It was always one of the most interesting places in the store to Fred; he liked to sit with his feet hanging down over the water, watching it as it came in and dashed against the cellar walls.
To-day it was high, and a smart breeze drove it in with unusual force. Bending down as far as he could safely to look under the store, Fred saw the end of a hatchet sticking out from the corner of one of the abutments that projected from the cellar, to support the end of the store in which the trap-door was.
”What a curious place this is for a hatchet!“ thought Fred, as he stooped a little further, holding on very tight to the floor above. What he saw made him almost lose his hold and drop into the water below. There, stretched along on a beam was Sam Crandon, with some stolen packages near him.
For a moment Fred’s astonishment was too great to allow him to speak; and Sam glared at him like a wild beast brought suddenly to bay.
”Oh, Sam! Sam!“ said Fred, at length, ”how could you?“
Sam caught up a hatchet and looked as if he was going to aim it at him, then suddenly dropped it into the water.
Fred’s heart beat fast, and the blood came and went from his cheeks; he caught his breath heavily, and the water, the abutment and even Sam with his wicked ugly face were for a moment darkened. Then, recovering himself, he said:
”Was it you, Sam? I’m sorry for you!“
”Don’t lie!“ said Sam, glowering back, ”you know you’re glad!“
”Glad? Why should I be glad to have you steal?“
”Cause I licked you, and you caught it.“
”So I did; but I am sorry, for all that.“
”You lie!“
Fred had thought very fast while this conversation was going on. He had only to lift his head and call his father, then the boat would be immediately pushed in under the store, Sam secured and his punishment certain. There were stolen goods enough to convict him, and his mode of ingress into the store was now certain. This trap-door was never locked; very often it was left open–the water being considered the most effectual bolt and bar that could be used; but Sam, a good swimmer and climber, had come in without difficulty and had quite a store of his own hidden away there for future use. This course was very plain; but for some reason, which Fred could not explain even to himself, he did not feel inclined to take it; so he sat looking steadily in Sam’s face until he said:
”Look here, Sam, I want to show you I mean what I say. I’m sorry you have turned thief and if I can help you to be a better boy, I should be glad to.“
Again Fred’s honest kindly face had the same effect upon Sam that it had at the commencement of their street fight; he respected and trusted it unconsciously.
”Here!“ said he, crawling along on the beam and handing back the package of knives, the last theft of which his father had complained.
”Yes, that is right,“ said Fred, leaning down and taking it, ”give them all back, if you can; that is what my father calls `making restitution,’ and then you won’t be a thief any longer.“
Something in the boy’s tone touched Sam’s heart still more; so he handed back one thing after another as rapidly as he could until nearly everything was restored.
”Bravo for you, Sam! I won’t tell who took them, and there is a chance for you. Here, give me your hand now, honor bright you’ll never come here again to steal, if I don’t tell my father.“
Sam looked at him a moment, as if he would read his very soul; then he said sulkily:
”You’ll tell; I know you will, ’cause I licked you when you didn’t want me to; but you’ve got ’em all back, and I s’pose it won’t go very hard.“
”What won’t go very hard?“
”The prison.“
”You sha’n’t go to prison at all. Here, give me your hand; I promise not to tell if you will promise not to steal any more. Ain’t that fair?“