CHAPTER XX.

UP THE CHIMNEY.

"LET me look at it!" exclaimed Randall, pushing Hugh aside, and standing on tiptoe to reach the mantel-piece.

"You mustn't. I ought not to have touched it," said Hugh eagerly. "Let it alone, I tell you; mother would not like us to touch her letters."

"It isn't a letter, it's a bank-note, and I mean to look at it, whatever you say—"

Hugh put his hand upon the object of their dispute, to protect it from further molestation, while Randall, with a sudden movement, caught it from under his brother's hand, and then in his eagerness dropped it.

It fluttered down, down, down; both boys made a dash at it, but the draught from the blazing fire was too strong—it eluded their grasp, and quietly floated into the midst of the flames, where it caught fire, and went crackling up the chimney.

There was a moment's silence, while both children stood spell-bound.

At length Randall found his voice, though it was choking with anger and dismay, and he exclaimed—"You did it! It was your fault!"

"Oh, Randall!" said Hugh, turning white.

"You did! I shall tell mother so! It was all your doing—"

He ran from the room, and Hugh could hear his voice explaining and protesting, and his mother's tone of vexation as she realized her loss. Then he heard steps approaching, and they both came in.

"I was in the arm-chair," said Randall, "and he was holding it there, on the hearth-rug, and then he dropped it, and it blew into the fire—"

"Oh, Randall!" began Hugh, in a despairing tone. "It wasn't a bit so, mother! I was telling Randall not to touch it, and he would try to, and he snatched it from me, and then—I don't know how—it got burned."

Mrs. Shaddock looked from one to the other.

"'Which' did it?" she asked angrily.

"It was Hugh," said Randall; "I was quite away from him, and I saw it in his hand."

"Randall let it fall in the fire," said Hugh steadily, his face white even to his lips, and his hands clenched together till they ached.

"I don't believe it," said Mrs. Shaddock. "Don't you hear your brother was sitting in the arm-chair, so it could not have been his fault. Here is a whole five pounds gone, and you shall have no Christmas presents at all, Hugh for being so careless, and then trying to put it on your brother. Do not let me have another word on the subject. I do not know what your father will say."

Mrs. Shaddock left the room in great displeasure, and the two boys stood looking at each other.

"Now, cry-baby, go and tell it all to nurse," said Randall, shaking his yellow mane defiantly. "I know it was your fault, so I don't care."

Hugh slowly left the room, his heart stinging with the pain of his little brother's taunts.

Soon his father would be back from town, and then he pictured the fresh investigation of the whole matter, and the fresh disgrace, and perhaps punishment, which would fall upon him. It was not the first time that Randall's selfishness and want of truth had got him into dire trouble, and he was too sensitive, and too little respected, to fight for himself.

He laid himself down on the nursery hearth-rug to think it all over, and remained like that till the gong sounded for tea, and he must go down.

Mr. Shaddock had come in, and Gertrude and his sisters had returned from a lecture they had been attending. Everybody was present, as Hugh, pale and dark-eyed, walked into the room.

"You need not come here," said his father, looking up. "Tell nurse to give you your tea up-stairs, and put you to bed. Five-pound notes are not to be burned with impunity."

Hugh said nothing. He went slowly up to the nursery, and sat down dejectedly on a chair. Nurse had heard the account from Randall, and knew all about it, or at any rate, so much as could be gathered from one side.

"I expect I shall be caned," said Hugh at length, "and it was Randall who did it from beginning to end."

"Then never mind, dear," said nurse gently.

If there was one thing that nurse found hard in her comfortable place, it was that Hugh was often severely punished, while Randall got off free.

But Hugh would not be comforted. He ate no tea, and crept into bed, utterly crushed.

As he lay there in the darkness, above the fear of punishment, above the threat of no Christmas presents, above the misery of being wronged, came over him a greater misery still. For while he knew that every word Randall had said was false, and that the burning of the note was entirely Randall's doing, yet in his inmost heart he felt he had been the one to touch it first, and this fault he had not acknowledged.

He could not do it! That was his first and strongest feeling. Nothing on earth could make him volunteer that which would partly justify all their displeasure. He had "not" burned the note, there it must rest. That was his ultimatum.

But to those who are Christ's, a still small voice comes; the Shepherd's hand is stretched out to restore the soul, and lead it in the paths of righteousness.

A sudden thought came to poor little Hugh, and he looked up above the misery and despair which had seized him. "Oh, help me to do right, by Thy mighty power," he whispered. "I can't do it by myself—do help me, Lord Jesus."

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