head
and heart, alike, were full, and he talked more freely than was
altogether consistent with his Yankee character. He told of Ralph's
predicament, and the clown sympathized; he narrated the quest which had
brought him forth, and of his heretofore unrewarded labors; concluded
with naming the ensuing Monday as the day of the youth's trial, when, if
nothing in the meantime could be discovered of the true criminal--for
the pedler never for a moment doubted that Ralph was innocent--he
"mortally feared things would go agin him."

"That will be hard, too--a mighty tough difficulty, now, strannger--to
be hanged for other folks' doings. But, I reckon, he'll have to make up
his mind to it."

"Oh, no! don't say so, now, my friend, I beg you. What makes you think
so?" said the anxious pedler.

"Why, only from what I _heer'd_ you say. You said so yourself, and I
believed it as if I had seed it," was the reply of the simple
countryman.

"Oh, yes. It's but a poor chance with him now, I guess. I'd a notion
that I could find out some little particular, you see--"

"No, I don't see."

"To be sure you don't, but that's my say. Everybody has a say, you
know."

"No, I don't know."

"To be sure, of course you don't know, but that's what I tell you. Now
you must know--"

"Don't say _must_ to me, strannger, if you want that we shall keep hands
off. I don't let any man say _must_ to me."

"No harm, my friend--I didn't mean no harm," said the worried pedler,
not knowing what to make of his acquaintance, who spoke shrewdly at
times, but occasionally in a speech, which awakened the doubts of the
pedler as to the safety of his wits. Avoiding all circumlocution of
phrase, and dropping the "you sees," and "you knows" from his narration,
he proceeded to state his agency in procuring testimony for the youth,
and of the ill-success which had hitherto attended him. At length, in
the course of his story, which he contrived to tell with as much caution
as came within the scope of his education, he happened to speak of Lucy
Munro; but had scarcely mentioned her name when his queer companion
interrupted him:--

"Look you, strannger, I'll lick you now, off-hand, if you don't put Miss
for a handle to the gal's name. She's Miss Lucy. Don't I know her, and
han't I seen her, and isn't it I, Chub Williams, as they calls me, that
loves the very airth she treads?"

"You know Miss Lucy?" inquired the pedler, enraptured even at this
moderate disc