The captain calmly smiled as only a man can smile who has been accosted with the same humorous remark a dozen times a day for twenty years. He folded his paper carefully, put it in his pocket, took off his spectacles and put them in their silver case, took a red silk handkerchief from his hat, wiped his face, and put the handkerchief back. Then he said shortly,-- “That's what I _have_ come for.” Wood, still leaning on the fence, looked at him, and said nothing. “That's just what I 've come for,” said Captain Nourse. “I 've got to arrest you; here's the warrant.” And he handed it to him. “What does this mean?” said Wood. “I can't make head or tail of this.” “Well,” said the captain, “the long and short is, these high-toned detectives that they 've hed down from town, seein' as our own force was n't good enough, allow that the safe was unlocked with a key, in due form, and then the lock was broke afterward, to look as if it had been forced open. They 've hed the foreman of the safe-men down, too, and he says the same thing. Naturally, the argument is, there was only two keys in existence,--one was safe with the president of the bank, and is about all he 's got to show out of forty years' savings; the only other one you hed: consequently, it heaves it onto you.” “I see,” said Wood. “I will go with you. Do you want to come into the house with me while I get my coat?” “Well, I suppose I must keep you in sight,--now you know.” And they went into the house. “Mary,” said her husband, “the folks that lost by Clark when the bank broke have been at him until he 's felt obliged to pitch on somebody, and he's pitched on me; and Captain Nourse has come to arrest me. I shall get bail before long.” She said nothing, and did not shed a tear till he was gone. But then-- II. Wide wastes of salt-marsh to the right, imprisoning the upland with a vain promise of infinite liberty, and, between low, distant sandhills, a rim of sea. Stretches of pine woods behind, shutting in from the great outer world, and soon to darken into evening gloom. Ploughed fields and elm-dotted pastures to the left, and birch-lined roads leading by white farm-houses to the village, all speaking of cheer and freedom to the prosperous and the happy, but to the unfortunate and the indebted, of meshes invisible but strong as steel. But, before, no lonesome marshes, no desolate forest, no farm or village street, but the free blue ocean, rolling and tumbling still from the force of an expended gale. In the open doorway of a little cottage, warmed by the soft slanting rays of the September sun, a rough man, burnt and freckled, was sitting, at his feet a net, engaged upon some handiwork which two little girls were watching. Close by him lay a setter, his nose between his paws. Occasionally the man raised his eyes to scan the sea. “There's Joel,” he said, “comin' in around the Bar. Not much air stirrin' now!” Then he turned to his work again.