“A boy that is honest enough to speak up and confess—to do such a thing—I can’t understand it,” the justice mused aloud, observing Westy keenly. “It’s lettin’ ’em hev guns that’s to blame,” observed the game warden. “It’s dressin’ ’em all up like hunters an’ callin’ ’em scaouts as duz it,” said Farmer Sands. “They was wantin’ me ter contribute money fer them scaouts, but I sez—I sez no, ’tain’t no good gon’ ter come of it, dressin’ youngsters up ’an givin’ ’em firearms an’ sendin’ ’em out ter vialate the laws.” “They seem to know how to tell the truth,” said the justice, apparently rather puzzled. “He was gon’ ter hide in Luke Meadows’ place when we catched him red-handed an’ he wuz sceered outer his seven senses an’ that’s why he confessed,” said Farmer Sands vehemently. “Nobody can scare me into doing anything,” said Westy, defiantly. “I told because I wanted to tell and the reason you didn’t give money to the boy scouts was because you’re too stingy.” This was the second time on that fateful day that Westy had shot and hit the mark. It seemed to amuse both the judge and the game warden. CHAPTER XIII THE PENALTY “Has your uncle a telephone?” the justice asked, not unkindly. “No, sir,” said Westy. “Anyway, I wouldn’t want to telephone him.” “Could you get your father in Bridgeboro by ’phone?” “He’d be in New York, and anyway, I don’t want to ’phone him.” “Hum,” mused the judge. “Well, I’m afraid I haven’ much choice then, my boy. The fine for what you did is a hundred dollars. I’ll have to turn you over to the sheriff, then perhaps I’ll get in communication——” Westy’s sweaty, trembling hand came up out of his pocket bringing his treasure with it. Boyishly, he did not even think to remove the elastic band which was around the roll of bills, but laid the whole thing upon the justice’s desk. “Here—here it is,” he said nervously, “—to—to pay for what I did. There’s more than what you said—there’s three dollars more.” There was a touch of pathos in the innocence which was ready to pay the fine with extra measure—and to throw in an elastic band as well. Farmer Sands looked shrewdly suspicious as the justice removed the elastic band and counted the money; he seemed on the point of hinting that Westy might have stolen it. “Where did you get this?” the justice asked, visibly touched at the sight of the little roll that Westy had handed over. “I had about twenty-five dollars when I came,” said Westy, “and the rest my uncle paid me for working for him on his farm.” “There seems to be three dollars too much,” the justice said, handing that amount back to Westy. The boy took it nervously and said, “Thank you.”