At the sound of the splash Peter and his customer both turned around. The latter, evidently under the impression that the bog was merely a hog wallow, strode towards it to drag his property out and replace it in the wagon. "Dawg-gone hit," he exclaimed, turning to Peter, "Lookut thet, now. I reckon we'll hev ter git a plank--" He paused to stare at the hog vendor. Peter seemed to be grimacing at him. In a moment it became apparent that he was laughing. He gestured toward the bog. "Ef yo' air goin' ter git hit," he chuckled, "yo'll hev ter git hit in a swivvet an' not wait fer no plank." The farmer's gaze turned from Peter to the barrel. His eyes dilated. The barrel was almost submerged. It was slowly but surely sinking. He took several hasty steps with some thought of wading into the mud and retrieving the barrel unaided. Peter's strange mirth and possibly, as Stevie would have said, his guardian angel stayed him at the brink. He paused again to look, and in that instant the barrel disappeared. Thick layers of mud closed over the spot where it went down. "Tarnation!" the man gasped. "Whar--whar'd hit go?" "Whyn't yo' g'wan in an' find out," returned Peter, making no effort to conceal his disappointment at being deprived of so pleasing a spectacle as the death of a human being. "I hain't a-stoppin' yo'." [Illustration: _Scene from Mary Pickford's Photoplay_. _Sparrows_. "IS GRIMES COMIN'?"] Again the farmer stared. Was this Peter Grimes crazy, he wondered. He had heard for years that he was "queer," but he had never had dealings with him before. The whole place seemed queer. He wished he had gone elsewhere to purchase his hog. Now he had lost the barrel of molasses he had just been to town to buy! And this man, Grimes, seemed pleased over his loss and displeased because he, himself, had not been swallowed up with his barrel. If he had-- Enlightenment came suddenly upon him. If he had, Peter Grimes would have the hog as well as the money that had just been paid for it--and also the horse, wagon and supplies! No one knew he had driven up there; no one would search for him there. It would have been assumed that he had driven off the road at some point and got lost in the swamps. Why, the man was crazy. He was capable of murder. Perhaps he would yet kill him before he got away. The farmer, whose name was Craddock, stepped hastily back from the edge of the bog and around to his horse's head, keeping his eyes focused upon Peter, meanwhile, suspicious of the latter's intentions. "I didn't know you-all had one of them sinkholes up so clost ter yer house," he remarked, taking hold of the horse's bridle and pulling him about until the wagon stood in a safer position. "Why didn't you tell me?" "'Sposed yo' hed eyes," replied Peter, belligerently, stooping, nevertheless and helping his customer pick up the shoat he had purchased and toss it into the wagon.