"I don't answer any of the judge's questions!" I replied sharply enough, not yet seeing what the man was after. But he told me bluntly enough that I was suspected of setting fire to the barn, and drove me back to the town, where I stayed in the sheriff's custody until my uncle came late that night and bailed me out. Will was with him. Father didn't want me to come home, so Will let me understand. Neither he nor my uncle thought I was innocent, but they hoped that there might not be enough evidence to convict me. Some one on the creek road had seen me going past the barn a little time before the fire was discovered, and that was the only ground for suspecting me. The next morning I got my uncle (who wouldn't trust me out of his sight) to drive me over to the Rudge place. He sat in the team while I went up to the house and knocked. I was feeling pretty desperate in my mind, but if May would only believe my story, I shouldn't care about the others. She would understand quick enough why I never appeared at the farm the day before. Old man Rudge came to the door, and when he saw me, he drew back and asked me what my business was. [Illustration: "_I guess she don't want much to see you._"] "I want to see May," I said. "I guess she don't want much to see you." "I must see her." The sound of our voices brought Mrs. Rudge from the kitchen. "Mother," old Rudge said, "Van wants to see May." "Well, Cyrus, it won't do any harm, I guess." When May came to the door she waited for me to speak. "I want to tell you, May," I said slowly, "that I didn't have any hand in burning the judge's barn." "I don't want to believe you did," she said. "But you do all the same!" I cried sharply. "Every one says you did, Van," she answered doubtfully. "So you think I could do a mean, sneaky thing like that?" I replied hotly, and added bitterly: "And then not have sense enough to get out of the way! Well, I know what this means: you and Will have put your heads together. You're welcome to him!" "You've no reason to say such things, Van!" she exclaimed. "There ain't no use in you talking with my girl, Harrington," put in Rudge, who had come back to the door. "And I don't want you coming here any more." "How about that, May?" I asked. "Do you tell me to go?" Her lips trembled, and she looked at me more kindly. Perhaps in another moment she would have answered and not failed me. But hot and heady as I was by nature, and smarting from all that had happened, I wanted a ready answer: I would not plead for myself. "So you won't take my word for it?" I said, turning away. "The word of a drunkard and a good-for-nothing!" the old man fired after me. "Oh, father! don't," I heard May say. Then perhaps she called my name. But I was at the gate, and too proud to turn back.