"No. Come to think of it, yes, he did, too. Said he had on an old straw hat with a red an' blue band round it. Sam said he noticed that because 'twas so early for a straw. Said it looked more like a child's hat. Guessed he'd picked it up some'r's." "Yes," said Ann, out of her daze, "so 't did." Yet she was not thinking of the hat as it might identify a thief, but of the brows under it, with a look she used to know. "Why, Ann Barstow!" Mrs. John C. was saying, "you don't mean to tell me you see him yourself?" Suddenly it seemed to Ann as if it were not the young tramp they were recalling, but her brother himself. "No," she said defiantly. "I jest put in a word, that's all." Mrs. John C. swept on in the strain of her hopeful heralding. "So, soon as Sam told that--'twa'n't more 'n half an hour ago--I says to him, 'You go an' stir up some o' the boys, an' 'long towards ten o'clock you jest surround the old Pelton house an' git him, tea-set an' all. Stan's to reason,' says I, 'it's an old deserted house, an' he's goin' to git part of a night's rest there. 'Fore mornin' he'll be up an' put for some banjin'-place he's got, an' then that silver'll be melted up an' you never'll see hide nor hair on 't again.' One spell I thought mebbe he was goin' to build up a fire in the old fireplace an' melt it right then an' there; but John says 'tain't likely. Says you need more heat'n that to melt up silver." She paused for want of breath. "Be they goin' to do it?" asked Ann faintly. "Who?" "Them young folks. Be they goin' to surround him an' take him up?" "Well, I guess they be," said Mrs. John C., rising and drawing her shawl about her. "They will if they've got any seem to 'em. So I told 'em when they was talkin' on 't over." Ann followed her to the door. "If they should come acrost the tea-set," she hesitated, "mebbe they'd git hold o' that an' let him go." Mrs. John C. gave her a reassuring touch with her capable right hand. "Don't you worry," she said, out of cheerful experience of her own enterprise. "I see to that. I says to John C., 'He ain't a-goin' to slip out an' git away. It's goin' to be done accordin' to law an' order,' I says. 'I sha'n't sleep a wink till that scoundrel's landed in jail.' So I says to John C., 'You harness up the colt an' ride over an' git the sheriff, an' when the boys pitch onto him, have him ready to clap the handcuffs on.' Don't you worry, Ann. You'll see your tea-set yit."