“Oh, it is, is it?” the man cried, a trifle taken aback. “This is your mornin’ for tellin’ the truth, ain’t it? Well, Mr. Timothy Bixby, I arrest you in the name of the law. See this?” He turned back his coat lapel, and displayed a sheriff’s badge. “We’re the dog catchers, an’ we’ve come for you--you damned yeller cur!” “I was just fixin’ to go to Camp Lee an’ give up,” Tim said. “Oh yes, you were,” the other jeered. “A hell of a lot you were!” “But he was! It’s the truth, he was!” Julie broke in. “He was just gettin’ ready to go right this mornin’.” “Oh, yes, he was, I know mighty well he was!” the other repeated. “An’ I know all about _you_, too!” “But it’s true. Honest it is! Honest!” Julie pleaded desperately, turning helplessly to the other man, her eyes wide and sincere. “Never mind, never mind!” Tim cut in under his breath to her. “It don’t matter, so long as _you_ know.” “Oh, well now, Sam, maybe he was,” the second man interposed pacifically. “Maybe nuthin’!” the sheriff cut him off. “He’s had a whole two months to git from Hart’s Run to Camp Lee, an’ you know traffic ain’t blocked as bad as all that. An’ if it hadn’t of been for his wife catchin’ a sight of him, he’d be hidin’ here still in this damned love-nest.” So Elizabeth had seen, after all! Their eyes turned swiftly to one another at that. “Now then, be in a hurry,” the sheriff commanded. “I ain’t got time to waste over you. Here--where’s your hat?” Julie went quickly and brought Tim’s hat, pressing it into his hands. “My honey! My honey!” she breathed. But the sheriff cut in between them. “Here, none er that,” he cried, jerking Tim away. “Take me! Take me, too!” Julie cried. “It was all my doing!” But she was brushed aside. “Git out of the way! We ain’t got nuthin’ to do with you,” the sheriff said, pushing Tim toward the door. On the threshold, Tim paused and twisted around to cry back, “It’s all right, Julie, it’s all right.” Then his captor thrust him savagely forth. The other man, glancing back at Julie, paused an instant, caught by the anguish of her face. “Here, quick,” he whispered awkwardly, “ain’t you got a token--a keepsake for him? Maybe I’ll git a chanst to slip it to him.” She looked wildly about the room. What should she send him? She started to take up the pieces of the broken cup, but her heart cried out, “No, no, not that!” “Quick! Quick!” he urged her. “Your handkerchief?” But her handkerchief was all sodden with the tears they had shed together. She shook her head dumbly. Hurried and confused, her mind was blank. Her gaze fell to the breakfast table. There was a pile of waffles still fresh and warm. To her dazed thought at that moment they were not food, they were symbols of her heart. With a hand that shook she caught up one and held it out mutely to the man. “No, no,” he whispered sharply, “think what you’re doing, woman. A keepsake--a keepsake! Here--what about this?”