nkier and crustier as he grew older. They kept him on edge with
their frequent pranks, and it was his firm conviction that they had no
equals anywhere as general nuisances.

"I've traveled a lot in my time," he would say, and pause to let this
statement sink in; "yes, sir, I've traveled a lot, and I swan to man I
never seen nowhere such a bunch of rapscallions as they is in this here
town."

Then he would bite off a fresh quid of tobacco and shake his head
mournfully, and dwell on the sins of the younger generation.

Now, as he hobbled eagerly up to the waiting group, forgetting for the
moment his "roomatics," he was all aglow with animation. His loose jaw
was wagging and his small eyes shone like a ferret's.

"Here's what done it," he repeated, in his high, cracked voice, as he
handed the ball to his partner in the accident. "I knew them horses of
mine wouldn't run away for nuthin'."

"Nobody ever saw them run before," Jack Youmans could not help saying.

"You shet up!" cried Jed angrily. "They was too well trained."

Aaron Rushton took the ball and examined it carefully.

"I found it in the corner of the coach under the seat," volunteered Jed.
"It wasn't in there when we started. I kin stake my life on that."

"This explains the blow I got on the back of the neck," commented
Teddy's uncle. "The ball must have hit one of the horses first, and then
glanced off into the coach. Were you boys playing ball, when we went
past?" he asked, turning to Fred.

"Yes, we were," answered Fred. "That is, we weren't playing a regular
game. We'd got through with that and were having a little practice,
batting flies."

"Why weren't you more careful then?" asked his uncle sharply. "Don't you
see that you came within an ace of killing one or both of us? Who was
doing the batting?"

Jim and Jack loyally looked as though they were trying their hardest to
remember, but could not feel quite sure.

"Yes," broke in old Jed, "who was doin' it? That's what I want to know.
'Cos all I got to say is that it'll cost somebody's father a consid'able
to make good the damages to the coach and the hosses. The pole is
snapped and the sorrel is actin' kind o' droopy."

A smothered laugh ran around the group of boys, whose number had by this
time been considerably increased. No one in Oldtown had ever known
either sorrel or gray to be anything else than "droopy."

Jed transfixed the boys with a stony stare. He had, at least, the
courage of