I s'pose it's a jedgment on me fur bein' so wicked. But he _made_ me do it! He _made_ me! 'Twarn't so much his money, but I's skeered uv 'im. You don't know Devil Marston, doc. His name's fittin'. 'N' now I feel better, doc; I sw'ar I do!" For a moment Glenning sat silent. "Yes, I know Devil Marston," he said at last, "and he is a bad man. And I know the Dudleys, too, and I know the man who went in for the colt." "Ye won't tell, doc, will ye?" asked Scribbens, in sudden alarm. "Ye won't give me 'way?" "I'll promise that no harm shall come to you because of the things that you've told me. But you're a bad man, too, Dink Scribbens--a low down, dastardly coward!" The figure below shrank back under the stern, accusing voice. "I know it! I know it! It's kep' me 'wake ever since I done it!" He was almost whimpering now, and John realized the utter futility of a sermon at this time. The arrival of Mrs. Scribbens at this juncture with her corps of satellites put an end to further confidences. John arose. "I've het the water!" announced Mrs. Scribbens, standing with a chunk of lye soap in one hand and a battered and dented tin washpan in the other from which steam was rising. "Very well," said Glenning. "Get him clean. Give him one of these when you have finished, another at midnight, and a third in the morning. Have you a clock?" His gaze swept the pitifully bare room and failed to reveal one. "Humph!" sniffed Mrs. Scribbens. "The roosters crow, don't they? He'll git his dose at midnight!" "Keep the children out of doors as much as you can; make each of them bathe every day and do the same yourself. I'll come back in the morning and bring something for each of you to take to keep you from catching the small-pox. Good-day."