“Yes! for money to buy spinning-tops and marbles with!” put in Miss Claudia.

Ishmael looked around in dismay for a moment, and then burst out with: 

“Oh, sir! indeed, indeed I did not!”

“What! you didn’t sell it?” exclaimed Mr. Middleton.

“Oh, yes, sir, I sold it!” said Ishmael, as the irrepressible tears rushed to his eyes.  “I sold it!  I was obliged to do so!  Patrick Henry would have done it, sir!”

“But you did not sell it to get money to buy toys with?”

“Oh, no, no, no, sir!  It was a matter of life and death, else I never would have parted with my book!”

“Tell me all about it, my boy.”

“My Aunt Hannah has been ill in bed all the winter.  I haven’t been able to earn anything for the last month.  We got out of money and provisions.  And Mr. Nutt wouldn’t trust us for anything—­”

“Uncle, mind you, don’t deal with that horrid man any more!” interrupted Claudia.

“Did you owe him much, my boy?” inquired Mr. Middleton.

“Not a penny, sir!  We never went in debt and never even asked for credit before.”

“Go on.”

“Well, sir, to-day Aunt Hannah wanted a cup of tea so badly that she cried for it, sir—­cried like any little baby, and said she would die if she didn’t get it; and so I brought my book to town this afternoon and sold it to get the money to buy what she wanted.”

“But you had the pocketbook full of money; why didn’t you take some of that?”

“The Lord says ‘Thou shalt not steal!’”

“But that would have been only taking in advance what would certainly have been offered to you as a reward.”

“I did think of that when aunt was crying for tea; but then I knew John Hancock never would have done so, and I wouldn’t, so I sold my book.”

“There, uncle!  I said so!  Now! now! what do you think now?” exclaimed Claudia.

“It must have cost you much to part with your treasure, my boy!” said Mr. Middleton, without heeding the interruption of Claudia.

Ishmael’s features quivered, his eyes filled with tears and his voice failed in the attempt to answer.

“There is your book, my lad!  It would be a sin to keep it from you,” said Mr. Middleton, taking a packet from the bottom of the sleigh and laying it upon Ishmael’s knees.

“My book! my book again!  Oh, oh, sir!  I—­” His voice sank; but his pale face beamed with surprise, delight, and gratitude.

“Yes, it is yours, my boy, my noble boy!  I give it to you once more; not as any sort of a reward; but simply because I think it would be a sin to deprive you of that which is yours by a sacred right.  Keep it, and make its history still your study, and its heroes still your models,” said Mr. Middleton, with emotion.

Ishmael was trembling with joy!  His delight at recovering his lost treasure was even greater than his joy at first possessing it had been.  He tried to thank the donor; but his gratitude was too intense to find utterance in words.