FESTING COMMITS THEFT

The air was sharp and wonderfully invigorating when Festing stopped
for a few moments, one evening, outside Charnock's homestead. A row of
sandhills glimmered faintly against the blue haze in the east, but the
western edge of the plain ran in a hard black line beneath a blaze
of smoky red. It was not dark, but the house was shadowy, and Festing
noticed a smell of burning as he entered.

The top was off the stove in Charnock's room, and the flame that
licked about the hole showed that the floor was strewn with torn paper.
Charnock was busy picking up the pieces, and when he threw a handful
into the stove a blaze streamed out and the light shone upon the wall.
Festing noted that the portrait that had hung there had gone, and
looking round in search of it, saw a piece of the broken frame lying on
the stove. It was half burned and a thin streak of smoke rose from its
glowing end. Festing remarked this with a sense of anger.

"What are you doing, Bob?" he asked.

"Cleaning up," Charnock answered, with a hoarse laugh, as he sat down
among the litter. "Proper thing when you mean to make a fresh start!
Suppose you take a drink and help."

A whisky bottle and a glass stood on the table, and Festing thought
Charnock had taken some liquor, although he was not drunk. Stooping
down, he began to pick up the papers, which, for the most part, looked
like bills. There were, however, a few letters in a woman's hand, and
by and by he found a bit of riband, a glove, and a locket that seemed to