and you're in for the
money, that's plain."

"Yas, I tank you lak it money, too."

"I'll not put him in irons to-night unless you give me some better
reason for your assertion. Why is he the man?"

"I seen heem dot tam, I know. He got it mark on hees head vere de blud
run dot tam, yust de sam, all right. I know heem. He speek lak heem.
He move hees arm lak heem. Yas, I know putty good."

"You're sure you remember everything he said--all you told me?"

"Oh, yas. I write it here," and he drew a small book from his pocket,
very worn and soiled. "All iss here writed."

"Let's see it." With a smile the Swede put it in Stiles' hand. He
regarded it in a puzzled way.

"What's this?" He handed the book back contemptuously. "You'll never
be able to make that out,--all dirty and--"

"Yas, I read heem, you not,--dot's Swedish."

"Very well. Perhaps you know what you're about," and the discussion
went on, until at last G. B. Stiles, partly by intimidation, partly by
assumption of being able to get on without his services, persuaded
Nels to modify his demands and accept three thousand for his evidence.
Then the gray was put in the shafts again, and they drove to the town
quietly, as if they had been to Rigg's Corners and back.

CHAPTER XXVIII

"A RESEMBLANCE SOMEWHERE"

While G. B. Stiles and the big Swede were taking their drive and
bargaining away Harry King's liberty, he had loitered about the town,
and visited a few places familiar to him. First he went to the home of
Elder Craigmile and found it locked, and the key in the care of one of
the bank clerks who slept there during the owner's absence. After
sitting a while on the front steps, with his elbows on his knees and
his head in his hands, he rose and strolled out along the quiet
country road on its grassy footpath, past the Ballards' home.

Mary and Bertrand were out in the little orchard at the back of the
house, gazing up at the apple blossoms that hung over their heads in
great pale pink clouds. A sweet odor came from the lilacs that hung
over the garden fence, and the sunlight streamed down on the peaceful
home, and on the opening spring flowers--the borders of dwarf purple
iris and big clusters of peonies, just beginning to bud,--and on the
beehives scattered about with the bees flying out and in. Ah! It was
still the same--tempting and inviting.

He paused at the gate, looking wistfully at the open door, but did not
enter. No, he must keep his