r place that Cap'n Sproul decided upon after
several days of rumination. His own abstraction during that time,
and the unexplained absence of Hiram, the bridegroom of a month, an
absence that was prolonged into a week, caused secret tears and
apprehensive imaginings in both households.

Hiram came back, mysterious as the Sphinx.

Cap'n Sproul arranged for a secret meeting of the principals behind
his barn, and announced his decision as to place.

"The poor-farm!" both snorted in unison. "What--"

"Hold right on!" interrupted the Cap'n, holding up his broad palms;
"it can't be in _his_ barn on account of his wife; it can't be in
_my_ barn on account of my wife. Both of 'em are all wrought up and
suspectin' somethin'. Some old pick-ed nose in this place is bound
to see us if we try to sneak away into the woods. Jim Wixon, the
poor-farm keeper, holds his job through me. He's square, straight,
and minds his own business. I can depend on him. He'll hold the stakes.
There ain't another man in town we can trust. There ain't a place
as safe as the poor-farm barn. Folks don't go hangin' round a
poor-farm unless they have to. It's for there the ev'nin' before the
Fourth. Agree, or count me out. The first selectman of this town can't
afford to take too many chances, aidin' and abettin' a hen-fight."

Therefore there was nothing else for it. The principals accepted
sullenly, and went their ways.

The taciturnity of Hiram Look was such during the few days before
the meeting that Cap'n Sproul regretfully concluded to keep to his
own hearthstone. Hiram seemed to be nursing a secret. The Cap'n felt
hurt, and admitted as much to himself in his musings.

He went alone to the rendezvous at early dusk. Keeper Wixon, of the
poor-farm, had the big floor of the barn nicely swept, had hung
lanterns about on the wooden harness-pegs, and was in a state of great
excitement and impatience.

Second Selectman Reeves came first, lugging his crate from his
beach-wagon. The crate held the Widow Pike's rooster. His nomination
had his head up between the slats, and was crowing regularly and
raucously.

"Choke that dam fog-horn off!" commanded the Cap'n. "What are ye
tryin' to do, advertise this sociable?"

"You talk like I was doin' that crowin' myself," returned Reeves,
sulkily. "And nobody ain't goin' to squat his wizen and git him out
of breath. Hands off, and a fair show!"

Hiram Look was no laggard at the meeting. He rumbled into the y