I smiled appreciatively, feeling a softening toward William in view of the entertainment he had provided, but I saw it would be wiser for him to leave than to wait for Peter's revenge. There was one more point that puzzled me. "How did you fasten those boots on the pig?" I asked. There was a momentary triumphant gleam in his eyes, then they opened wide with innocent frankness as he spoke. "Joe Wrigley says there was a wad of graftin' wax in each one, and the longer they were on the tighter they'd stick. Joe says----" "William," I interrupted, "why do you keep saying that Joe Wrigley says this and Joe Wrigley says that, when you----" One eyelid slowly curtained an eye. "You see, Mr. Carton," he said, in a half-whisper, "if you don't know nothin' but what Joe says, you don't know enough for evidence, nor too much for your own good, and if that old sinner makes law trouble you can't swear to anythin' but hearsay. Joe says it's like a sort of judgment on him, for it'll take as long to get the feathers and wax off that pig as it'll take new feathers to grow on them chickens. He says there ain't but three ways of gettin' that kind of wax off: bilin' in kerosene, freezin' in a ice-cream freezer, or leavin' it to nature and the habits of pigs." "Well, William," I said regretfully, "I suppose you had better go, but I'll have to get another man to do the work, for I'll have the farm on my hands in a few days. Peter has signed the agreement to sell." "Jee--rus'lem!" he exclaimed. "It'll be a bigger circus than I counted on when----" "When what?" I asked, as he suddenly checked himself. "I was thinkin' about the new well up at the barn," he replied, with sudden gravity. "I haven't got down to water yet, but it ain't far off, and Joe Wrigley says he'll come over to-morrow and finish it for you. Well, I must be goin'--good-by for the present. Mebbe I'll come back when this blows over." "Where are you going to?" I called after him, as he hurried off. His legs moved faster, as if he feared pursuit, but there was no response until he reached the gate, then he turned and shouted: "To see--Uncle--Benny!" It is painfully humiliating to stand before a locked door and try to convince a silent person inside that you have high ideals, noble impulses, virtuous aspirations and an unvarying regard for the truth; it is yet more painful if you are the victim of a train of circumstantial evidence that has biassed the mind of the listener; you are at a further disadvantage if that person is the one who knows your failings better than you do yourself, but there is yet hope if, with all your faults, she loves you still.