attention
to his work, try to save me trouble; and I have heard him try to
quiet the others, as they trooped out. The boy has a good heart as
well as a good intellect, and nothing save his own confession would
make me believe that he poisoned your dog."

"But he said he wished it was killed," the squire urged, as in
defence of his own opinion.

"He said so, squire, at the time he was smarting with the pain of a
severe bite; and I think probably he meant no more than a man who,
under the same circumstances, would say, 'Confound the dog!' or
even a stronger oath."

Mr. Ellison was silenced, for when in wrath he was, himself, given
to use strong expressions.

"I don't know what to say, Shrewsbury," he said at last. "I am
afraid I have made a mess of it; but certainly, as I first heard
it, the case seemed to admit of no doubt. 'Pon my word, I don't
know what to do. My wife has just been up to see Mrs. Whitney, and
the woman blazed out at her, and wouldn't let her say a word, but
gave notice that she should give up the house at the end of the
week. If it hadn't been for that, I might have done something; but
Mrs. Ellison was very much aggrieved at her manner. Altogether,
it's one of the most annoying things I ever had to do with."

In the evening the schoolmaster put on his hat and went up, with
his wife, to Mrs. Whitney. The women had seen a good deal of each
other, as they both stood somewhat apart from the rest of the
village and, in thought and speech, differed widely from the
labourers' wives; and on evenings when the sewing class did not
meet, the schoolmaster's wife often went up for an hour or two to
Mrs. Whitney's, or the latter came down to the Shrewsburys'
cottage.

"We have come up, Mrs. Whitney," the schoolmaster said as they
entered, "to tell you how sorry we are to hear that you are going
to leave, and that we are still more sorry for the cause. Of
course, neither my wife nor myself believe for a moment that Reuben
poisoned the squire's dog. The idea is preposterous. I told the
squire as much, today."

Mrs. Whitney burst into tears. She had kept up all day, sustained
partly by indignation, and partly by the desire that Reuben should
not see that she felt it; but the thought that all the village
would believe Reuben guilty had cut her to the heart, and she had
felt so unwilling to face anyone that, as soon as Mrs. Ellison had
left, she had closed the shutters of her little shop; but she broke
down,