CHAPTER XXVII.

Some Plain Talk.

The evening after Tony's return with the money was a very joyful one for

Job Loring. He was continually praising his second son, much to the

disgust of the first, and really seemed to have recovered all of his

habitual cheerfulness.

He never once mentioned Tony's prospects; his own were assured, that was

enough for him.

As the evening wore away he gravitated toward Aaron. There was really

much in common between the man, whose one idea of power was mere

physical strength, and his rawboned son, so closely allied to him by

disposition.

Job Loring was not a cruel man, nor yet did he mean to be an unjust one.

In his rude way his family was dear to him. Of course, the larger the

object, the more love could be bestowed upon it.

To Tony, with his fine, sensitive nature, inherited from his mother's

side of the family, these grosser qualities were far from being

attractive, and his companionship with Morrison had opened his eyes to a

new creation.

So it was with a feeling of relief that he saw his father turn to his

elder brother, and the cloud lifted from the sullen face of the latter.

Long before nine o'clock the next morning Tony was on his way to

Ashville. He found Morrison in the store, and the latter exclaimed, as

soon as his eyes fell upon the pale face of the little fellow:

"Why, Tony, what ails you? You look as though you hadn't a friend in the

world."

Tony made an effort to look happy, but did not wholly succeed. He

glanced into the office, near which they were standing, and saw a stout

man talking with Mr. Smart.

"That's my father," said Morrison, as he noticed the direction of Tony's

glance. "He arrived this morning. I'll introduce you when he comes out.

He was quite interested in you. Here he is now."

As he said this, Morrison turned to the gentleman who had just emerged

from the office.

"Father, this is the boy I was telling you of--Tony Loring. Tony, let me

make you acquainted with my father, Mr. Morrison."

Tony nearly sank to the floor as he felt his hand grasped by that of the

stout man, while a pair of dark eyes scanned him keenly.

"I had some curiosity to meet you," said Mr. Morrison, after his

scrutiny, "as my son has a habit of picking up some rather peculiar

friends. In this instance, I think he has shown much wisdom, considering

his usual lack of judgment."

Both father and son laughed at this, and then the senior Morrison looked

at his watch.

"It is about nine o'clock," he remarked. "Have you seen anything this

morning of the stranger from Scaly Brook? I think you said he was to be

on hand at that time."

"He is standing by the door now," replied Tony, a certain feeling of

strength creeping over him, which he could not account for.

"In that case, I will go with you to Mr. Furbush's," said Mr. Morrison.

The Morrisons, father and son, and Tony left the store at once, and,

accompanied by the red-bearded stranger, proceeded to Mr. Furbush's.

They found that gentleman at home. They were scarely seated when the

senior Morrison said, somewhat abruptly:

"I called, in company with my son, to have a plain talk with you. Of

course, as game-warden, you only did your duty in taking the captured

deer. The Loring boy was not to blame; my son was the responsible

party."

"You mean the guilty party," rejoined Mr. Furbush. "Any one who commits

a crime is considered guilty."

Mr. Morrison smiled.

"There may be various degrees of guilt," he said, quietly; "but I do not

see it in that light. To me, in order to place the guilt of an act upon

a person, that person must do a wrong willfully or maliciously. In this

case, my son did not know he was violating the law."

"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," answered Mr. Furbush. "I've been

deputy sheriff and game-warden for a good many years, and about every

law-breaker has an excuse."

Again Mr. Morrison smiled.

"All very true, no doubt," he replied; "and, in regard to the deer,

there was no real harm done."

"Well, no," admitted Mr. Furbush. "The fine was paid, and I set the deer

at liberty as soon as I received information from the county warden. But

seems to me this talk has all been unnecessary."

"Very likely," assented Mr. Morrison; "but now we come to the real

object of our visit. You have a son Isaac. This gentleman," pointing to

the red-bearded man, "would like to see him."

"I'll call him," said Mr. Furbush.

Isaac was summoned, and came into the room with a frightened look on his

round face.

"I was just going away," he said, glancing uneasily around the room.

"Going in to Duck Lake, I suppose?" queried the stranger.

Isaac grew very red in the face, but made no answer.

"Do you remember," continued the man, "that this boy here"-- pointing

toward Tony-- "lost a lot of gum last fall, and you said I stole it?"

The red in Isaac's face gave place to a deathly pallor, but no reply

passed his lips.

"I don't see what use all these questions are," interrupted Mr. Furbush,

testily. "My son is not a prisoner on trial."

"Well, if he isn't," replied the man, significantly, "it won't hurt him

to answer a few questions. Now, young man, speak up. Didn't you

circulate the story that I stole that gum?"

Isaac began to cry.

"And you did this notwithstanding the fact that I pulled you out of Duck

Lake, thereby saving your life," said the stranger, severely. "Now I

want to jog your memory a little and get you in the habit of telling the

truth. Shall I go on?" he added, turning to Mr. Furbush.

"Oh, I suppose so," replied that individual, wearily. "Make it as short

as possible."

"I stopped a few nights with you and this little chap you call Tony last

fall," continued the stranger. "One night this Tony had a fine lot of

gum, and he put it away careful like. I forgot my pipe one morning, and

went back to the camp for it. The door was open, and I seen you taking

Tony's gum out of where he put it, and I dodged behind the camp and

watched you and see you take it and put it in a holler tree--a far-side

of the path to the spring."

He turned to young Morrison and continued:

"Yesterday morning, when I got up at the camp, I looked in the tree and

found there was a lot of gum. So I shot at it, just to draw your

attention to it. How much gum was concealed there?"

"About fifty pounds," replied Morrison.

"If you knew my son was doing as you claim he did, why did you not tell

this other boy?" demanded Mr. Furbush.

"Because," answered the stranger, "I didn't go back to the camp again

after I see this boy a-hiding it away in the tree, and the next time I

see 'em was when I pulled 'em out of the lake."

"Is that all?" asked Mr. Furbush. "If it is, I'd like to ascertain the

object of all these accusations and questions. What proof have we that

my son did this or that you didn't do it? The boy has his property back,

and why not let the matter drop? It looks to me like a trifling matter,

anyway."

The face of Isaac brightened a little at this, but when his eye met that

of the stranger, he trembled again.

"I'll tell you what the object of this is," he said. "This boy of yours

made me out a thief; now I want to show it's him and not me. As for

proof, I'll leave it to him, and forty-five dollars worth of gum ain't

no trifling matter."

Then he turned sharply to Isaac.

"Didn't you take that gum yourself?" he asked. "Remember, this is going

to court unless I'm cleared of it."

Isaac whimpered.

"If I own up to it will that save me?" he asked.

"Yes," assured Tony; "tell the truth."

"I took it," confessed Isaac. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry he's found out," muttered the stranger. Then he said in a louder

tone, "I hope this'll be a warning. There's nothing so good for everyday

wear as the truth. It'll wash and won't fade."