"Suppose I had gone on with Ben. He is a miserable fellow," thought Harry; "he would have led me into all manner of wickedness. I ought not to have gone with him, or had anything to do with him. He might have made a thief and a robber of me. I know I ain't any better than I should be; but I don't believe I'm as bad as he is. At any rate, I wouldn't set a barn afire. It is all for the best, just as the parson says when anybody dies. By this scrape I have got clear of Ben, and learned a lesson that I won't forget in a hurry." Harry was satisfied with this logic, and really believed that something which an older and more devout person would have regarded as a special providence had interposed to save him from a life of infamy and wickedness. It was a blessed experience, and his thoughts were very serious and earnest. In the afternoon Squire Walker came down to the poorhouse to subject Harry to a preliminary examination. Ben Smart had not been taken, and the pursuers had abandoned the chase. "Boy," said the squire, when Harry was brought before him; "look at me." Harry looked at the overseer with all his might. He had got far enough to despise the haughty little great man. A taste of freedom had enlarged his ideas and developed his native independence, so that he did not quail, as the squire intended he should; on the contrary, his eyes snapped with the earnestness of his gaze. With an honest and just man, his unflinching eye would have been good evidence in his favor; but the pompous overseer wished to awe him, rather than get at the simple truth. "You set my barn on fire," continued the squire. "I did not," replied Harry, firmly. "Yes, you did. How dare you deny it?" "I did not." He had often read, and heard read, that passage of Scripture which says, "Let your communication be Yea, yea, Nay, nay; for whatsoever is more than these cometh of evil." Just then he felt the truth of the inspired axiom. It seemed just as though any amount of violent protestations would not help him; and though the squire repeated the charge half a dozen times, he only replied with his firm and simple denial. Then Squire Walker called his hired man, upon whose evidence he depended for the conviction of the little incendiary. "Is that the boy, John?" asked the squire, pointing to Harry. "No, sir; it was a bigger boy than that," replied John, without hesitation. "Are you sure?" "O, very sure." "It must be that this is the boy," persisted the squire, evidently much disappointed by the testimony of the man. "I am certain it was a bigger boy than this." "I feel pretty clear about it, Mr. Nason," added the squire. "You see, this boy was mad, yesterday, because I wanted to send him to Jacob Wire's. My barn is burned, and it stands to reason he burned it." "But I saw the boy round the barn night afore last," interposed John, who was certainly better qualified to be a justice of the peace than his employer.