were
there."

The talk stopped abruptly, as Eileen Pederstone came forward into the
centre of the shop.

"Hello, Eilie, dear!" cried her father. "Dinner time already? and my
work miles ahead of me, while we gossips are going at it like old
wives at market. Why,--what's the matter, lass?"

The girl's face showed pale in the light of the forge fire and her
eyes were moist.

She pulled herself together.

"Nothing, daddy! I was just feeling sorry for that poor young fellow
Mr. Brenchfield was telling about."

"Tuts!" exclaimed Todd, "don't waste your sorrow, Eileen. Why,--he
wasn't a young fellow. He was an old, grey-haired, cross-eyed,
yellow-toothed, dirty, wizened-faced, knock-kneed specimen of a
jailbird escaped from Ukalla. Look up the Advertiser Thursday, you'll
see."

"Oh no, he wasn't; he--he,--Mr. Brenchfield----" Eileen stopped.
"Didn't I hear you say he was a young man, Mr. Brenchfield?" she
asked, endeavouring to cover up her confusion, turning her big eyes
full on the Mayor.

"Why, eh--yes! I did mention something about him being young,"
gallantly agreed Brenchfield.

"Did--he--get--away?" inquired Eileen desperately.

Brenchfield busied himself adjusting his leggings. Eileen put her hand
on his arm.

"Did he get away, Mr. Brenchfield?" she asked again.

"Better finish the yarn, Graham!" said Royce Pederstone. "Eilie is
like others of her sex; you can't shake her once she gets a grip."

"Well!" resumed Brenchfield uneasily, "as far as I can learn the man
jumped out of the rowing boat as the launch came up on him. He tried
to swim for it. He evidently knew how to swim, too;--but he was weak
as a kitten. The detectives played him. When he was thoroughly
exhausted, they let him sink."

"The beasts!" exclaimed Eileen, her body aquiver with sudden anger.

"Guess I had better stop this stuff!" said Brenchfield.

"No, no! Don't mind me. Go on!"

"He came up--and they let him sink again. Next time he came up, they
fished him out, because he might not have come up again.

"The fellow came to after a bit. You see, that kind won't kill. So I
guess he is now safely back home, in his little eiderdown bed, getting
fed with chicken broth;--home in Ukalla jail, where he belongs.

"Little boys always get into trouble when they run away from home, eh,
Ben!" laughed Brenchfield.

The coarse humour didn't catch on.

Eileen Pederstone laid her basket on the smithy floor, threw a look of
contempt into