e, where he sat, pallid with rage, and cursing.

"A hundred and seventeen lights of glass," announced Mr. Nute,
"includin' the front stained-glass winder in the meetin'-house and
the big light in Broadway's store. And it all happened because the
critter was poked up agin'--and I warned ye not to do it, Cap'n."

"Would it be satisfactory to the citizens if I pulled my wallet and
settled the damage?" inquired the first selectman, with baleful
blandness in his tones.

Mr. Nute did not possess a delicate sense of humor or of satire. He
thoughtfully rubbed his nose.

"Reely," he said, "when you git it reduced right down, that critter
ain't responsible any more'n one of them dynamite sticks is
responsible, and if it hadn't been for you lettin' him loose and then
pokin' him, contrary to warnin', them hundred and seventeen lights
of glass wouldn't--"

"Are there any left?" asked Cap'n Sproul, still in subdued tones.

"About as many more, I should jedge," replied Mr. Nute.

"Well, I simply want to say," remarked the Cap'n, standing up and
clinching his fists, "that if you ever mention responsibility to me
again, Nute, I'll take you by the heels and smash in the rest of that
glass with you--and I'll do the same with any one else who don't know
enough to keep his yawp shut. Get out of here, the whole of you, or
I'll begin on what glass is left in this town house."

They departed silently, awed by the menace of his countenance, but
all the more bitterly fixed in their resentment.

That night two more hollow "chunks" shook the ground of Smyrna, at
intervals an hour separated, and morning light showed that two
isolated barns had been destroyed.

Mr. Luce appeared in the village with his sack, quite at his ease,
and demanded of Broadway certain canned delicacies, his appetite
seeming to have a finer edge to correspond with his rising courage.
He even hinted that Broadway's stock was not very complete, and that
some early strawberries might soften a few of the asperities of his
nature.

"I ain't never had a fair show on eatin'," he complained to the
apprehensive storekeeper. "It's been ten years that my wife ain't
got me a fair and square meal o' vittles. She don't believe in cookin'
nothin' ahead nor gettin' up anything decent. She's a Go-upper and
thinks the end of the world is li'ble to come any minit. And the way
I figger it, not havin' vittles reg'lar has give me dyspepsy, and
dyspepsy has made me cranky, and not saf