n't hurt bad,
is he? You don't mind sayin', do ye?"

Jake drew himself up, surprised and suspicious. Did the old fool
think him as innocent as all that?

"He's hurt bad, Mr. Peaslee, bad," he said, with dignity. "Of
course it isn't fatal--unless it should mortify." He waved his
hand deprecatingly. "I can't imagine what that Edwards boy used
in his gun."

Mr. Peaslee knew: the marble! He trembled. Still, he knew Jake's
reputation. A shrewd thought visited his troubled mind.

"What doctor's seein' him?" he asked.

"Doctor!" exclaimed Hibbard, irritated. "Doctor! You know these
French Canadians. They're worse scared of a doctor than of the
evil one himself. Pete's usin' some old woman's stuff on his
wounds,--bear's grease, rattlesnake oil, catnip tea,--what do I
know? I can't make him see a doctor."

"Some doctor'll have to testify to court, won't they?" persisted
Mr. Peaslee.

"Oh, I'll look out for that, don't you fear!" the lawyer said
easily; but nevertheless he made a pretext for leaving the old man.

Perhaps had Mr. Peaslee's fears not been so keen, he would have
taken some comfort from this conversation; but as it was he felt
that the lawyer was dangerous; he feared that Pete really was badly
hurt. It would go hard, then, with Jim. It would, by the same
token, go hard with himself should he confess.

Suddenly he turned and rushed into Upham's store.

"Upham," said he, "I want _that_!"

And he pointed straight at a big harmonica with a strange and
wonderful "harp attachment"--bright-colored and of amazing
possibilities.

Upham, a neat little gentleman with nicely trimmed side-whiskers,
who was always fluttered by the unexpected, hesitated, half opened
his mouth, and then forgot either to shut it or to speak.

"Why, Mr. Peaslee," he stammered at last, "it's real expensive!
You--it's two dollars and seventy-five cents."

"Don't care nothin' what it costs," said Mr. Peaslee, who was in a
hurry for fear lest he should think twice.

When he came out of the store with the harmonica in his hands, he
almost stumbled into Miss Ware. She was on her way to Jim, and, of
course, her mind was full of his affairs. Here was Mr. Edwards's
next neighbor. She impulsively stopped to ask if the misguided
father still held to his resolution about Jim.

Mr. Peaslee had reason to know that he did, and said so. "I tell
ye, Miss Ware," said he, with much emotion, "he belongs to a
stony-hearted generation, and that's a f