“I’ll give you a hint as strong as a Irishman’s, which they do say’ll knock you down.  Let’s s’pose a case.  They a’n’t no harm in s’posin’ a case, you know.  I’ve knowed boys who’d throw a rock at a fence-rail and hit a stump, and then say, ‘S’posin’ they was a woodpecker on that air stump, wouldn’t I a keeled him over?’ You can s’pose a case and make a woodpecker wherever you want to.  Well, s’posin’ they was a inquisition or somethin’ of the kind from the guv’nor of the State of ole Kaintuck to the guv’nor of the State of Injeanny?  And s’posin’ that the dokyment got lodged in this ‘ere identical county?  And s’posin’ it called fer the body of one Thomas A. Parkins, a_li_as J.W.  ‘Umphreys?  And s’posin’ it speecified as to sartain and sundry crimes committed in Paduky and all along the shore, fer all I know?  Now, s’posin’ all of them air things, what would Clark township do to console itself when that toonful v’ice and them air blazin’ watch-seals had set in ignominy for ever and ever?  Selah!  Good-night, and don’t you breathe a word to a livin’ soul, nur a dead one, ‘bout what I been a-sayin’.  You’ll know more by daylight to-morry ’n you know now.”

And the last part of the speech was true, for by midnight the Hawk had fled.  And the sale of the Anderson farm to Humphreys was never completed.  For three days the end of the world was forgotten in the interest which Clark township felt in the flight of its favorite.  And by degrees the story of Norman’s encounter with the gamblers and of August’s recovery of the money became spread abroad through the confidential hints of Jonas.  And by degrees another story became known; it could not long be concealed.  It was the story of Betsey Malcolm, who averred that she had been privately married to Humphreys on the occasion of a certain trip they had made to Kentucky together, to attend a “big meeting.”  The story was probably true, but uncharitable gossips shook their heads.

It was only a few evenings after the flight of Humphreys that Jonas had another talk with Cynthy Ann, in which he confessed that all his supposed case about a requisition from the governor of Kentucky for Humphreys’s arrest was pure fiction.

“But, Jonas, is—­is that air right?  I’m afeard it a’n’t right to tell an ontruth.”

“So ’ta’n’t; but I only s’posed a case, you know.”

“But Brother Hall said last Sunday two weeks, that anything that gin a false impression was—­was lying.  Now, I don’t think you meant it, but then I thought I orto speak to you about it.”

“Well, maybe you’re right.  I see you last summer a-puttin’ up a skeercrow to keep the poor, hungry little birds of the air from gittin’ the peas that they needed to sustain life.  An’ I said, What a pity that the best woman I ever seed should tell lies to the poor little birds that can’t defend theirselves from her wicked wiles!  But I see that same day a skeercrow, a mean, holler, high-percritical purtense of a ole hat and coat, a-hanging in Brother Goshorn’s garden down to the cross-roads.  An’ I wondered ef it was your Methodis’ trainin’ that taught you sech-like cheatin’ of the little sparrys and blackbirds.”