“Yes, Mr. Nilsson saved his life,” she answered slowly, with girlish dignity, a backward rush filling her heart as she remembered Carl staggering out of the burning stable, Patsy held close to his breast. “The fellers in Rockville say ye think it was set afire. I see Justice Rowan turned Billy McGaw loose. Do ye suspect anybody else? Some says a tramp crawled in and upset his pipe.” This lie was coined on the spot and issued immediately to see if it would pass. “Mother says she knows who did it, and it'll all come out in time. Cully found the can this morning,” said Jennie, leaning against the table. Quigg's jaw fell and his brow knit as Jennie spoke. That was just like the fool, he said to himself. Why didn't he get the stuff in a bottle and then break it? But the subject was too dangerous to linger over, so he began talking of the dance down at the Town Hall, and the meeting last Sunday after church. He asked her if she would go with him to the “sociable” they were going to have at No. 4 Truck-house; and when she said she couldn't,--that her mother didn't want her to go out, etc.,--Quigg moved his chair closer, with the remark that the old woman was always putting her oar in and spoiling things; the way she was going on with the Union would ruin her; she'd better join in with the boys, and be friendly; they'd “down her yet if she didn't.” “I hope nothing will happen to mother, Mr. Quigg,” said Jennie, in an anxious tone, as she sank into a chair. Quigg misunderstood the movement, and moved his own closer. “There won't nothin' happen any more, Jennie, if you'll do as I say.” It was the first time he had ever called her by her name. She could not understand how he dared. She wished Carl would come in. “Will you do it?” asked Quigg eagerly, his cunning face and mean eyes turned toward her. Jennie never raised her head. Her cheeks were burning. Quigg went on,-- “I've been keepin' company with ye, Jennie, all winter, and the fellers is guyin' me about it. You know I'm solid with the Union and can help yer mother, and if ye'll let me speak to Father McCluskey next Sunday”-- The girl sprang from her chair. “I won't have you talk that way to me, Dennis Quigg! I never said a word to you, and you know it.” Her mother's spirit was now flashing in her eyes. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself to come here--and”-- Then she broke down. Another woman would have managed it differently, perhaps,--by a laugh, a smile of contempt, or a frigid refusal. This mere child, stung to the quick by Quigg's insult, had only her tears in defense. The Walking Delegate turned his head and looked out of the window. Then he caught up his hat and without a word to the sobbing girl hastily left the room.