The village is a mite worked up over this murder and they might get
kind of upset if they thought Tobey was still loose. Better go and
get him, Mrs. Brenner."

As she stood unheeding, he went on, "Now, don't be afraid.
Nothing'll happen to him. No jedge would sentence him like a regular
criminal. The most that'll happen will be to put him some safe place
where he can't do himself nor no one else any more harm."

But still Mrs. Brenner's set expression did not change.

After a moment she shook off his aiding arm and moved slowly to
Tobey's door. She paused there a moment, resting her hand on the
latch, her eyes searching the faces of the men in the room. With a
gesture of dreary resignation she opened the door and entered,
closing it behind her.

Tobey lay in his bed, asleep. His rumpled hair was still damp from
the fog. His mother stroked it softly while her slow tears dropped
down on his face with its expression of peaceful childhood.

"Tobey!" she called. Her voice broke in her throat. The tears fell
faster.

"Huh!" He sat up, blinking at her.

"Get into your clothes, now! Right away!" she said.

He stared at her tears. A dismal sort of foreboding seemed to seize
upon him. His face began to pucker. But he crawled out of his bed
and began to dress himself in his awkward fashion, casting wistful
and wondering glances in her direction.

She watched him, her heart growing heavier and heavier. There was no
one to protect Tobey. She could not make those strangers believe
that Mart had changed shoes with Tobey. Neither could she account
for the blood-stained box and the watch with its length of broken
chain. But if Tobey had been on the beach he had not been on the hill,
and if he hadn't been on the hill he couldn't have killed the man
they claimed he had killed. Mart had been on the hill. Her head
whirled. Some place fate, destiny, something had blundered. She
wrung her knotted hands together.

Presently Tobey was dressed. She took him by the hand. Her own hand
was shaking, and very cold and clammy. Her knees were weak as she
led him toward the door. She could feel them trembling so that every
step was an effort. And her hand on the knob had barely strength to
turn it. But turn it she did and opened the door.

"Here he is!" she cried chokingly. She freed her hand and laid it on
his shoulder.

"Look at him," she moaned. "He couldn't 'a' done it. He's--he's just
a boy!"

Sheriff Munn rose. His men rose with