estival ever held in any church in
Monterey Centre, the fruit being furnished, according to the next issue
of the _Journal_ "by the malefactors confined in the county
Bastille"--in other words by me.

4

Virginia and I gathered the berries, and she was as happy as she could
be, apparently; but once in a while she would say, "Poor Teunis! Can't a
Dutchman see a joke?"

After that, the elder and his wife used to come out to see me, bringing
Virginia with them, almost every week, and I prided myself greatly on my
fried chicken my nice salt-rising bread, my garden vegetables, my green
corn, my butter, milk and cream. I had about forgotten about being
arrested, when the grand jury indicted me, and Amos Bemisdarfer and
Flavius Bohn went bail for me. When the trial came on I was fined twenty
dollars, and before I could produce the money, it was paid by William
Trickey, Ebenezer Junkins and Absalom Frost, who told me that they got
me into it, and it wasn't fair for a boy to suffer through doing what
was necessary for the protection of the settlers, and what a lot of
older men had egged him on to do. So I came out of it all straight, and
was not much the less thought of. In fact, I seemed to have ten friends
after the affair to one before. But Dick McGill, whose connection with
it I have felt justified in exposing, still hounded me through his
paper. I have before me the copy of the _Journal_--little four-page
sheet yellowed with time, with the account of it which follows:

"A desperado named Vandemark, well known to the annals of
local crime as 'Cow Vandemark,' was arrested last Wednesday
for leading the riots which have cleaned out those
industrious citizens who have been jumping claims in this
county. A reporter of the _Journal_, which finds out
everything before it happens, attended the ceremonies of
giving some of these people a coat of tar and feathers, and
can speak from personal observation as to the ferocity of
this ruffian Vandemark--also from slight personal contact.

"This hardened wretch is in every feature a villain--except
that he has a rosy complexion, downy whiskers, and buttermilk
eyes, instead of the black flashing orbs of fiction. Sheriff
Boyd decoyed him into town, skilfully avoiding any rousing of
his tigerish disposition, and is now making a blacksmith of
him--or was until yesterday, when he paroled him to Miss
Virginia