With an appearance of suddenly disclosing his real mental
perturbation, the doctor said: "Well, what would you do? Would you
kill him?" he asked, abruptly and sternly.

"Trescott, you fool," said the old man, gently.

"Oh, well, I know, judge, but then--" He turned red, and spoke with
new violence: "Say, he saved my boy--do you see? He saved my boy."

"You bet he did," cried the judge, with enthusiasm. "You bet he did."
And they remained for a time gazing at each other, their faces
illuminated with memories of a certain deed.

After another silence, the judge said, "It is hard for a man to know
what to do."

XII

Late one evening Trescott, returning from a professional call, paused
his buggy at the Hagenthorpe gate. He tied the mare to the old
tin-covered post, and entered the house. Ultimately he appeared with a
companion--a man who walked slowly and carefully, as if he were
learning. He was wrapped to the heels in an old-fashioned ulster. They
entered the buggy and drove away.

After a silence only broken by the swift and musical humming of the
wheels on the smooth road, Trescott spoke. "Henry," he said, "I've got
you a home here with old Alek Williams. You will have everything you
want to eat and a good place to sleep, and I hope you will get along
there all right. I will pay all your expenses, and come to see you as
often as I can. If you don't get along, I want you to let me know as
soon as possible, and then we will do what we can to make it better."

The dark figure at the doctor's side answered with a cheerful laugh.
"These buggy wheels don' look like I washed 'em yesterday, docteh," he
said.

Trescott hesitated for a moment, and then went on insistently, "I am
taking you to Alek Williams, Henry, and I--"

The figure chuckled again. "No, 'deed! No, seh! Alek Williams don'
know a hoss! 'Deed he don't. He don' know a hoss from a pig." The
laugh that followed was like the rattle of pebbles.

Trescott turned and looked sternly and coldly at the dim form in the
gloom from the buggy-top. "Henry," he said, "I didn't say anything
about horses. I was saying--"

"Hoss? Hoss?" said the quavering voice from these near shadows. "Hoss?
'Deed I don' know all erbout a boss! 'Deed I don't." There was a
satirical chuckle.

At the end of three miles the mare slackened and the doctor leaned
forward, peering, while holding tight reins. The wheels of the buggy
bumped often over out-cropping bowlders. A window