Fox shuddered.
Peter had been taken from the poorhouse three years ago by Mr. Fox,
and apprenticed to him by the town authorities. According to popular
report he had been cruelly treated and insufficiently fed, until he
was taken sick and had died in the very bedroom where Mrs. Fox had
been so frightened. This may explain how it was that a woman so
strong-minded had had her nerves so easily upset.
"We won't talk of Peter," said Mr. Fox, shortly, for to him, also, the
subject was an unpleasant one. "I suppose you didn't find another
wallet?"
"No, I didn't. You can order the boy to give it up to-morrow. The best
thing to do now is to go to bed and rest."
The breakfast hour at the house of Mr. Fox was half past six. Harry
was called at six, and was punctual at the table. Mr. Fox cast a
suspicious glance at his ward, but the boy looked so perfectly
unconcerned, that he acquitted him of any knowledge of the night
visit.
"How did you sleep, Harry?" asked Mrs. Fox.
"Soundly, thank you," answered Harry, politely.
"You didn't hear any--strange noises, then?"
"No."
"Now, Harry," said Mr. Fox, after breakfast, "we may as well speak of
our future arrangements. I have considerable to do on my twenty acres
of land, and I can give you work here.
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