days."

"I'll do that," said the farmer, "and I'm much obliged." He took his
hat. "Any of you boys coming my way?" he asked.

This was an unheard-of geniality on the part of Jed Tighe, but two of
the boys jumped at the offer. The last words that the Forecaster heard
were in the farmer's voice, as he drove off:

"About that Weather Map, now--"

Mr. Levin nodded to the two boys and strolled across the sun-dial lawn
to his own buggy, well satisfied that another convert to the Weather
Bureau work had been made.

About ten days after this meeting, after supper, just as Anton was going
to bed, his father came in with a grave face.

"I'm afraid Dan'l's in a peck of trouble," he said.

"Why, Father?" asked the crippled lad.

"He's accused of having shot Carl Lindstrom," was the startling reply.

"But he couldn't!" declared Anton, jumping at once to the defence of the
darky.

"Well," his father said, "it looks a little black for him. I don't mean,
of course, that there's anything purposed, but it looks as if Dan'l had
been careless with his gun. Carl was shot in the leg this evening, just
as we heard. Now it appears that, about the same time, Dan'l was seen
walking with his gun and his two old hounds at his heels, coming from
that direction along the levee."

"Oh, I'm sure it can't be Dan'l," said Anton. "Where is he?"

"In his cabin, under arrest," his father said. "The sheriff's there.
Dan'l seems quite excited about it and he said he wouldn't move until he
saw you."

"Sure," said Anton, reaching out for his crutch. "I know well enough he
didn't do it, though."

He hurried across the sun-dial to the negro's quarters.

It was a poignant scene that Anton faced when he reached the hut. Dan'l
was sitting on the bed, in shirt and trousers, evidently having just
been awakened from sleep. The sheriff, tall and rangy, showed little
interest in the affair. To him it was a clear case. The man had been
shot. The negro had been seen in the neighborhood with a gun. What more
proof could any one want? The brother of the man who had been shot, a
nervous, excitable chap, was there and wanted to lynch Dan'l
immediately. One of the sheriff's men, keen and watchful, stood beside
his prisoner, his hand on the negro's shoulder.

"Ah never done it, Mistah Anton," said Dan'l, as the boy came in, "Ah
never done nothin'!"

"I've brought Anton, Dan'l," said the father, quietly, "but it doesn't
do you any good to say anything. The