emen," continued the speaker, "last night I had an experience that
I shan't forget as long as I live. I met a poor man, a poor, lame man
who'd been away out West and got hurt bad. Folks thought he was dead.
His wife thought so and died grievin' for him. She left a little baby
girl, only seven or eight year old. When this man come back, well again
but poor, to look up his family, he found his wife had passed away and
the child had been sent off, just to get rid of her, to a stranger in
another town. That stranger fully meant to send her off, too; he said so
dozens of times. A good many of you folks right here heard him say it.
But he never sent her--he kept her. Why? Well, that's the question. _I_
shan't answer it. _I_ ain't accusin' nobody. All I say is, what's easy
enough for any of you to prove, and that is that it come to light the
child had property belongin' to her. Property! land, wuth money!"

He paused once more and drew his sleeve across his forehead. Most of
his hearers were silent now, on tiptoe of expectation. Dimick looked
searchingly at Captain Cy. Then he sprang to his feet.

"Order!" he shouted. "What's all this got to do with nominatin' for
school committee? Ain't he out of order, Alvin?"

The moderator hesitated. His habitual indecision was now complicated
by the fact that he was as curious as the majority of those before him.
There were shouts of, "Go ahead, Tad!" "Tell us the rest!" "Let him go
on, Mr. Moderator!"

Cy Whittaker slowly rose.

"Alvin," he said earnestly, "don't stop him yet. As a favor to me, let
him spin his yarn."

Simpson was ready and evidently eager to spin it.

"This man," he proclaimed, "this father, mournin' for his dead wife and
longin' for his child, comes to the town where he was to find and take
her. And when he meets the man that's got her, when he comes, poor and
down on his luck, what does this man--this rich man--do? Why; fust of
all, he's sweeter'n sirup to him, takes him in, keeps him overnight,
and the next day he says to him: 'You just be quiet and say nothin' to
nobody that she's your little girl. I'll make it wuth your while.
Keep quiet till I'm ready for you to say it.' And he gives the father
money--not much, but some. All right so fur, maybe; but wait! Then it
turns out that the father knows about this land--this property. And
THEN the kind, charitable man--this rich man with lots of money of his
own--turns the poor father out, tellin' him to get the gir