So they arranged it; and so it came to pass that when Sam walked into the library--the clocks were striking eight as he entered--his mother, after gently chiding him for his tardiness, slipped out. The shaded light, by which his father was reading, left the ends of the room in shadow, and Sam lingered for a moment by the door. At last he came forward, halting directly in front of his father. Mr. Parker looked up. “Well, young man----” he began, but suddenly his tone changed sharply. “What in the world have you been doing, Sam? You look as if you’d been dragged through a knot-hole!” Sam’s wan smile was more eloquent than his speech. “I shouldn’t wonder if I did, sir. I’ve been walking around and--and thinking.” “Where have you been walking?” “Around town, sir--up and down the streets--anywhere.” “Thinking all the while?” “Yes, sir; thinking hard.” “Been alone?” “All alone.” “Umph!” said Mr. Parker. Sam licked dry lips. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve thought it out,--what I ought to do, sir. And--and I’m here to make a clean breast of things.” The father studied the boy’s face for a moment. “Sam,” he said slowly, “Sam, I can see that you’re greatly exercised about something or other. What it is I don’t know. I had intended to have you on the carpet for being late for dinner and supper, but I’m afraid this is something more serious. But whatever it is, I hope you’ll do just what you say you wish to do--make a clean breast of it.” “And face the music!” There was a new note in the boy’s voice, a firmer note. “That’s part of the game of life, Sam--if you play the game fairly and squarely.” Sam drew a long breath, and made his plunge. “Father, you’ve heard about the arrest of Peter Groche? They say he shot at Major Bates. Well, he didn’t--but I did!” Mr. Parker bent forward; he was looking into the boy’s eyes, and the boy did not quail under his scrutiny. “I don’t ask you if you’re in earnest, Sam. I know that you are. Go on!” “I took your gun this morning, and went out to the Marlow woods. I’d been told there were deer there. I was crouching under some bushes, and looking across a hollow, when I saw something dark on the other side. It moved, and I fired. Then a man’s head showed. I didn’t recognize him. I was so scared that I burrowed deeper in the bushes--hid for a while, sir. Then I realized I ought to do something. So I crossed the hollow. I found blood spots, but the man had gone away. It seemed as if he couldn’t have been badly hurt. Then I came home. I hoped I wouldn’t have to tell anybody, but--but now they’ve locked up Peter Groche for what I did.” “When did you learn of the arrest?” “This afternoon.” “And since then?” “I’ve been thinking it over--fighting it out with myself, sir.” Mr. Parker rose and crossed the room. He picked up the gun, threw open the breach, peered into the barrels. “You fired only once?” “Only once, sir. Here’s the empty cartridge.” Sam took the shell from his pocket.