“I’ll think about it Unde Sol,” said
Jach, quietly. And then, taking the tin
trunk, he made his way up town. But in
stead of stopping at Liwver Titcomb’s he
kept on till be reached the old homestead
where Mr. Belchers and Bradford had
taken up their abpde.
Ihe lawyer and his son, having recover
ed from their fright, were about to return
to the store, when Jack appeared. At the
sight of the trunk the two grew pale as
ashes.
“1 will trouble you both to leave my
premises,” coolly observed Jack. “I hap
p n to have here the will which you, Brad,
stole and hid a wav, and you. Mr. Belch -
ers,’’ turning to the lawyer, “intended to
burn.”
What could be said to such an accusa
tion? Mr. Belcher stammered something
about a mistake and hurriedly departed.
“I suppose now you’ve got the whip
handle you’ll pay us off in—in our own
com. doggedly remarked Brad, who had
lingered behind.
“M hat do you mean?” asked Jack.
■ by -shove us into state’s prison.”
“I shall do nothing of the kind,” firmlv
returned Jack, “though you both richly
deserve it. No one but Unc e Sol Maxwell
and I know what you have done, and 1
don't intend any one shall.”
“1 ou and orter had your revenge again’
’em. Jack, grumbled Uncle So', who no
longer goes fishing for a living. “You
orter. for a fac’—it’s a poor rule that
won’t work both ways.”
“I know one that don't,” answered
Jack.”
“What one’s that?”
“The golden rule,’’said Jack, quietly;
“for whatsoever ye would that men should
do to you do ye even so unto them.”—Chi
cago Post.
The Mot Valuable Things.
