I thought of the window beside Ralph's crib, that Jessie so stoutly averred she did not leave open, and light dawned upon me. "Yes!" I repeated, sternly, contempt for the wretch before me overcoming all fear; "Jessie's dictionary." I had, by this time, picked up the book. Mr. Horton extended his hand toward it; and his tone was almost humble as he said: "Let me see it." When the book was in his hands, he turned over the leaves, examining them with evident surprise and bewilderment. Finally: "It is a dictionary, ain't it?" he said, feebly, and repeated, under his breath. "It is a dictionary!" "You thought, when you opened the window last night, and stole it off the ledge, that it was the Bible, with our family record in it, didn't you?" I recklessly inquired. But Mr. Horton was past being angry. "Yes, I did," he said, making the admission as if still dazed. "And you left the window open?" I went on. "Yes, I did. The dog took after me--the dog has been hot on my trail from first to last, it 'pears, and you ain't been fur behind him." "No," I admitted, glancing at his torn coat, from which the upper button was still absent, "I don't think I have. I even have a bit of your property as a reward for some of my work. There's a button missing from your coat. I found it." "Where?" Mr. Horton inquired, in a low voice. "Under the window that you are so fond of visiting; the one that you started the fire under some weeks ago." Mr. Horton stirred uneasily, and again glanced toward his horse. "You think I lost the button there, do you?" "I know you did." Mr. Horton did not dispute the statement. He had dropped down on a log, after the discovery of the dictionary, as if his knees were too weak to sustain him. He looked at Guard, and then at me, studying us both for a full minute. "You make quite a pair of detectives, you and the dog," he said. Then, suddenly, he rose to his feet, his bunched up figure straightened, he lifted his head, as one might who had inwardly made some strong resolve, and I felt, with a curious kind of thrill, that a new atmosphere enveloped us both. Quite irrelevantly, as it then seemed to me, some words that father had spoken many weeks ago, came into my mind: "They all tell me," he had said, "that Horton's as good a friend as one need ask for, once let him be fairly beaten at his own game." Could that be true? Surely, if ever a man was fairly and very badly beaten, this one was. The result had been brought about, in a measure, by his own blundering, but it was none the less effective for that. If he would but acknowledge it--if he would cease to persecute us! At the very thought of such a thing as that the world seemed suddenly to grow radiant. I had not seemed to realize before how much of our trouble, our unspoken apprehension and dread of impending calamity was due to this man.