grabbed at it.

"I didn't believe she was the witch till she told me so herself,"
he stammered. "She never lied to me. I believed what she told me with
her own mouth."

The Haskell boy, still in the clutch of Hiram, evidently believed
that the kind of confession that was good for the soul was full
confession.

"I told her that the time you was dangerousest was when any one
disputed with you about not havin' the witches. I told her that if
you ever said anything she'd better join in and agree with you, and
humor you, 'cause that's the only way to git along with crazy folks."

For the first time in many years color showed in the drab cheeks of
the melancholy Mr. Gammon. Two vivid red spots showed that, after
all, it was blood, not water, that flowed in his veins.

"Dod lather you to a fritter, you little freckle-faced, snub-nosed
son of seco!" he yelped, shrilly. "I've been a mild and peaceable
man all my life, but I'm a good mind to--I'm a good mind to--" He
searched his meek soul for enormities of retribution, and declared:
"I'm a good mind to skin you, hide, pelt, and hair. I'll cuff your
ears up to a pick, any way!" But Hiram pushed him away when he
advanced.

"There! That's the way to talk up, Gammon," he said, encouragingly.
"You are showin' improvement. Keep on that way and you'll get to be
quite a man. I was afraid you wasn't anything but a rusty marker for
a graveyard lot. If you don't keep your back up _some_ in this world,
you're apt to get your front knocked in. But I can't let you lick
the boy! This investigation is strictly official and according to
the law, and he's turned State's evidence. It's the other critter
that you want to be gettin' your muscle up for--the feller that was
tryin' to get the widder and the property away from you. All the other
evidence now bein' in, you may tell the court, my son, who was that
'sezzer.' You sha'n't be hurt!"

"It was Mister Batson Reeves, the second selectman," blurted the
youth.

There are moments in life when language fails, when words are vain;
when even a whisper would take the edge from a situation. Such a
moment seemed that one when Hiram Look and Cap'n Sproul gazed at each
other after the Haskell boy had uttered that name.

After a time Hiram turned, seized the boy by the scruff of his coat,
and dragged him up to the front-yard fence, where the widow was gazing
at them with increasing curiosity.

"Haskell boy," commanded Hiram, "tell her--tell h