ally
annoyed and put out and, after wandering over the ground and
stables, he went down to the schoolhouse after the children had
been dismissed.

"Have you heard, Shrewsbury, about that boy Whitney?"

"No, sir, I have heard nothing about him," the schoolmaster said.
"He was here yesterday evening, as usual. His leg is no worse, I
hope. Those dog bites are always nasty things."

"I wish it had been worse," the squire said testily; "then he would
have been laid up quietly at home, instead of being about
mischief."

"Why, what has he done, sir?" the schoolmaster asked, in surprise.

The squire related the history of the dog's death, and of his
interview with Reuben. The schoolmaster looked serious, and
grieved.

"What do you think of the matter, Shrewsbury?" the squire asked,
when he had finished.

"I would rather not give any opinion," the schoolmaster replied
quietly.

"That means you think I am wrong," the squire said quickly. "Well,
say it out, man; you won't offend me. I am half inclined to think I
was wrong, myself; and I would as lief be told so, as not."

"I don't say you are wrong, sir," the schoolmaster said, "except
that I think you assumed the boy's guilt too much as a matter of
course. Now, I have seen a great deal of him. I have a great liking
for him, and believe him to be not only a singularly intelligent
and hard-working lad, but a perfectly truthful and open one. I
allow that the circumstances are much against him; but the evidence
is, to my mind, completely overbalanced by his absolute denial. You
must remember that he saw that you were quite convinced of his
guilt; and that, in your eyes, his denial would be an aggravation
of the offence. Therefore you see he had no strong motive for
telling a lie.

"Who killed your dog I do not know but, from my knowledge of his
character and assurance of his truthfulness, I am perfectly
convinced that Reuben Whitney did not do it. The boy is, in some
ways, very superior to the other lads I teach. I hear that his
father was in a good position, as a miller; and his mother is of a
different class, altogether, to the other women of the village. The
boy has a certain refinement about him, a thoughtfulness and
consideration which set him apart from the others. Mischievous and
somewhat inclined to be noisy as he generally is, on days when I
have not felt quite equal to my work he would notice it at once
and, without saying a word, would, by his quietness and