“No, you don’t!” exclaimed the squire. “Can’t fool me that way. There’s the evidence!” And he held up the incriminating lobster, triumphantly. As matter of fact, the squire well knew that the fishermen around Grand Island, when they wanted a lobster for a dinner, took the first one that came to hand, long or short. They figured out that the law was devised to prevent the indiscriminate and wholesale shipping of lobsters before they had attained a fair growth; and the local custom about the island was to catch and eat a lobster, long or short, whenever anybody wanted one. Nor was the squire an exception to this custom. But the law answered his purpose now. He and his son rowed up alongshore, the latter grinning derisively back at the chagrined crew. “Hello, what luck?” bawled a voice, as the crew ruefully pulled in to land and proceeded to stow their catch in the car. “Mighty bad luck, Captain Sam,” replied Joe Hinman, dolefully, to the figure on shore. Little Tim, the first to jump from the bow of the boat, narrated their adventure with the squire. Captain Sam snorted. “Ho, the shrewd old fox!” he exclaimed. “Why, he’s eaten enough short lobsters in the last two years to cost him a thousand dollars. Only trouble is, he’s eaten the proof. We can’t catch him on those. Wait till I see him, though, I’ll give him a piece of my mind about raking up laws that way.” Perhaps the utterance about law, on Captain Sam’s part, refreshed his memory, however; for, the next moment, he burst into a roar of laughter. “Oh, yes, it’s funny, I suppose,” said Little Tim; “but you don’t have to pay the fine.” Captain Sam roared again. “No, and you won’t, either, I reckon,” he laughed. “See here.” He whispered something in Little Tim’s ear. “Don’t let on that I told you, though,” he said. “The squire owes me a grudge already. Ha! ha! I was watching all of you out there fishing. Ho! the old fox!” Captain Sam walked away, chuckling to himself. “He will rake up laws just to pay a spite with, eh?” he muttered. Little Tim was off like a shot. Twenty minutes later, a barefoot figure, panting and perspiring, accosted Squire Brackett, as the latter, bearing his precious evidence in the shape of the offending lobster, walked up the village street. “We’ll just show this lobster to the fish-warden, my son,” said the squire. “Then we’ll go home to supper.” “Squire Brackett, you aren’t really going to complain on us, are you?” piped Little Tim, out of breath. “We didn’t mean to break the law, you know.” “Get out of here, you little ragamuffin!” exclaimed the squire, reddening and waving Tim out of his path. “Somebody’s got to teach you youngsters a lesson—playing your pranks ’round here, day and night. Somebody’s got to uphold the law. Sooner you boys begin to have some respect for it, the better for honest folks on the island.”