68 The Brothers.

 

Long, long hours after Johnnie was in bed
and asleep, the younger brother lay, cold with
horror and fright, thinking and thinking.

The blind was up, and the soft white moon-
light was falling in great streaks across the
room. Stephen raised himself on his elbow,
and looked at his brother.

Sleeping, so softly, with his head upon his
hand, the curls falling over his forehead, a
smile upon his lips. Johnnie—dear Johnnie—
you could not be a thief!

Stephen almost cried aloud with the terror
and misery of his thoughts: hour after hour
he could hear sounding from the church clock,
and still he had thought of no relief—no ex-
planation.

At last, when the dawn was coming pink
and bright over the sky, he fell asleep and
dreamed that he was happy—a dream that
made his awaking all the more sad.

John could not think what was the matter
with him, Distress had brought back all his
half-sullen shyness, and he was as silent as
when he first came to the farm. He could
not ask his brother for an explanation; he
knew he cou/d not, and yet he longed so to tell
him all.

“You can’t be well. You eat no breakfast,