increased rather than diminished. He was all the while thinking about
the stones--what the owner would say and do--whether he would learn
who took his stones away. His conscience was on duty.

It was evening, and Mr. Franklin took his seat at the fireside.
Benjamin was reading, the unattractive tallow candle furnishing him
light.

"Benjamin," said Mr. Franklin, after a little, "where were you last
evening?"

If his father had fired off a pistol he could not have been more
disturbed. His heart leaped into his throat. He thought of the stones.
He knew something was up about them--that trouble was ahead.

"I was down to the water," Benjamin replied, with as much coolness as
he could muster.

"What were you doing there?"

"Fixing up a place for the boat." He suspected, from his father's
appearance, that he would have to tell the whole story.

"Benjamin, see that you tell me the truth, and withhold nothing. I
wish to know exactly what you did there."

"We built a wharf."

"What did you build it with?"