's
wife and his brother himself, away from the examination, he had rapidly
thought over various plans, and adopted two which he felt pretty certain
would not fail. They all involved a little deceit, or at least double
dealing--and he hated both those things with a righteous hatred--but it
was to prevent a great injustice, and perhaps to save life.

As he rode rapidly homeward, turning over various plans, in his mind, he
had passed through the village, when he saw some one approaching on what
seemed to be the skeleton of an old horse. He at once recognized the
rider as an odd character, a carpenter, whom he at one time had occasion
to employ in doing some work on a small property he owned in Ipswich.
Reining up his horse, Master Putnam stopped to have a chat with the
man--whose oddity mainly consisted in his taciturnity, which was broken
only by brief and pithy sentences.

"A fine day Ezekiel--how are things in Ipswich?"

"Grunty!"

"Ah! I am sorry to hear it. Why, what is the matter?"

"Broomsticks, chiefly."

"You mean the witches. That is a bad business. But how shall we mend
it?"

The old carpenter was too shrewd to commit himself. He glanced at Master
Putnam, and then turning his head aside, and giving a little laugh,
said, "Burn all the broomsticks."

"A good idea," replied Master Putnam, also laughing. "Oh, by the way,
Ezekiel, I wonder if you could do a little errand for me?" and the young
man took out his purse and began opening it. "You are not in a great
hurry, are you?"

"Hurry, is for fools!"

"You know where my brother Thomas lives? Up this road?" They were just
where two roads joined, one leading by his own house, and the other past
his brother's.

"I wish I knew the road to heaven as well."

"You know how to keep silent, and how to talk also, Ezekiel--especially
when you are well paid for it?"

The old man laughed. "A little bullet sometimes makes a big hole," he
said.

"I want you to go to my brother Thomas, and say simply these
words:--Ipswich Crown and Anchor. Very important indeed. At once. Wait
till he comes."

"All right." And he held out his hand, into which Master Joseph put as
much silver as the old man could make in a whole week's work.

"You are not to remember who sent you, or anything else than those
words. Perhaps you have been drinking rather too much cider, you know.
Do you understand?"

The old man's face assumed at once a very dull and vacant expression,
and he s