n. Lem yelled loud enough to be heard a block:

"Not that barrel, Marm! For the good Land o' Goshen! don't bust in
_that_ barrel."

"Why not?" demanded his breathless wife, the axe poised for the stroke.

"Cause it's merlasses! If ye bust thet in, ye will hev a mess here,
an' no mistake."

"Jefers-pelters!" chuckled Walky Dexter, telling of it afterward, "I
come away then an' left 'em erlone. But you kin take it from me--Marm
Parraday is quite in her us'al form. Doc. Poole's a wonderful
doctor--ain't he?

"But," pursued Walky, "I had a notion that old fiddle of Hopewell's
would be safer outside than it was in Marm Parraday's way, an' I tuk it
down 'fore I fled the scene of de-vas-ta-tion! Haw! haw! haw!

"I run inter Joe Bodley on the outside. 'Joe,' says I, 'I reskered
part of your belongin's. It looks ter me as though yeou'll hev time
an' to spare to take this fiddle to the city an' raffle it off. But
'fore ye do that, what'll ye take for the fiddle--lowest cash price?'

"'Jest what it cost me, Walky,' says Joe. 'One hundred dollars.'

"'No, Joe; it didn't cost ye that,' says I. 'I mean what _yeou_ put
into it yerself. That other feller that backed out'n his bargain put
in some. How much?'

"Wal," pursued the expressman, "he hummed and hawed, but fin'ly he
admitted that he was out only fifty dollars. 'Here's yer fifty, Joe,'
says I. 'Hopewell wants his fiddle back.'

"I reckon Joe needed the money to git him out o' taown. He can take a
hint as quick as the next feller--when a ton of coal falls on him!
Haw! haw! haw! He seen his usefulness in Polktown was kind o' passed.
So he took the fifty, an' here's the vi'lin, Janice Day. I reckon ye
paid abeout forty-seven-fifty too much for it; but ye told me ter git
it at _any_ price."

To Hopewell and 'Rill, Janice, when she presented the storekeeper with
his precious fiddle, revealed a secret that she had _not_ entrusted to
Walky Dexter. By throwing the strong ray of an electric torch into the
slot of the instrument she revealed to their wondering eyes a peculiar
mark stamped in the wood of the back of it.

"That, Mr. Drugg," the girl told him, quietly, "is a mark to be found
only in violins manufactured by the Amati family. The date of the
manufacture of this instrument I do not know; but it is a genuine
Cremona, I believe. At least, I would not sell it again, if I were
you, without having it appraised first by an expert."

"Oh, my dear g