thought so well!" The poor boy burst into tears, and stammered forth with a broken voice his innocence. However, his guilt seemed proved, and the rector besought him not to add untruth to theft. The master however, who had a good opinion of the boy, thought it would be as well to inquire of his mother what time he reached home that night; for as farmer Collins said it was about seven o'clock when he went into his orchard, he knew that the Langs might have been at home at six, or a little after, had they made the best of their way. The rector took the master's hint, and bade him hurry off to the widow's house. He was soon there, and found from widow Lang that her sons had not reached home till after seven that night; "for," she said, "Charlie lost his bag on the way, and went a long way back to find it." The master was grieved to hear the boys had been so late at home, as it forced him to suspect that they had only invented the account of losing the bag on the road to conceal the real history of its loss, and to excuse themselves for being late. When on his return he told his tale, Mr. Stafford took the same view of the case, and Charlie Lang's fate was sealed. Before all the school he was declared to have forfeited the feast for being a thief. The boy sobbed as if his heart would break, and still persisted in his innocence. A bitter journey it was for him that evening home. His mother who knew not why the schoolmaster had been up to ask the questions was somewhat anxious for his return, and was standing at the door, as the usual time arrived for his coming back. When he saw his mother, he rushed forward, threw himself into her arms, and in a violent burst of grief, exclaimed, “O mother, mother, I am said to be a thief, but I am innocent, I am innocent indeed!" The poor widow, startled by what he said, hastily drew him into the house, and when he had become somewhat calm, bade him tell all that had happened. For the first few minutes she almost distrusted his tale; the bag in the orchard puzzled her; but the boy quickly perceiving his mother's hesitation, flung himself round her neck, exclaiming, "Don't doubt me! you are my own mother; don't you be against me! O mother, if you doubt me my heart will break, for I have then no friend!" Yes," said the widow, convinced of his innocence by this natural burst of genuine distress, you have God, from whom no secrets are hid, and you have me; I do believe you!" The boy grief broke out afresh, and he said, "I don't care for the feast; I don't care for it a bit; but I am called a thief by the parson, who I know is a good man, and has been a good friend. I have lost him now; he thinks I am a thief." Just at this time Robert Swale, a shoemaker's apprentice in the village, who had not long left school, and who had always taken a fancy to Charlie, came in. The poor widow in her grief told all the tale to Robert. He listened to every word; he felt that facts were against poor Charlie; but he knew him well, and he knew him to be a boy who feared God, and was spending a holy youth. Robert himself was an earnest member of the Church; he had lately been confirmed, and his whole heart was in heavenly things; he had profited greatly by the rector's instructions, and he liked Charlie because he seemed to be able to understand him when he talked about the things of God, though he was so much younger than himself. "I am sure," he said as he wished good night, "I am sure Mrs. Lang that Charlie has spoken the truth, and I'll see what can be done to clear him." "God bless you, Robert !" exclaimed Charlie fervently; "you'll stand by me, then? Well, God has not quite left me this dreadful day!" Robert walked thoughtfully home; Charlie sat moodily by the fire-side, every now and then quite lost in grief till bed-time came. His mother and he then knelt down for their evening prayer, and the widow put up an especial prayer for her son, that he might be found to have been faithful, that he might be patient in his trial, and his innocence made clear, if not in this world, in the world to come. When Charlie went up to his room, and said his own private prayers by his bed-side, his mother heard his trembling and broken voice calling upon God for help; her heart rose within her, and she said cheerfully to herself, as the tears stood in her eyes, "that the boy would not have prayed in that way if he were a thief, but would have shuffled into bed." Early the next morning, the day before the feast, Robert Swale was up with the lark, and wended his way towards the orchard to see what he could make out of the affair. Remembering well that farmer Collins had said the applestealer had made his escape at the corner of the field towards the mill, thither he turned his steps. Remembering also that it had rained the night before the theft, he thought he might find some foot-prints on the ground. With the farmer's leave, he first went inside the field, and there he thought he saw, near the part of the hedge which was freshly broken at the top, as though some one had lately scrambled through, the faint marks of the pressure of a foot. However, he was not sure that he was right, as the mark was so indistinct; but this led him to look over the hedge on the road-side, and there he saw a heap of mud and earth that the roadscrapers had made. He was soon out of the field examining the heap on which the thief must have come down, if he had rightly hit upon the place. There staring him in the face was the plain mark of a big boy's heel, and just in the position in which the foot must have fallen if its owner had come over the hedge. Robert's heart quite beat with joy, and his eye sparkled when he saw that the foot must have been nearly twice as large as Charlie Lang's. 'Hurrah, hurrah!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands, "he is not the thief!" Out came his rule; he measured the foot-mark accurately; and noted that the shoe must have had an iron heel of a peculiar make; he was very exact in taking on a piece of paper the pattern of the heel. who owned the shoe. The question now was |