"What's thet?" roared Peter, bringing the horse to a halt and glaring around at the little girl. "Nawthin'," she whimpered. "I was jes' thinkin' 'bout my Pappy." "Well, shet up," ordered Peter. "Giddep!" The horse moved on. CHAPTER XI PLOTTERS "The wicked plotteth against the just."--Ps. xxxvii, 12 It was just before noon when Peter Grimes placed Cynthy aboard the train which was to carry her north to her parents and safety. Peter performed the duty because there was no way of avoiding it without danger to himself. The letter which had come to him from Cynthy's father had contained not only her railroad fare but an extra amount to pay for the care of the baby, for whom no arrangements had been made at the time the parents, in dire poverty and uncertain as to the outcome of their venture into an unknown locality, had decided to leave with his sister. Now, the father had written, most laboriously, to thank Peter for his kindness and to repay him for the extra expense incurred. Both children, the letter stated, were to be sent in the care of the conductor of the train designated. The conductor had even been notified when to expect them. The length of time Peter had been accepting the remittances sent with such regularity by Cynthy's father made it necessary for him to surrender the little girl when requested. As for the baby, nobody knew when it died; never would know. The parents were too far away to ask questions. They couldn't do anything, anyway. Peter's conscience did not trouble him as he pocketed the money they had sent. He had no conscience. A dumb animal, when it hears a cry of distress from another of its kind will manifest alarm, anxiety and a desire to help the afflicted one. Peter Grimes was lower than the animals. Totally devoid of moral sense, his callousness to suffering had developed within him all the characteristics of a fiend. The first money ever handed him in an envelope without any effort on his part to earn it had been the final undoing of an already unbalanced and distorted mind. The thought of procuring more and more money in the same manner became an obsession. It was the object of his life. His pastime and recreation was the infliction of pain. It thrilled him to witness suffering in any form. The more he witnessed the more insatiable he grew. He found satisfaction in seeing anything helpless succumb to his mighty power. It gratified his pride. Covertly he shook his fist after the receding train. He would have enjoyed seeing it blown to bits or flung over an embankment. That train was bearing from him the human equivalent of money. Peter would miss those regular remittances.