ye," said Mr. Peaslee, overcome. And he
walked on home, quite convinced that a person of his importance in
the community should not be sacrificed to the comfort of any small
boy.

"And I've done right by the little feller, I've done right," he
assured himself, feeling the knife.

As he turned into his own yard, he cast an anxious eye over to
the Edwards house. There sat Jim, elbows on knees, chin on hands,
staring into space. Jim was thinking that his father, had he been
a pirate chief, would not have wiped a filial tear from his eye
whenever he thought of his mother; and the boy's face showed it.
The spectacle greatly depressed Mr. Peaslee. The smallest, faintest
question entered his mind whether a twenty-five-cent knife would
console such melancholy.

To give himself a countenance while he watched events, Solomon got a
rake and began gathering together the few autumn leaves which had
fluttered down in his front yard. It was not useless labor, for
they would "come in handy" later in "banking up" the house.

And so, presently, he saw Sam Barton, the constable, his big
shoulders rolling as he walked, advancing down the street. Mr.
Peaslee expected him; nevertheless his appearance gave him a
disagreeable shock. Suppose the constable had been coming for him!

"Ain't arrestin' anybody down this way, be ye?" he called, with a
feeble attempt at jocularity. Perhaps, after all--

"Looks like it," said Barton, succinctly.

Mr. Peaslee stepped to the fence. "'T aint likely they'll do much
to a leetle feller like that, I guess," he said, searching the
constable's face.

"Dunno," said Barton, passing on.

Solomon, much concerned, leaned on his rake and watched him enter
the Edwards house. Jim had disappeared; there was some delay.

Mrs. Peaslee came to the door.

"Arrestin' that Ed'ards boy, be they, Solomon?" she said. "Well,
serve him right, _I_ say, shootin' guns off so. Like father, like
son. _I_ dunno as _'t was_ the son. I'd as soon believe it of the
father. Everybody knows Lamoury and he's been mixed up together.
Some of his smugglin' tricks, prob'ly."

Mrs. Peaslee had taken a violent dislike to her taciturn neighbor,
and she did not care who knew it. Her shrill voice seemed to her
husband painfully loud, and, indeed, it was beginning to attract the
attention of the group of children who had gathered about the
Edwards gate.

"Sh!" hissed Solomon. "Ed'ards might hear ye. 'T would hurt us if he
should take