didn't shoot, I can get you out of here quick."

   "What they going to do to me?" said Jim.

   "That depends. It makes a difference how much Lamoury's hurt. The penalty might be severe if he's got a bad wound. But even then, if we could show that you didn't know he was there, or that the gun went off by accident, or that you were firing at something else, it would make a big difference. And if you can show that you weren't there at all—why, out you go, scot-free. But, Jim, you can see yourself that if you don't tell what you know, everybody'll think that you shot and meant to hurt Lamoury, and then it might go pretty hard with you. Now come, tell me what happened."

   "You'd better tell, Jimmie," said Mrs. Calkins, straightening up from her wash-tub. "You won't find any better friends than Mr. Farnsworth and Miss Ware."

   The young man, as he talked, watched the boy curiously. Jim flushed and squirmed, and looked now at the floor and now out at the window, with a marked uneasiness and embarrassment that greatly puzzled his friend. And when he stopped, and the boy had to answer, his distress became really pitiable.

   "Can't you tell me, Jim?" Mr. Farnsworth hazarded, after a little, putting a kindly hand on the boy's

   arm, while Mrs. Calkins stood quiet by her tub in friendly expectation.

   But Jim remained dumb.

   After waiting a little, Farnsworth, seeing the boy so miserable, took pity on him.

   "Well, never mind, Jim," he said. "You needn't tell if you don't want to."

   He would have to let Nancy coax it out of him. But he was puzzled, impressed with a sense of mystery and with a growing conviction that the boy was shielding some one else. He began to talk cheerfully of other things, hoping that Jim might perhaps drop a useful hint, or, at least,

   that the boy would gain confidence in him as a friend. By chance he asked:—

   "Where did you get the knife, Jim?"

   "Mr. Peaslee gave it to me."

   "Peaslee!" exclaimed Farnsworth. He well knew the "closeness" of his 

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