They were already there. Their wet clothes had been changed, and they were for the moment in private conversation with the colonel, who had been summoned immediately on their arrival.

In the pocket of the dripping coat that had been worn by Frans a bundle of the missing bank-notes had been found, carelessly rolled in a bit of yellow wrapping-paper. This all the by-standers about the door had heard, for the proceedings at the country seat of justice seem to be considered to belong to the small public of the neighbourhood.

While Pelle was waiting without, Nono having been sent back at once with the boat, the colonel was holding Frans by the hand, and talking to him from the depths of his stirred paternal heart.

"I have you, Frans, as one alive from the dead, and so I must talk to you," said the colonel solemnly. "Don't answer me; don't speak a word, Frans!--And you, boy," and he turned towards Knut, "keep quiet. No excuses; no explanations from either of you!--I want to say to you, Frans, what I should have longed to say to you if you had sunk in that deep water. I have not watched over you as I should, my boy. I take my share in the blame of what you have done. I have been too wrapped up in my own sorrows, my own ill-health, and my own melancholy reflections, to be to you what I ought to have been. I find I love you most intensely, and your loss would have been a terrible blow to me.

Your bright face gone for ever from the home would have made it dreary indeed. You have caused me great sorrow by running away, and have, I fear, been guilty of that for which the law must punish you."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Frans admonished.]

Frans stirred as if about to speak.

"Silence!" said his father sternly. "The missing bank-notes were some of them found in your coat pocket. You had no such money when you left home; you will be called on to account for its being there."

Frans stared speechlessly at his father, and then looked at his companion.

"He's been free with money since we were out," said Knut; "but I supposed such high-fliers had always no end of cash on hand, and never suspected anything more than the boys' frolic we started out for when we found it had gone contrary for us at school."

"Papa!" began Frans eagerly.

At the moment an officer came in to say, "There is an old man outside--old Pelle everybody calls him--who says he _must_ see the boys; that it is most important for them." The magistrate and Pelle and several other solemn-looking individuals entered the room.

Pelle looked first at Frans and then at his companion. The strange gleam came again into his eyes as he bowed to all present and asked to be allowed to tell his story. Permission to speak was authoritatively given him, and he began,--

"About four hours ago I was standing by the bay, up at Trolleudden, when I saw that young fellow," pointing at Knut, "come up to a chap who had a sail-boat there to let to the summer villa people. The boy wanted a boat for a trip down the bay. He was willing to pay handsomely, he said, and he did, with a bank-note, though he didn't look as if he were much used to handling that sort of thing. I somehow thought there must be something wrong about it. Then I went up to the little inn to get a gla.s.s of milk and a bit of bread. When I came into the sitting-room, there was a boy there, who sat with his arms on the table, and his head on his hands, with his hat tipped down so over his eyes that I couldn't see his face. He was dressed like a workman, with a leather ap.r.o.n on, and a coa.r.s.e shirt, and an old overcoat outside, though it was so warm I was glad to go in my flannel sleeves. There was something queer about the boy. I could see his hands. They were not very clean, to be sure, but they didn't look as if they had seen much real work. I soon got through thinking about the boy, who seemed to be asleep. I finished my bread and milk, and took out my book to read while I rested, and quite forgot where I was. Suddenly I heard somebody steal into the room, tiptoe up, and stand behind me. I kept quite still, but on the watch, for I felt all was not right. As I looked into my spectacles I saw who it was that was so near me. Often in church I see the person who is standing behind me. I don't know how it is, but I do, as if my spectacles were a looking-gla.s.s. I didn't like the sly, bad face right before my eyes. I could not help seeing it between me and the book, and I knew it was the lad who had hired the boat. In a second an arm was stretched forward towards the boy who was sitting very near me, the other side of the corner of the table, and a little yellow parcel was tucked into the pocket of his great-coat. I had nothing to say in the matter, and did not let on that I noticed it.

It might be some young folks' frolic. I am not used to meddle in other people's business, but I generally know what goes on round me. The face went out of my spectacles, and the door shut quietly. I finished my reading and went out. Those boys I have not seen again to know them till I meet the very same here."

"What were you reading?" asked the magistrate sternly.

"This book," said old Pelle, taking out his worn paper-covered "Thomas a Kempis," and handing it to the gentleman, who returned it without a word, but ordered the wet clothes of the boys to be brought in. "I don't know those things, surely," said Pelle, pointing to the larger suit, "but should say that might be the leather ap.r.o.n the younger boy had on. I couldn't be sure either of the coat, but the striped shirt is just like the wrist-band that showed as the boy had his arms on the table, as he was asleep or pretended to be."

"The roll of bank-notes was found in that coat, wrapped up in a bit of yellow paper," said the magistrate. "You may sit down, Pelle."

The magistrate then solemnly called on Frans to speak for himself.

"I know nothing at all about the money," he said. "I heard somebody coming in at the inn, and put down my head at once, and tipped my hat forward to hide my face. I did not look up again until I had heard the person beside me stir and then go out. I believe I had dozed a little, but I can't be sure."

Knut, when questioned, denied having seen old Pelle at all, and declared that it was probable the whole story had been made up after the old man had heard outside that the notes were found in Frans's pocket. As if anybody could see who was behind him by looking into his own spectacles! It had been a bad business going off with Frans, and he was very sorry for it. He had found Frans in such a taking about his bad report, ashamed and afraid to go home, and talking of working his way as a sailor over the ocean. "Of course I went with him, and tried to take care of him," said Knut, "and this is my reward! Frans and that old fellow have been regular 'chums.' I have often seen them together. Of course 'the quality' would have somebody to turn the world upside down to help them. Frans has his own father, but I"--here Knut sobbed audibly--"a poor widow's son, have n.o.body to stand by me.

