uben looked at the paper.

"Yes, sir; I believe she does."

"Well, my lad," the squire said, "you must acknowledge that the
case looks very ugly against you. You are known to have borne bad
feelings against the dog; naturally enough, I admit. A boy about
your size was seen by Robert in the dark, coming out of the gate;
and that he was there for no good purpose is proved by the fact
that he ran away when spoken to. A quarter of an hour later, the
dog dies of poison. That poison you certainly could get at home
and, by your own admission, you were out and about at the time the
dog was poisoned. The case looks very bad against you."

"I don't care how bad it looks," Reuben said, passionately. "It
wasn't me, squire, if that were the last word I ever had to speak."

"Very well," the squire said coldly. "In my mind, the evidence is
overwhelming against you. I have no intention of pursuing the
matter further; nor will I, for your father's and mother's sake,
bring public disgrace upon you; but of course I shall not retain
you here further, nor have anything to do with you, in the future."

Without a word, Reuben turned and left the room. Had he spoken, he
would have burst into a passion of tears. With a white face, he
walked through the village and entered his mother's shop.

"What? Back again, Reuben?" she said. "I thought your leg was too
bad to work."

"It isn't my leg, mother," he said, in a choking voice. "The squire
has dismissed me. He says I have poisoned his dog."

"Says you poisoned his dog, Reuben! Whatever put such an idea into
his head?"

"The coachman saw a boy coming out of the yard, at a quarter past
eight last night. It was too dark for him to say for certain, but
he thought it was me. A quarter of an hour later the dog died of
poison, and this morning they picked up a cover of one of those rat
powders you sell. I couldn't say where I was at a quarter past
eight, when the coachman saw the boy; for as you know, mother, I
told you I had walked out a bit, after I came out from the school,
to get the stiffness out of my leg. So, altogether, the squire has
made up his mind 'tis me, and so he has sent me away."

Reuben had summed up the points against himself in a broken voice,
and now broke into a passion of tears. His mother tried in vain to
pacify him; but indeed her own indignation, at her boy being
charged with such a thing, was so great that she could do little to
console him.

"It's shameful!" sh