other judicial examinations
followed. The sensation which the incident had caused and the more
stringent measures adopted in consequence of it, seemed to have broken
the courage of the "Blue Smocks"; from now on it looked as though they
had entirely disappeared, and although many a wood-thief was caught
after that, they never found cause to connect him with the notorious
band. Twenty years afterwards the axe lay as a useless _corpus delicti_
in the archives of the court, where it is probably resting yet with its
rust spots. In a made-up story it would be wrong thus to disappoint the
curiosity of the reader, but all this actually happened; I can add or
detract nothing. The next Sunday Frederick rose very early to go to
confession. It was the day of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin and
the parish priests were in the confessionals before dawn. He dressed in
the dark, and as quietly as possible left the narrow closet which had
been consigned to him in Simon's house. His prayer-book, he thought,
would be lying on the mantelpiece in the kitchen, and he hoped to find
it with the help of the faint moonlight. It was not there. He glanced
searchingly around, and started; at the bedroom door stood Simon,
half-dressed; his rough figure, his uncombed, tangled hair, and the
paleness of his face in the moonlight, gave him a horribly changed
appearance. "Can he possibly be walking in his sleep?" thought
Frederick, and kept quite still. "Frederick, where are you going?"
whispered the old man.

"Uncle, is that you? I am on my way to confession."

"That's what I thought; go, in the name of God, but confess like a good
Christian."

"That I will," said Frederick.

Think of the Ten Commandments: 'Thou shalt not bear witness against thy
neighbor.'"

"Not _false_ witness!"

"No, none at all; you have been badly taught; he who accuses another in
his confession is unworthy to receive the Sacrament."

Both were silent. "Uncle, what makes you think of this?" Frederick
finally asked. "Your conscience is not clear; you have lied to me."

"I? How?"

"Where is your axe?"

"My axe? On the barn-floor."

"Did you make a new handle for it? Where is the old one?"

"You'll find it at daylight in the woodshed."

"Go," he continued scornfully. "I thought you were a man; but you are
like an old woman who thinks the house must be on fire as soon as she
sees smoke rising from her pot. See," he went on, "if I know anything
more about this st