If my _poor_ mother were here, what could she do for me? But she is far back in the country, not knowing what her boy has come to by trying to help a young scamp who had got into a tight place."

There was much sympathy for Knut in the little a.s.sembly, and "Poor fellow! poor fellow!" had been murmured by more than one listener as he went on.

"See out of the back of his head!" continued Knut, "or in his spectacles, as he says! Likely! Better try him," he boldly concluded.

"A good suggestion," said the magistrate.

The court-room seemed suddenly changed into a playroom for grown people. Pelle was placed on a chair, now here and now there, while different people were placed behind him, and he was called on to say who was leaning towards his shoulder.

Pelle looked and looked in vain. The spectacles told no tales. A sneer went round the room again and again, and Knut was heard to chuckle as he said, "Of course he made up the whole story. That any one in his senses could believe it!"

Pelle was discomfited. At last he said falteringly, "I have told the truth. I did see that face in my spectacles, but I don't see anything now. It has happened to me many times in church on Sunday morning. I am sure I could do it where I sit in the church."

"Why not let him try it in the church?" said the colonel. "I am sure the pastor would give his permission."

The experiment in the church was arranged for the next morning.

Frans and his companion were left in custody for the night, and the colonel went home with a sad heart, but not without some hope that his son would be proved to be innocent. For it was true that Frans had been much at the golden house, and was a great favourite there, and it was not impossible that the temptation to free him had been too strong for Pelle to resist.

The morning came, and at eleven o'clock there was an unusual gathering in the parish church. The stillness round the marble sleepers on the monumental tombs was broken, not by the sound of prayer and praise, but by the low hush of murmuring voices and the tramp of eager feet. Pelle came quietly in and took his usual seat. He bowed his head, just from habit, then followed a silent pet.i.tion, not for a blessing on the services of the sanctuary, but that the innocent might be defended and the guilty brought to justice.

He raised himself up and sat down, intending to wait for further orders. He suddenly said in a sharp voice, "Take off your hat, Adam or Enos!" and then turned unconsciously to look behind him. Yes, there stood one of the twins, which he could not say, his mouth wide with delight, while a murmur went round, "He was right this time!"

"Of course it was all planned before at the cottage," said a dissenting voice.

"I don't plan to have boys stand in the church with their hats on,"

said Pelle.

"I ordered the boy to take his place there myself," said the magistrate.

Again and again the experiment was tried, and with success, even the pastor and the magistrate curiously taking their turn in the performance; Pelle then, most respectfully stating whom he had had the honour to see, bowing as he did so.

At last all present were fully convinced that Pelle had spoken the truth, and he was conducted in a kind of triumphal procession back to the cottage.

The question was everywhere agitated, "What is to 'come of' Pelle's testimony?" The fate of the boys was not to be altogether decided by him.

The authorized messengers who had been sent to the little inn where Pelle had stopped came back with the innkeeper and the owner of the boat that had been hired by the boys. From them it was easily learned that the culprits had been seen at the time mentioned by Pelle, and had been considered suspicious strangers, especially the older lad, who was foolishly free with his money, and had a bold, bad look about him. The younger boy was described as cast down, and evidently not on good terms with his companion.

The case did not come to a public trial. A large part of the money taken had been recovered, the note paid for the boat being identified as one of the missing bills. The merchant who had been robbed declined prosecuting the offender, as his loss was fully made good to him by the colonel. It was, however, exacted in the agreement that Knut should be sent out of the country at once.

The pastor took Knut home with him, and gave him such a kind, serious talk that the poor lad's heart was quite melted, and he, sincere for the time at least, promised to try to lead a better life.

"He will only go to ruin if he is sent to prison," Pelle had said.

"May G.o.d help the boy in his own way! I will try to help him in mine.

Who knows what I might have been if I had kept on as a sailor!" So Pelle, for the time a prominent man, went round in the neighbourhood and collected money enough to send the guilty boy over the Atlantic to begin life again in the far West.

Karin wrote a short letter to her "son in America," full of love to Erik, and with a request that he would do what he could for Knut to help him on in the right way. Oke penned a full description of the whole affair, which he declared was written so plainly that anybody ought to understand it, let alone a Swede like Erik, born in the best country in the world, though he did now seem to be more than half an American.

A neat suit of clothes had been sent to Frans by the careful housekeeper, so that he looked quite like himself when he took his seat beside his father for his homeward drive.

Oke had made haste to tell all the neighbourhood of the success of Pelle in the church, and Alma had had her share of the good news.

Whether Frans would be allowed to return home with his father she had not yet heard. She sat anxiously watching at the window, when there was a sound of carriage-wheels in the avenue. There were two persons in the carriage! Yes, one was certainly Frans!

Alma ran down to the veranda. "Dear, dear Frans! I am so glad to see you!" she exclaimed, as she put her arm around him; and so they followed their father into the house.

"Thank you, sister!" he answered, with a quivering lip. He could say no more.

The colonel went into the library and closed the door, and Frans and his sister were left together. They went back to the veranda and sat down side by side, Frans still struggling to gain self-command.

"Dear brother," began Alma, "I am so sorry I have been a cross, disagreeable sister to you. I mean to be better. I shall try, and you must forgive me if I fail, and am cross to you sometimes."