g his mature bulk between their slim shapes. The
gelding looked round the shaft at them. "Protestin', are you?" he said
to it. "These light-weight stoodents spile you!" So the gelding went
on, expressing, however, by every line of its body, a sense of outraged
justice. The boys related their difficult search, and learned that any
mention of the name of Diggs would have brought them straight. "Bill
Higgs of the Bird-in-Hand was my father, and my grandf'ther, and his
father; and has been me sence I come back from the war and took the
business in '65. I'm not commonly to be met out this late. About fifteen
minutes earlier is my time for gettin' back, unless I'm plannin' for a
jamboree. But to-night I got to settin' and watchin' that sunset, and
listenin' to a darned red-winged blackbird, and I guess Mrs. Higgs has
decided to expect me somewheres about noon to-morrow or Friday. Say,
did Johnnie send you? "When he found that John had in a measure been
responsible for their journey, he filled with gayety. "Oh, Johnnie's a
bird!" said he. "He's that demure on first appearance. Walked in last
evening and wanted dinner. Did he tell you what he ate? Guess he left
out what he drank. Yes, he's demure."

You might suppose that upon their landlord's safe and sober return
fifteen minutes late, instead of on the expected noon of Thursday or
Friday, their landlady would show signs of pleasure; but Mrs. Diggs from
the porch threw an uncordial eye at the three arriving in the buggy.
Here were two more like Johnnie of last night. She knew them by the
clothes they wore and by the confidential tones of her husband's voice
as he chatted to them. He had been old enough to know better for twenty
years. But for twenty years he had taken the same extreme joy in the
company of Johnnies, and they were bad for his health. Her final proof
that they belonged to this hated breed was when Mr. Diggs thumped the
trout down on the porch, and after briefly remarking, "Half of 'em
boiled, and half broiled with bacon," himself led away the gelding to
the stable instead of intrusting it to his man Silas.

"You may set in the parlor," said Mrs. Diggs, and departed stiffly with
the basket of trout.

"It's false," said Billy, at once.

Bertie did not grasp his thought.

"Her hair," said Billy. And certainly it was an unusual-looking
arrangement.

Presently, as they sat near a parlor organ in the presence of earnest
family portraits, Bertie made a new poem