h a gentle, if calloused,
forefinger.

"This'll take the pizen out, old feller," said the farmer, crooningly.

Tom Jonah whined, but did not move. The application of the salve hurt
the dog, but he did not pull away from the man's hand.

"He sure _is_ a gentleman, jest as the little gal says," chuckled Bob
Buckham.

He looked so kindly and humorously up at Agnes standing before him, that
the troubled Corner House girl almost broke out into weeping. She
gripped her fingers into her palms until the nails almost cut the tender
flesh. Her heart swelled and the tears stung her eyelids when she winked
them back. Agnes was a passionate, stormy-tempered child. This was a
crisis in her young life. She had always been open and frank, but nobody
will ever know what it cost her to blurt out her first words to Mr. Bob
Buckham.

"Oh, Mr. Buckham! do you _hate_ anybody who steals from you?"

"Heh?" he said, startled by her vehemence. "Do I hate 'em?"

"Yes."

"Goodness me, gal! I hope not. I'm a communin' Christian in our church,
an' I hope I don't have no hatred in my heart against none o' my
fellermen. But I hate some things that poor, weak, human critters
does--yes, ma'am! 'Specially some of the ornery things Bob Buckham's
done."

"Oh, Mr. Buckham! _you_ never stole," blurted out Agnes.

"Ya-as I have. That's why I hate stealin' so, I reckon," said the
farmer, slowly.

"Not, really?" cried Agnes.

"Yep. 'Twas a-many year ago. Marm and me had jest come on this farm. She
was young an' spry then, God bless her! And it was well she was. Bob
Buckham wouldn't never have owned the place and stacked up the few
dollars he has in bank, if it hadn't been for her spryness.

"I'd jest got my first strawberry patch inter bearin'----"

"Oh! Strawberries!" gasped Agnes.

"Ya-as'm. Them's what I've made most of my money on. I only had a small
patch. They was fust-class berries--most on 'em. They packed well, and
we had ter put 'em into round, covered, quart boxes to ship in them
days. I got a repertation with the local shipper for havin' A-number-one
fruit.

"Wal! Marm an' me was mighty hard up. We was dependin' on the _re_-turns
from the strawberry crop to pay mortgage, int'rest and taxes. And one
end of the strawberry patch--the late end--had the meachinest lookin'
berries ye ever seen."

Old Bob chuckled at the remembrance. His gaze sought the firelight
flashing through the bars of the grate of the big cookstove.

"Wal!"