"I do not believe it," he said again. "You have always helped Alvin Koehler. You helped him dishonestly in school. You are trying to help him now." Katy's head bent a little lower over her knees. "He does not even have sense enough to care for you or to be grateful to you." Katy rose from her place on the low step. With a gasp she started down the walk. "What are you going to do about it?" cried David, hoarsely. "Nothing," answered Katy. "You are going now to tell the squire!" "No," said Katy, "I am not going to tell any one." "Then why did you come here?" David followed her to the gate. "You have made trouble, you are always making trouble. If you are not going to do anything about it, why did you come here?" "I had to tell you," insisted Katy, woefully. "Can't you see that I had to tell you?" "It is not true," said David again. "If you think I will do anything against my father's name you are mistaken. You--" But Katy had gone. He heard the familiar click of the gate, he heard her steps quicken. She was running away as from a house of plague. Then David hid his face in his arms and sat long alone on the porch. He saw his father's stern face. His father had gone about--this there was no denying--like a man with a heavy load upon his heart. But that he should have had anything to do with the theft of a communion service, that he should even have touched it, that he, himself, knowing the truth, should have allowed another to be suspected--this was monstrous. With rapid step David went up and down the porch. He would go away from Millerstown forever, that was certain. He would sell his house, his farms; he would shake the dust of the place from his feet. But first he would clear the mind of Katy Gaumer from this outrageous suspicion and make it impossible for the slander to travel farther. As he made his plans, he stood still at the top of the porch steps, his head bent. Then he lifted his head with a sudden motion. There was for an instant a strangeness in the air, a sense of human presence. David felt blessed in his endeavor. A few moments later he opened the door of the squire's office. The squire, busy with his favorite occupation, the planning of a journey, sat with his feet comfortably elevated on the table. He let his chair slam to the floor and came forward to meet his guest. "Well, David, now you are a graduate! Let me look at you! Now you are to stay with us. Why, David!" The squire stared at the countenance before him. "Are you in trouble?" "Yes," answered David. With the squire in his chair behind the desk, himself on the old settle, David told his story. "Katy Gaumer came to the house this evening and told me a strange thing. She says that she saw my father with the communion cup in his hand the day that the service disappeared from the church." "The communion cup?" repeated the squire, startled almost out of his wits. "What communion cup?" "The one that disappeared." The squire gasped.