vil triumph in the farmer's eyes.

"Listen here!" said Tom, suddenly. "He says that's his wallet, and he's
makin' enough fuss for it to have a thousand dollars inside. But when he
paid the boy he took a purse from his pocket to get the money."

"That's right. I seen him myself," said Mike, still scratching his head.
"I'll just have a look inside that pocket-book."

"Ye will not--that's my property!" said Farmer Weeks, reaching quickly
for the wallet.

But Mike was too quick for him, and in a moment he had opened the
wallet, and could see that it was empty, except for a few torn pieces of
paper, evidently put in it to stuff it out, and deceive people into
thinking that it contained a wad of bills.

"What sort of game are yez tryin' to put up on us here?" demanded the
policeman, angrily. "Here, take yer book--"

"She's as much guilty of theft as if there had been a hundred dollars in
it," said Farmer Weeks, recovering from his dismay at the exposure of
the trick. "You arrest her or I'll--"

"What will yez do, ye spalpeen?" said the policeman. "If ye get gay wid
me I'll run yez in--and don't be afther forgettin' that, either!"

As he spoke he turned, angrily, to observe a small boy who was tugging
at his sleeve.

"Say, mister, say," begged the boy, "listen here a minute, will yer? I
seen the old guy slip his purse into her pocket. She never took it."

Tom's eyes, as he heard, lighted up.

"By Gad, Mike, that's what he did!" he exclaimed. "Did you hear how
ready he was to tell just which pocket she had it in? How'd he have
known that--unless he put it there, eh?"

"It's a lie!" stormed Farmer Weeks. "Here, are you going to lock that
girl up as a thief or not?"

"Indade and I'm not," said the officer, warmly. "Drop her wrist--quick!"

He stepped forward as he spoke, and Weeks, seeing by the gleam in the
Irishman's eye that he had gone too far, quickly released Bessie. As she
moved away from him he stood still, red-eyed and trembling with rage.

"An' what's more, you old scalawag," said the policeman, "I'm going to
run _you_ in. Maybe you never heard tell of perjury, but it's worse
than pickin' pockets, let me tell you."

His heavy hand dropped to Weeks' shoulder, but he was too slow. With a
yell of fright the old farmer, displaying an agility with which no one
would have been ready to credit him, turned and dove headlong through
the crowd.

The policeman started to give chase, but Tom Norris restrained hi