The squire leaned back in his chair. "I suppose," he said, with evident reluctance, "I shall have to hold him for the grand jury. But I guess the safety of the community won't be greatly threatened if I let him out on bail. I should think a couple of hundred would do. I suppose there'll be no difficulty about the bond?" The tone of the proceedings suited Mr. Peaslee well. In his nervousness and abstraction he had backed up to the rusty, empty iron stove at the end of the room, and stood there, with spread coat-tails, listening intently. On hearing the amount of bail, he gave a sigh of relief. His incautious offer had brought him no dangerous risk. Mr. Edwards, however, did not answer. Instead, consulting the justice with a look, he turned and beckoned Jim to follow him into the hall. "James," he said, "this is the last chance I shall give you. If you confess to me, I will see that you have proper bail. If you do not, I shall let the law take its course. You may choose." Jim was exasperated. If his father wished to be mean, let him _be_ mean; at least he might drop this farce, this irritating pretense. He lost his temper. "I don't care what you do!" he said fiercely. "Send me to jail if you want to. I guess I can stand it!" "Is that all you have to say?" Jim replied with a rebellious glance. "Very well," said his father. "Then we will go back." Once in the room, he stepped to the squire's desk, and talked with him in low tones. Then the justice turned to Jim again, a new gravity in his jolly face. "Your father," he said, "refuses to go on your bond. Have you any sureties of your own to offer?" "No, sir," said Jim. Mr. Peaslee was outraged. What kind of a father was this! He half started forward to offer to be one of the two sureties which the law required, but--no, he dare not. The second surety might prove to be any sort of worthless fellow. But Jim in jail! He had not for a moment dreamed of that. He was very indignant with Mr. Edwards. Meanwhile, Jake Hibbard was studying Mr. Edwards's face with puzzled attention. He had supposed that the lumber dealer, whom he knew to be well-to-do, would have paid anything, signed any bond, to protect his boy from jail. He was disconcerted. He drew his one hand across his mouth nervously. "Well, Mr. Barton," said Squire Tucker, "I don't see but what you'll have to take this young man over to Hotel Calkins." "Hotel Calkins" was the name which local wit gave to the county jail. The words sent a cold shiver down Mr. Peaslee's back. They stung him into generosity. As Barton and his prisoner, followed by Mr. Edwards and Jake, brushed by him on their way to the door, he slipped the knife into Jim's hand. When the boy, trying to keep back the tears, looked up inquiringly, he murmured, in agitation:-- "Don't ye care, sonny! Now don't ye care!" He was greatly stirred--or he would not have been so incautious as to make his present in person and in public. [Illustration: Cat lying on fence.] IV