moved from her determination. Mr. Peaslee was
vastly disturbed.

But presently he forgot this small annoyance in greater ones. That
evening after tea, when he went up to the post-office, he heard that
Pete Lamoury had been shot by Jim Edwards, and was now in bed with
his wounds. Jim's arrest was predicted. Young Farnsworth, who kept
the crockery store, told him the news. And presently Jake Hibbard,
the worst "shyster" in the village, shuffled in--noticeable anywhere
for his suit of rusty black, his empty sleeve pinned to his coat,
the green patch over his eye, and his tobacco-stained lips. He
confirmed the report.

"Pete's hurt bad," he said, shaking his head, "hurt bad. I've taken
his case. Young Edwards is going to see trouble."

The speech frightened poor Mr. Peaslee, and he was hardly reassured
by the skeptical smile of Squire Tucker, and his remark that he
would believe that Lamoury was hurt when he saw him. The squire had
small faith in either Lamoury or Hibbard. He knew them both.

But Mr. Peaslee returned home with dragging feet. Silent and
preoccupied all the evening, he went to bed early--but not to sleep.
Long he lay awake and tossed, while the Calico Cat wailed on the
rear fence--exultant, triumphant, insulting.

And when he did finally get to sleep, he dreamed that he was being
prosecuted in court by--was it Jake Hibbard, with the green patch
over his eye, or the Calico Cat, with the black patch over hers? He
could not tell, study the fantastic, ominous figure of his
prosecutor as he would!

[Illustration: Cat sitting on post looking forward.]

III

Immediately after breakfast on Monday morning Mr. Peaslee, in a mood
of desperate self-sacrifice, started up-town to buy a knife--for
Jim!

All day long on Sunday, when he had nothing to do but think, he had
struggled between his fear of exposure and his sorrow for the boy.
The upshot was a determination to "make it up to him" by giving him
a knife. He had in his mind's eye a marvel--stag-horn handle, four
blades, saw, awl, file, hoof-hook, corkscrew! Such a knife as that,
he felt, would console any boy for being arrested. "Most likely 't
will end right there," he said to himself.

"I guess I'd better go to Farley's," he thought, as he walked along.
"Farley owes money to the bank. He won't dare to stick it on like
the rest."

But when he entered the store and looked about, his face fell. Mr.
Farley was not there! Willie Potter, Farley's c