A Dollar on the Conscience - Page 2

"I'm very foolish," said he, mentally, as he walked homeward, after closing his store for the evening. "Very foolish to worry myself about a trifle like this. The goods were cheap enough at fifty-five, and she is quite as well contented with her bargain as if she had paid only fifty."

But it would not do. The dollar was on his conscience, and he sought in vain to remove it by efforts of this kind.

Mr. Levering had a wife and three pleasant children. They were the sunlight of his home. When the business of the day was over, he usually returned to his own fireside with buoyant feeling. It was not so on this occasion. There was a pressure on his bosom--a sense of discomfort--a want of self-satisfaction. The kiss of his wife, and the clinging arms of his children, as they were twined around his neck, did not bring the old delight.

"What is the matter with you this evening, dear? Are you not well?" inquired Mrs. Levering, breaking in upon the thoughtful mood of her husband, as he sat in unwonted silence.

I'm perfectly well," he replied, rousing himself, and forcing a smile.

"You look sober."

"Do I?" Another forced smile.

"Something troubles you, I'm afraid."

"O no; it's all in your imagination."

"Are you sick, papa?" now asks a bright little fellow, clambering upon his knee.

"Why no, love, I'm not sick. Why do you think so?"

"Because you don't play horses with me."

"Oh dear! Is that the ground of your suspicion?" replied the father, laughing. "Come! we'll soon scatter them to the winds."

And Mr. Levering commenced a game of romps with the children. But he tired long before they grew weary, nor did he, from the beginning, enter into this sport with his usual zest.

"Does your head ache, pa?" inquired the child who had previously suggested sickness, as he saw his father leave the floor, and seat himself, with some gravity of manner, on a chair.

"Not this evening, dear," answered Mr. Levering.

"Why don't you play longer, then?"

"Oh pa!" exclaimed another child, speaking from a sudden thought, "you don't know what a time we had at school to-day."

"Ah! what was the cause?"

"Oh! you'll hardly believe it. But Eddy Jones stole a dollar from Maggy Enfield!"

"Stole a dollar!" ejaculated Mr. Levering. His voice was husky, and he felt a cold thrill passing along every nerve.

"Yes, pa! he stole a dollar! Oh, wasn't it dreadful?"

"Perhaps he was wrongly accused," suggested Mrs. Levering.

"Emma Wilson saw him do it, and they found the dollar in his pocket. Oh! he looked so pale, and it made