"This money is yours," cried Wetherell, so loudly that Bijah started and
glanced at the front of the store.

"Guess you made some mistake," he said, staring at the storekeeper with
such amazing innocence that he began to doubt his senses, and clutched
the bill to see if it was real.

"But I had no money in my pocket," said Wetherell, perplexedly. And then,
gaining, indignation, "Take this to the man who sent you, and give it
back to him."

But Bijah merely whispered caressingly in his ear, "Nobody sent me,--you
understand,--nobody sent me," and was gone. Wetherell stood for a moment,
dazed by the man's audacity, and then, hurrying to the front stoop, the
money still in his hand, he perceived Mr. Bixby in the sunlit road
walking, Jethro-fashion, toward Ephraim Prescott's harness shop.

"Why, Daddy," said Cynthia, coming in from the garden, "where did you get
all that money? Your troubles must feel better."

"It is not mine," said Wetherell, starting. And then, quivering with
anger and mortification, he sank down on the stoop to debate what he
should do.

"Is it somebody else's?" asked the child, presently.

"Yes."

"Then why don't you give it back to them, Daddy?"