“I might as well speak plainly, Lon,” he said. “I’m all unsettled in my ideas.” Lon regarded him keenly. “So? Ain’t that Orkney the all-round cut-up you thought he was?” “I--I guess I’ll have to take back some of the things I said.” “So?” Lon repeated. “Yes--so!” said Sam with more spirit. “And since it’s so, and since somebody must have made all the mischief, and since it isn’t likely Orkney was the guilty one--why, Lon, I’d amazingly like to know whom you suspect.” The hired man rubbed his chin. “Wal, I dunno. As things was, I didn’t intend to say nothin’ more till I was surer of my ground. But, seein’ how you’ve kinder cooled down and come to be ready to accept the light o’ reason, maybe I might’s well breathe a whisper or two of what the little birds may, or may not, have been tellin’ me.” “This has been a day of surprises,” said Sam, “but I’m ready for some more. Fire ahead!” Lon came a step nearer. They were alone in the barn, but he dropped his voice almost to a whisper. “Wal, then, I will. Remember that day you went out and potted Major Bates?” he began. CHAPTER XVIII LON DISCUSSES CROOKED THINKING Perhaps you have had the trying and distressing experience of discovering, of a sudden and without warning, that what you devoutly had hoped was a closely guarded secret appeared to be no secret at all. If you have suffered such a shock, you will understand Sam’s sensations. The unfortunate affair of Marlow woods was by no means ancient history, but gossip about it had dwindled, and he had come to believe that the town had set it down as one of those mysteries which never are solved. Yet here was Lon, referring to it as nonchalantly as if it were matter of common knowledge! For a moment Sam stared, wide eyed and open mouthed, at his ally. Mentally and physically he was overcome. Speech failed him, and he sank weakly upon a feed-box, beside which he had been standing. There was a touch of sympathy in Lon’s manner. “Sorry if I’ve rubbed your fur the wrong way, Sam. Course, though, when you asked me----” Sam found tongue. “How did you know? Who told you?” “Lot o’ folks.” “A lot!” gasped Sam. “Yep; a lot. Bill Marlow, and your father, and Maggie, and the Major, and you----” “Me!” In his amazement Sam was careless of grammar. “Me? Why, I never breathed a syllable!” Lon grinned. “Wal, you wa’n’t exactly chatty; that’s a fact. But I guess ’twas the things you didn’t say that told me most. Same way with your father. Didn’t know, did you, that I saw him one mornin’ swabbin’ out that gun of his? And he hadn’t been huntin’, and he wasn’t goin’ huntin’. Then there was Maggie. One day we was discussin’ your life and public services, and I sorter gloomed about you, and she flew at me like a hen protectin’ her last chick from a hawk; and then I knew well enough you’d been in some particular big scrape, and she knew, or guessed, more or less what ’twas. Then there was the Major----” “The Major!”