They separated then. Miss Ware took the side street to the jail, while Farnsworth hurried along toward Edwards's house. "Mr. Edwards," he said, when that gentleman appeared at the door, "Miss Ware wants you right away at the jail," and as he spoke he was struck with the strain which showed in the man's face. "He must have felt it a good deal," he reflected, with surprise. A sudden fear showed in Mr. Edwards's eyes. "Jim isn't sick, is he?" he asked. "Oh, no!" replied Farnsworth, hastily. "He's cleared, that's all. We'll have him out of jail this afternoon." "Cleared?" repeated Mr. Edwards, distrustfully. Was Farnsworth joking? Nothing was more certain in the father's mind than that Jim had fired the shot. No other supposition was possible. His face grew severe at the thought that Farnsworth was trifling with him. "Yes, cleared!" said the young man, somewhat nettled. "We have absolute, certain proof that Jim hadn't anything to do with it." "I should like to hear it," said Mr. Edwards, coldly. "Well, we have the real offender's own confession," said Farnsworth, irritated at the incredulity of the man. What was the fellow made of? Mr. Edwards said nothing. He turned and got his hat, and walked with Farnsworth up the street the half-mile to the jail. His face was impassive, but his movements had a new alertness, and Farnsworth noted that he had to walk painfully fast to keep up with this much older man. Edwards, in spite of his cold exterior, was a man of strong feeling, and there was, in fact, a deep joy and a deep regret at his heart. He knew with thankfulness that he had a truthful and courageous son. He saw with passionate self-reproach that he had done the boy a great injustice. But why, why had Jim cleaned the gun? Farnsworth, little guessing the turmoil in the heart of the grave man by his side, was wondering if, after all, Miss Ware could be right in thinking that Jim had sacrificed himself for this unfeeling parent. "If she is right," he reflected, thinking how harsh had been the father's treatment of the boy, "what a little brick Jim is!" He had a very human desire to present this view and prick this automaton into some show of life. "Mr. Edwards," he said suddenly, "Jim knew, didn't he, that you were the only person besides himself at home?" "I suppose so." "Does it occur to you that he may have thought you did the shooting?" "That can't be so," said Mr. Edwards; but there was a note of shocked concern, of dismay, in his tone which satisfied Farnsworth, and again he thought more kindly of his companion.