The officer, without a word, untied the knot which Amos Brierwood had
made in one corner, while the Coggins looked on in open-mouthed
amazement. It contained a five-dollar bill, and a bit of paper on which
some careless memoranda had been jotted down in handwriting which the
traveler claimed as his own.

It seemed a very plain case. Still, he got out of the sound of the
woman's sobs and cries as soon as he conveniently could, and sauntered
down the road, where the officer presently overtook him with Alf and his
father in custody.

"Whar be ye a-takin' of us now?" cried the elder, gaunt and haggard, and
with his long hair blowing in the breeze.

"Ter the church-house, whar yer boy says ye hev hid the traveler's
money-purse," said the officer.

"_My boy_!" exclaimed John Coggin, casting an astounded glance upon his
son.

Poor Alf was almost stunned. When they reached the church, and the men,
after searching for a time without result, appealed to him to save
trouble by pointing out the spot where the pocket-book was concealed, he
could only stammer and falter unintelligibly, and finally he burst into
tears.

"Ax the t'other one--the leetle boy," suggested an old man in the crowd.

Alf's heart sank--sank like lead--when Jim, suddenly remembering the
promised "good word" to the witches, piped out, "I war tole not ter tell
who teched it,--'kase my dad didn't want nobody ter know 'twar hid
thar."

John Coggin's face was rigid and gray.

"The Lord hev forsook me!" he cried. "An' all my chillen hev turned
liars tergether."

Then he made a great effort to control himself.

"Look-a-hyar, Jim, ef ye hev got the truth in ye,--speak it! Ef ye know
whar I hev hid anything,--find it!"

Jim, infinitely important, and really understanding little of what was
going on, except that all these big men were looking at him, crossed the
room with as much stateliness as is compatible with a pair of baggy
brown jeans trousers, a plaid comforter tied between the shoulder-blades
in a big knot, a tow-head, and a tattered black hat; he slipped his
grimy paw in the chinking where Amos Brierwood had hid the pocket-book,
and drew it thence, with the prideful exclamation,--

"B'longs ter my dad!"

The officer held it up empty before the traveler,--he held up, too, the
bit of comforter in which it was folded, and pointed to the small boy's
shoulders. The gentleman turned away, thoroughly convinced. Alf and his
father looked from one t