Peter Sawyer turned suddenly upon the boy. “The truth ain’t in ye, Ike Guyther. Ye knows ez yer dad an’ yer uncle, an’ yerse’f an’ yer folks ginerally, air the only critters in the Cove ez would ’sociate with Jerry Binwell, an’ live in fellowship with him under the same roof. I ’low they air crazy—plumb bereft. It’s yer folks ez hev harbored him hyar, an’ ye can’t tar Skimpy with sayin’ he consorts with sech. I forbid Skimp ever ter go with you-uns enny mo’, so’s ter keep him out’n Binwell’s way. Now, sir; ye can’t shoulder him off on Skimpy!” Ike’s face turned scarlet. “I hev glimpsed Skimp with him ag’in an’ ag’in. An’ I b’lieves he be a-goin’ ter git Skimp inter mischief.” Obadiah laid his fiddle down on his knee, pursed up his lips, and looked aggravatingly cross-eyed at Ike, up from his toes to the crown of his head. “’Twouldn’t take much mo’, Ike, ter make _me_ settle you-uns,” he observed. “I ain’t keerin’ fur you-uns, Obadiah!” cried Ike. “I hev kem ter say my say—an’ I’m a-goin’ ter do it. I b’lieve Jerry Binwell air arter old Squair Torbett’s money what folks ’low he hid in a box in a hollow o’ Keedon Bluffs.” Peter Sawyer’s pipe had fallen from his hand, and the fire and tobacco and ashes rolled out upon the hearth. He gave it no heed. He sat motionless, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his surprised, intent eyes fixed upon the boy’s face. “I never s’picioned at fust what he war arter, though I seen him foolin’ roun’ them Bluffs an’ a-climbin’ on the ledges. But I knowed ’twar suthin’ cur’us. An’ whenst I seen Skimp along o’ him so much I kem hyar this evenin’ an’ tried ter warn him. But ter-night I hearn Jerry Binwell ax uncle Ab—him it war ez holped the Squair hide the box whilst Jerry Binwell watched—what hollow he hid it in.” “An’—an’—did Ab tell him?” demanded Peter Sawyer, leaning down, his excited face close to Ike’s, his eyes full of curiosity and more—intention, suspicion. Once again Ike recognized the false position into which his uncle was thrust. How could any man’s honest repute survive a misunderstanding like this? He realized that in his eager desire to save his friend his tongue had outstripped his prudence. “I jes’ wanter tell Skimp what I hearn,” he said, declining to answer categorically, “an’ then let him go on with Binwell ef he wants ter. I war feared he’d purvail on Skimp, by foolin’ him somehows, ter snake inter them hollows an’ git that box fur him. Whar be Skimp?” “Asleep in bed, whar he oughter be, Ike,” said Skimpy’s mother contentedly rocking by the fire. Peter Sawyer hesitated for a moment. Then he slowly rose. “’Twon’t hurt Skimp ter wake him up. He mought ez well hear this ez not.”