They waited, their eyes fixed on the school-house door. Presently they were rewarded. A small figure, with tousled hair and a face screwed up into a mask of pain and mortification, came slinking down the steps—a thoroughly chastened gladiator who sniffled and was without glory. His streaming eyes swept the yard and took in the staring group of pupils clustered at the upper corner; and then the two “Uncles” at the fence. He stopped short in his tracks—but only for an instant. His degradation was complete. With an explosive sob, wrenched from his very soul, he whirled and darted around the corner of the building and disappeared from view. Mr. Link, bearing the sobbing Jane in his arms, turned and started back in the direction from which he had come, his companion trailing close behind. They had changed their minds about seeing the recalcitrant Republican. As they strode swiftly away they heard the stern voice of the schoolmaster calling out: “Where is Sammy Parr?” But Sammy was far, far away, streaking it for home; a chorus of treble voices answered for him: “He ain’t here, teacher.” Now, the incident just related may appear to be of very small consequence as viewed from the standpoint of the disinterested spectator—who, it so happens, must be the reader of this narrative. As a matter of fact, it has a great deal to do with the history of Oliver October Baxter. It was that gallant afternoon’s engagement between the supposedly pacific Oliver and his bosom friend, Sammy Parr, that aroused the town as nothing else had stirred it in years. Certainly nothing had stirred it in quite the same way. For nearly ten years every adult citizen of Rumley had looked upon Oliver October as a sort of public liability. Within twenty-four hours after it was uttered on that fierce October night, the sinister prophecy of the gypsy queen was known from one end of the town to the other, and while many scoffed and made light of it, not one was there among them who felt confident that Oliver would be absolutely safe until he had passed his thirtieth birthday. And now, after ten years of complacent trust in Oliver October, the town was to discover that he had an outlandish temper and a decided inclination to commit murder—in a small way, to be sure, but none the less instinctive.