before my father received his pardon and came home.  I cannot express the joy that all of us experienced when he came forth from prison, not only a free man, but also bearing the proofs of his innocence.  We were all there to greet him, and as my sister Kate rushed into his arms I felt that fighting for honor meant a good deal.

Five years have gone by.  My father and I are now in business in Newville.  We live in Darbyville, along with my uncle,—­ who married the Widow Canby,—­ and my sister Kate.

Holland & Mack have recovered all that was stolen from them.  They were profuse in their apologies to my father, and offered him a good situation, which he declined.