for what he does in his sleep. I'd certainly go to him. If you wish, I'll go with you."
The two talked the matter over for half an hour, and, on Dave's continual urging, Shadow Hamilton at last consented to go to Doctor Clay and make a clean breast of the matter.
They found the master of Oak Hall in his private office, writing a letter. He greeted them pleasantly and told them to sit down until he had finished. Then he turned around to them inquiringly.
It was no easy matter for Shadow Hamilton to break the ice, and Dave had to help him do it. But, once the plunge was taken, the youth given to sleep-walking told him his story in all of its details, and turned over to the doctor the stick-pin and the sheet of stamps he had found.
During the recital, Doctor Clay's eyes scarcely once left the face of the boy who was making the confession. As he proceeded, Shadow Hamilton grew paler and paler, and his voice grew husky until he could scarcely speak.
"I know I am to blame, sir," he said, at last. "But I—I—oh, Doctor Clay, please forgive me!" he burst out.
"My boy, there is nothing to forgive," was the kindly answer, that took even Dave by surprise. "It would seem that you have been as much of a victim as I have been. I cannot blame you for
