s his ruling passion.

Besides, even though they had been desirous of hearing what he was so
eager to say, no heed would have been given his words just then, for
at that moment the door of the shop was opened again, and Richardson
appeared, followed by his friend, David Wilmot.

At first no one appeared to observe that the informer was armed, and
then, as some one noted the fact that he carried a musket, the cry was
raised:

"Down with the informer! Down with the informer! Hang him to the pole!
Bring out the tar and feathers! Give him an informer's uniform!"

That portion of the mob farthest from the building, unable to see
clearly what was going on, pressed forward, forcing those in front yet
nearer the shop, and for an instant it appeared as if the entire
assemblage was bent on making a prisoner of Richardson.

Raising his musket quickly, and, without taking aim, he fired, and as
the report rang out, even above the shrill cries of the infuriated
multitude, it was as if the sharp crack of the weapon had alarmed him
who discharged it, for, turning precipitately, driving Wilmot before
him, the informer rushed into the building, closing the door behind him.

Those in the immediate vicinity of the warning symbol, and nearest the
informer, were unharmed, and, believing no injury had been done by the
discharge of the musket, they set up a howl of derision, which was
checked an instant later as a wailing cry came from the walk opposite.

"Chris Snyder's killed! Chris Snyder's killed!"

"Chris Gore's killed!" another cried. "Help! Stand back; you are
trampling him to death!"

Turning as one man, the startled assemblage rushed frantically toward
that quarter from which the ominous words had come, pressing down upon
the little group that had gathered around something on the ground,
until there was every danger these few would be trampled under foot.

During several moments no one outside the awe-stricken circle on the
walk knew really what had occurred, and then it was whispered--not
spoken--among the gathering:

"Two boys have been killed!"

A silence that was profound, intense--a silence which was at the same
time a menace, ensued, and, involuntarily, every head was bared.

Amos, who had been standing beside the two Christophers, was one of
the few who knew exactly what followed the discharge of the weapon.

Little Chris Snyder, the smallest and perhaps the youngest of the
throng, had fallen with an ominous-loo