s locality, not being burdened with any means of
locomotion beyond their own legs, usually came and went by way of the
high iron bridge; their legal right of way however was by a neglected
thoroughfare that had ambitiously set out to be a street, but having
failed of its intention, presently dwindled to a pleasant country road
which not far beyond crossed the river by the old wooden bridge below
the depot.

It was the iron bridge which Mrs. Montgomery, escorted by the daring
Shrimplin, had crossed that fateful night of her interview with Judge
Langham, and it was toward it that her glance was turned for many days
after in the hope that she might see Joe's bulk of bone and muscle as he
slouched in the direction of the home and family he had so wanted only
forsaken. But a veil of mystery obscured every fact that bore on the
handy-man's disappearance; no eye penetrated it, no hand lifted it.

Soon after Montgomery's disappearance his deserted wife fell upon evil
times indeed. In spite of her bravest efforts the rent fell hopelessly
in arrears. For a time her pride kept her away from the Shrimplins, who
might have helped her. To go to the little lamplighter's was to hear
bitter truths about her husband; Mr. Shrimplin's denunciations were
especially fierce and scathing, for here he felt that righteousness was
all on his side and that in abusing the absconding Joe he was performing
a moral act.

But at last Nellie's fortunes reached a crisis. An obdurate landlord set
her few poor belongings in the gutter. Even in the most prosperous days
their roof-tree had flourished but precariously and now it was down and
level with the dust; seeing which Mrs. Montgomery placed her youngest in
the ancient vehicle which had trundled all that generation of
Montgomerys, drew her apron before her eyes and wept. But quickly
rallying to the need for immediate action she swallowed her pride and
sent Arthur in quest of his uncle, who was well fitted by sobriety,
industry and thrift, to cope with such a crisis.

Mr. Shrimplin's only weaknesses were such as spring from an eager
childlike vanity, and a nature as shy as a fawn's of whatever held even
a suggestion of danger. To Custer he could brag of crimes he had never
committed, but an unpaid butcher's bill would have robbed him of his
sleep; also he wore a very tender heart in his narrow chest, though he
did his best to hide it by assuming a bold and hardy air and by
garnishing his conversation