rather carelessly: “I wonder if he kicked?”

“You wunner if wheä kicked?” came the slow response.

“Absalom, when Joab stabbed him. The other day, when the pigs were killed, they all kicked like mad.”

Bolland laid down the Bible and glanced at Martin with a puzzled air. He was not annoyed or even surprised at the unlooked-for deduction. It had simply never occurred to him that one might read the Bible and construct actualities from the plain-spoken text.

“Hoo div’ I knoä?” he said calmly; “it says nowt about it i’ t’ chapter.”

Then Martin awoke with a start. He saw how nearly he had betrayed himself a second time, how ready were the lips to utter ungoverned thoughts.

He flushed slightly.

“Is that all for to-day, father?” he said.

Before Bolland could answer, there came a knock at the door.

“See wheä that is,” said the farmer, readjusting his spectacles.

[Pg 8]

[Pg 8]

A big, hearty-looking young man entered. He wore clothes of a sporting cut and carried a hunting-crop, with the long lash gathered in his fingers.

“Oah, it’s you, is it, Mr. Pickerin’?” said Bolland, and Martin’s quick ears caught a note of restraint, almost of hostility, in the question.

“Yes, Mr. Bolland, an’ how are ye?” was the more friendly greeting. “I just dropped in to have a settlement about that beast.”

“A sattlement! What soart o’ sattlement?”

The visitor sat down, uninvited, and produced some papers from his pocket.

“Well, Mr. Bolland,” he said quietly, “it’s not more’n four months since I gave you sixty pounds for a thoroughbred shorthorn, supposed to be in calf to Bainesse Boy the Third.”

“Right enough, Mr. Pickerin’. You’ve gotten t’ certificates and t’ receipt for t’ stud 

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