Had the question not been uttered,

   it would have died upon his lips, so much surprised was he at what he saw.

   Mr. Peaslee, white and trembling with some strong emotion, had his hands upon the table and was raising himself, slowly and painfully, to his feet. He rolled his eyes, which looked bigger and more pathetic than ever behind his glasses, toward Farnsworth at the sound of his voice, but the young man knew instinctively that Solomon, moved by some strong idea of his own, had not grasped the question.

   "Gentlemen," Mr. Peaslee began, in shaky tones, "I guess I got a

   word to say afore ye find a true bill agin that little feller. He's as peaceable a boy as ever I saw, and I guess I can't let him stay all bolted and barred into no jail, when it don't need anythin' but my say-so to get him out. Ye see, gentlemen,"—Solomon paused, moistened his dry mouth, and cast a timorous look over the puzzled faces of the jurymen,—"ye see, 't was me that shot Lamoury."

   Not a sound came from the grand jury; the members sat and stared at him in blank wonder, hardly able to credit their ears. Paige, the state's attorney, who was making some

   notes at the time, held his pen for a good half-minute part way between his paper and the inkstand while he gazed in astonishment at Peaslee. To have a grand juror, a sober, respectable man, rise in the jury-room and confess that he is the real offender in a case under consideration, is not usual. The surprise was absolute.

   For Farnsworth, it was more than a surprise; it was a relief. Then his betrothed had been right; Jim had not fired the shot! He felt a glow of admiration for Nancy's sure intuition and loyalty to her pupil. He rejoiced that Jim was cleared for her sake

   and for the boy's. Insensibly he had grown more and more interested in Jim and attached to him. Now—everything was explained.

   Everything? No, Jim's strange activity in concealing the evidences of the shot, his queer reserve when questioned as to what he knew—these seemed more perplexing than ever.

   Farnsworth, hoping for light upon these points, settled back in his chair to listen. Mr. Peaslee had more to say.

   "It kinder goes agin the grain," Solomon resumed, with a weary, deprecatory smile, "to own up

   

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