but perhaps Tim's suggestion would be available, and he knew his mother
would be so glad to see him when he returned, that she would save him
from the effects of his father's anger. His conscience assured him, too,
that it would be wrong for him to engage in such a piece of treachery
towards his friends; but Tim declared they were not his friends--that
they meant to ruin him.

Thus he reasoned over the matter, and thus he got rid of the objections
as fast as they occurred to him. While he was thinking about it, Tim
continued to describe in glowing colors the fun they could have;
occasionally relating some adventure of "Mike Martin," "Dick Turpin," or
other villain, whose lives and exploits were the only literature he ever
read.

But Charles could not fall at once. There were some difficulties which
he could not get over. It was wrong to do as Tim proposed; it was so
written on his soul. The "still small voice" could not be silenced. As
fast as he reconciled one objection, another came up, and something in
his bosom kept saying, "You must not do it."

The more he thought, the more imperative was the command. "Run away as
fast as you can!" said the voice within him. "You are tempted; flee from
the temptation."

"I guess I won't join you, Tim," said he.

"You won't, eh?" replied Tim, with a sneer.

"I think not; I don't believe it is right. But I won't say anything
about it."