“Reedy and ’is wife?” one repeated. “How about them? They was sleepin’ there, you know. Since they was turned from their house, Higgins had let them there.” “What’s that?” Roberta suddenly gasped. Her hand, held toward Andy, quickly clutched him, and clung with the instinctive twinge of dependence. “Aye! Reedy? How about Reedy?” another voice lamented. Roberta barely breathed. “Andy! They are saying that some one was sleeping in the armory--a man and woman. I was sure no one was there; no one was supposed to be there. But some one was!” “They aren’t sure of that; besides, if this Reedy and his wife were there, you don’t know that they were hurt!” Andy as instantly felt the instinct to protect and reassure. “Reedy and ’is wife; no word, eh?” the voice on the road hailed. “Andy, if I killed them, it was murder! I thought once I heard some one moving inside; then I said I only imagined it; and I did it! Andy!” She was only woman now--all woman of the old, clinging, appealing, precatastrophic kind pleading to man for protection. “You’ve got to find out and help me! Andy, take me away from here--anywhere, any way!” “Can you stay here a moment by yourself--very quiet, without being afraid?” The instant before the question would have been the essence of lunacy. “Can I leave you--dear?” he ventured now, and she made no protest. “I think so.” He held his arm about her to steady her for a moment; he could feel her trembling. Then, cautiously creeping out, he joined the others thronging to witness the smoking ruins of the armory. There men moved, carefully, searching the ground. Andy attentively listened to their remarks, and returned to the hiding place behind the hedge. Roberta--if the evidence of a wet handkerchief balled in her hand meant anything--had spent the interval crying. “Cheer up; they’ve not found any evidence of any one being caught in the armory,” he reported. “Tell me the truth,” she implored. “Well, it seems that this old man, Reedy, and his wife sometimes had been sleeping there; but----” “Then I did kill them!” “I really don’t think you did,” he denied. “But if it will keep you a little more tractable, go on thinking so; for, whether or not you’ve killed them, from what I’ve heard you’d better get out of here as quick as you can.” “I’ll do whatever you say.” She clung to him as the hue and cry again came close. A recollection of herself the half hour before came to her. “Andy,” she questioned in awe, “why am I this way now?” “You’re all right,” he patted her. “Don’t feel ashamed of yourself. You’ve really smashed up things mighty competently for a girl. But, Bobs, you can’t expect to learn to smash sincerely or thoroughly all at once. You’ve got to have a few thousand generations of your sex behind you who really smashed to be entirely dependable at it. Then you wouldn’t be so broken up about the idea of perhaps a little unintentional killing.”