" suddenly exclaimed Farnsworth. It had just
then flashed over him that Mr. Peaslee, the kind Mr. Peaslee, who
gave Jim knives and harmonicas, was next-door neighbor to the
Edwardses. If he had been at home when the shot was fired, he must
have heard it, and he might have seen some significant thing which
questioning might bring out. Of course, if Peaslee had seen
anything, he would have spoken, but he might have overlooked the
importance of some fact or other.

"Just a moment, Sampson!" he said, and put up his hand. Then he
swung sharply in his chair and put the question:--

"Peaslee, where were you when that shot was fired?"

[Illustration: Cat standing alert facing forward.]

VI

"Peaslee, where were you when that shot was fired?" asked
Farnsworth, and as he spoke he turned and looked toward Solomon,
whose seat was some three or four places to his left, on the same
side of the table.

Had the question not been uttered, it would have died upon his
lips, so much surprised was he at what he saw.

Mr. Peaslee, white and trembling with some strong emotion, had his
hands upon the table and was raising himself, slowly and painfully,
to his feet. He rolled his eyes, which looked bigger and more
pathetic than ever behind his glasses, toward Farnsworth at the
sound of his voice, but the young man knew instinctively that
Solomon, moved by some strong idea of his own, had not grasped the
question.

"Gentlemen," Mr. Peaslee began, in shaky tones, "I guess I got a
word to say afore ye find a true bill agin that little feller. He's
as peaceable a boy as ever I saw, and I guess I can't let him stay
all bolted and barred into no jail, when it don't need anythin' but
my say-so to get him out. Ye see, gentlemen,"--Solomon paused,
moistened his dry mouth, and cast a timorous look over the puzzled
faces of the jurymen,--"ye see, 't was me that shot Lamoury."

Not a sound came from the grand jury; the members sat and stared at
him in blank wonder, hardly able to credit their ears. Paige, the
state's attorney, who was making some notes at the time, held his
pen for a good half-minute part way between his paper and the
inkstand while he gazed in astonishment at Peaslee. To have a grand
juror, a sober, respectable man, rise in the jury-room and confess
that he is the real offender in a case under consideration, is not
usual. The surprise was absolute.

For Farnsworth, it was more than a surprise; it was a relief. Then