ed with his father and went off, and that he
will surely return some day."

"And no one in the village ever told her?"

"All the town have helped the old Elder to keep it from her. You'd
think such a thing impossible, wouldn't you? But it's the truth. The
old man bribed the _Mercury_ to keep it out, and, by jiminy, it was
done! Here, in a town of this size where every one knows all about
every one else's affairs--it was done! It seems people took an
especial interest in keeping it from her, yet every one was talking
about it, and so I heard all there was to hear. Hallo! What are you
doing here?"

This last remark was addressed to Nels Nelson, who appeared just
below them and stood peering up at them through the veranda railing.

"I yust vaiting for Meestair Stiles. He tol' me vait for heem here."

"Mr. Stiles? Who's he?"

"Dere he coomin'."

As he spoke G. B. Stiles came through the hotel door and walked
gravely up to them. Something in his manner, and in the expectant,
watchful eye of the Swede, caused them both to rise. At the same
moment, Kellar, the sheriff, came up the front steps and approached
them, and placing his hand on Harry King's shoulder, drew from his
pocket a pair of handcuffs.

"Young man, it is my duty to arrest you. Here is my badge--this is
quite straight--for the murder of Peter Craigmile, Jr."

The young man neither moved nor spoke for a moment, and as he stood
thus the sheriff took him by the arm, and roused him. "Richard
Kildene, you are under arrest for the murder of your cousin, Peter
Craigmile, Jr."

With a quick, frantic movement, Harry King sprang back and thrust both
men violently from him. The red of anger mounted to his hair and
throbbed in his temples, then swept back to his heart, and left him
with a deathlike pallor.

"Keep back. I'm not Richard Kildene. You have the wrong man. Peter
Craigmile was never murdered."

The big Swede leaped the piazza railing and stood close to him, while
the sheriff held him pinioned, and Sam Carter drew out his notebook.

"You know me, Mr. Kellar,--stand off, I say. I am Peter Craigmile.
Look at me. Put away those handcuffs. It is I, alive, Peter Craigmile,
Jr."

"That's a very clever plea, but it's no go," said G. B. Stiles, and
proceeded to fasten the irons on his wrists.

"Yas, I know you dot man keel heem, all right. I hear you tol' some
von you keel heem," said the Swede, slowly, in suppressed excitement.

"You're a very good ac