“I never saw a section, hoss-kind and human-kind both, get so foolish over one mild and inoffensive elephant before,” Hiram went on disgustedly. “I should have been home before this, but I stayed and squared up. Went along the whole trail and, as you might say, settled damages along the right o’ way. They ain’t got no kick comin’. Ain’t that so, son?” he demanded, addressing the youth on the seat. “I don’t see how anyone could be any perficker a gent,” said the driver, warmly. “Our folks lost a row and a half of nurs’ry stock and one cosset lamb stepped on and squashed, and Mr. Look just up and slapped what it come to right down into dad’s fist, with a half a dollar extry for a laylock bush that we didn’t make no account of. And at Abby Snell’s, where the most damage was done, why, you jest ought to hear Abby tell----” “Well, that’s all right, son,” interrupted Hiram, hastily. “All is I wanted to stand square up that way, and give the gossips a chance to chaw on something sweet ’stead of something sour.” He handed the youth a silver dollar. “That’s for yourself, son,” he said, “and now you’d better be hustling for home ‘fore dark.” He looked more comfortable when the waggon went clattering away under the elms. “I guess what they don’t know about Abby Snell down this way jest yet awhile won’t hurt ’em any,” he muttered as he led away Imogene into the barn, and into the companionship of the eight horses once more assembled. “Sime is such a soft old fool he would think I am in love, and Phin would pitch into me on account of my temper for gittin’ even, the same as he allus does.” “Hiram,” said his brother, when the showman joined the two men on the porch, “I want to ask your pardon for trying to stop you yesterday. Mr. Peak has told me how you managed at the other end. At this end it all worked to perfection. Wat Mayo only knows that she _ran_ away on account of a mistaken notion that she would be helping him, and that she loved him too much to _stay_ away.” “There’s mighty few cases where women’s concerned when judicious lyin’ ain’t a benefit all ’round,” said Hiram, lighting his cigar. “It’s only the strong natures that want and can stand the whole truth,” replied the Squire, sighing. “I did what I thought was for the best.” “He’s a cosset and allus will be and you warmed his milk for him,” snorted Hiram. “That’s all right! You ain’t done anything wrong. Any other kind of feedin’ would give him an attack of love-colic that would tie him up into knots so that he’d never get untangled.” He smoked in silence for a little while.