After my visit to Black Hawk’s cabin, things went on as before, except that I no longer wandered far from the house, lest in some way I should run across the outlaw Burke. Mr. Blake being away, I was now more than ever taken up with the care of things, and so, being occupied, the events I have related little by little faded from my mind. In this way the autumn closed, and winter came on with high winds that moaned and shrieked in the trees and about the windows of the house, as if seeking in vain for some place of warmth and comfort. This till one day, when we had heard nothing from the outer world for a long time, Mr. Blake returned from Appletop, where he had work of some kind. Going about his business, he had scarce a word to say, being more reticent than ever before, I thought, if that could be. When, however, I would have asked him about Uncle Job, he put me off with some abruptness of manner, and doing so, appeared greatly disturbed. At this, and upon his persisting, I cried out in alarm and as a peevish child might have done: "Uncle Job is dead!" "No, no! not that, my son," he answered, his eyes wavering, as men’s will who are weak or seek to mislead you. "He is ailing, then?" "No, he is well; as well as you are," he answered, glancing toward his wife, as if asking her aid. "Then what is the matter? I know you are keeping something from me?" I persisted. "There is nothing the matter; or nothing you could help one way or the other," he answered, his embarrassment growing greater. "Tell me what it is, then?" I cried, feeling sure he was hiding something from me. "There, don’t get excited, my son. It’s nothing, I’m sure, if the truth were known," he answered, floundering about in his speech. "Nothing!" I answered, forgetting myself and laying hold of his arm. "What is it, then?" "It’s nothing bad, anyway," he replied, sweat starting from his forehead; "only a bit queer, maybe, but that’s all." "What is it that’s queer?" I exclaimed, ready to fly at his throat, so great was my rage at his continued attempt to evade my inquiry. "Strange, I had better have said," he answered, closing his mouth as if nothing would induce him to say more. "What’s strange?" I persisted. "Whatever it is, I am sure Uncle Job would want me to know." "Don’t keep him in suspense longer, dear," Mrs. Blake here interposed. "It can’t do any good." "Is it best?" he asked, as if not agreeing with her. "Yes; for it can’t be kept from him forever," she answered. "Well, then, my son," he spoke up at last, with sorrowful voice, "your Uncle has been arrested, but none of us believes he has done anything wrong, and know that it will all be cleared up at last." "Arrested!" I exclaimed, scarce able to speak; "Uncle Job arrested, and for what?" "Oh, the charge is of no account. It is not true, of course. It can’t be; every one says that!" Mr. Blake went on, the effort to talk and to lighten the force of what he was saying being altogether beyond him.