g a bench, he ordered the men to
be silent.

"Ye'r all talkin' like a bunch of kids," he chided. "Let's git down to
business, an' do something. I don't want this to end in nuthin' but
talk as in the past. It's now or never. I'm willin' to lead an' take
the hull blame, if yez don't funk on me at the last minute."

"Good fer you, Jake," several shouted. "We'll stand by ye, never fear."

"All right, then," Jake replied, "I'll bank on yez all. But yez better
go home now an' think this all over, an' what is more important, keep
ye'r tongues still an' don't blab this all over the place. When I want
yez, I'll send fer yez, an' not before."

The Stubbles family were at their late breakfast the next morning when
news reached them about the indignation meeting in the hall the
previous evening. It was Squire Hawkins who told them. He had
received the information from an early caller at the store. All the
Stubbles considered the affair a huge joke excepting Miss Mehetibel.
She was angry and expressed her views in a most caustic manner.

"It's that horrid fiddler," she declared, "who is at the bottom of all
this. Pa, I don't understand why you allow him to remain in the
parish."

"Oh, he'll be out of the place soon," Stubbles senior replied. "You'll
attend to him, Squire, won't you?" and he winked at Hawkins across the
room.

The storekeeper grinned in reply. He was greatly pleased at the way he
had managed affairs at the trial, and had no fear of the people so long
as he had the Stubbles with him.

"They're all beasts and should be soundly whipped," Miss Mehetibel
proclaimed. "Oh, if I were only a man!"

"Cut your hair and change your clothes, Hettie," her brother
sarcastically replied, "and you'll pass for a man any time."

"I'd be ashamed to be like you, Ben," was the retort. "You haven't
enough spunk to be in the catalogue of men."

"Maybe not, but I get there just the same. What about last night?"

"Oh, that's not ended yet. That indignation meeting may amount to
something after all."

"Not a bit of it. It'll all end in talk. Why, the people in this
parish haven't the spunk of chickens when a hawk is after them. Dad's
the hawk in this case, and they're frightened to death of him. Come,
girls, let's go for a spin."

If Ben Stubbles had only known what was really taking place in Rixton
he would not have spoken so contemptuously about the people of the
parish. The intense feeling which perva