This door was closed. He tried it softly and found it
locked. Then he dropped down in the darkest corner of the landing,
and, with eyes and ears still keenly alert, pulled from his pocket the
mud-stained purse and examined it carefully. He found in it thirty-six
dollars in bills and about a dollar more in silver.
The boy gave a gleeful, silent laugh. "Struck it rich this time," he
said to himself.
He hunted up a crooked pin from somewhere about his dilapidated
garments, and fastened the roll of bills as securely as he could
inside the lining of his jacket, keeping the silver in his pocket.
Then he again examined the book to be sure that he had overlooked
nothing. On the inside of the leather was the name,
"R. A. RUSSELL,"
and there was also a card bearing the same name and an address. The
card he tore into tiny bits and chewed into a pellet which he tossed
over the stone balustrade. Then, with the pocketbook in his hand, he
looked about him. There was a pastor's box fastened beside the
door. He crowded the telltale book through the opening in the top of
this box, and then with a satisfied air ran blithely down the stone
steps. But he stopped short as he came face to face with the sexton
who was just crossing the porch.
"Here, you! Where've you been? What you been up to?" cried the man,
clutching at him angrily, but the boy was too quick.
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