“I will accept the honour with thanks,” broke in the lawyer, rising. And as he stood there looking into their sullen faces he reflected, “You’re a cheeky old pirate, Phin, but it’s the only way to keep ’em from putting the little one on the rack.” “Neighbours,” he began, “I’m going to start in by telling you a bit of a story. Once when I was a small boy my father had a flock of turkeys, and the only thing I owned in the Lord’s world then was a little rabbit about half grown. That was the time we lived over on the Ridge road; you remember, some of you older ones, the farm that father took up?” Several nodded. His tone was the social chat of an old friend. The initial stiffness that had oppressed the farmers and their women had begun to wear off. “Well, s’r, folks, that rabbit was about as cunning a little critter as you ever saw. Gracious, wasn’t I proud of him, though! He used to hop around the yard and nibble clover, and I liked to watch him. You know how a rabbit’s nose will flicker when he eats? Like a lawyer’s tongue in a horse case!” His listeners greeted this thrust at the profession with much hilarity. The Squire beamed an encouraging smile at the little teacher, and then for the first time since their nod of greeting he looked straight and long into the face of Sylvena Willard. Her brown eyes brimmed with appreciation. “Well, the little rabbit hopped about the yard where the big turkeys brustled and hustled and pecked and scratched. Rabbit was busy getting its living and didn’t mind the turkeys. And the turkeys didn’t pay much attention to the rabbit. But one day something peculiar happened. One of those hen turkeys made what you might call a mispeck at a grasshopper, happened to get hold of that little rabbit’s ear by accident, and that turkey was so surprised that she h’isted it right up and held on. “Now, it’s the nature of turkeys, when they see another one holding up something that seems like a good, tempting morsel, to close in on the run and get their share. So in they tore. First hen turkey, however run off with the rabbit. She thought it must be good to eat, seeing that all the others were after her hotfoot. When she had run as long as she could, with every once in awhile another turkey getting in a peck at it, she laid it down to take a peck herself, and the others crowded around, shutting their eyes and getting in their work, and before they knew what they were pecking at they had torn that poor little rabbit all to bits.” The audience blinked up at him, as yet hardly understanding the application of the allegory. He straightened till his head grazed the cracked ceiling. “Since then I have always had an eye out to protect the innocent little rabbits from excited turkeys, who most likely might be sorry after they realised what they were pecking at.” Esther Dunham interrupted him. She half rose from her seat and cried in shrill tones: