Mr. Grimshaw shook his head with anger and beat the floor with the end of his cane.

“Nobody knows anything o’ the kind, Baynes,” said Mr. Dunkelberg.  “Of course Amos never thought o’ killing anybody.  He’s a harmless kind of a boy.  I know him well and so do you.  The only thing that anybody ever heard against him is that he’s a little lazy.  Under the circumstances Mr. Grimshaw is afraid that Bart’s story will make it difficult for Amos to prove his innocence.  Just think of it.  That boy was lost and wandering around in the woods at the time o’ the murder.  As to that scar, Amos says that he ran into a stub when he was going through a thicket in the night.”

Uncle Peabody shook his head with a look of firmness.

Again Grimshaw laughed between his teeth as he looked at my uncle.  In his view every man had his price.

“I see that I’m the mouse an’ you’re the cat,” he resumed, as that curious laugh rattled in his throat.  “Look a’ here, Baynes, I’ll tell ye what I’ll do.  I’ll cancel the hull mortgage.”

Again Uncle Peabody rose from his chair with a look in his face which I have never forgotten.  How his voice rang out!

“No, sir!” he shouted so loudly that we all jumped to our feet and Aunt Deel covered her face with her apron and began to cry.  It was like the explosion of a blast.  Then the fragments began falling with a loud crash: 

“NO, SIR!  YE CAN’T BUY THE NAIL ON MY LITTLE FINGER OR HIS WITH ALL YER MONEY—­DAMN YOU!”

It was like the shout of Israel from the top of the mountains.  Shep bounced into the house with hair on end and the chickens cackled and the old rooster clapped his wings and crowed with all the power of his lungs.  Every member of that little group stood stock-still and breathless.

I trembled with a fear I could not have defined.  Quick relief came when, straightway, my uncle went out of the room and stood on the stoop, back toward us, and blew his nose vigorously with his big red handkerchief.  He stood still looking down and wiping his eyes.  Mr. Grimshaw shuffled out of the door, his cane rapping the floor as if his arm had been stricken with palsy in a moment.

Mr. Dunkelberg turned to my aunt, his face scarlet, and muttered an apology for the disturbance and followed the money-lender.

I remember that my own eyes were wet as I went to my aunt and kissed her.  She kissed me—­a rare thing for her to do—­and whispered brokenly but with a smile:  “We’ll go down to the poorhouse together, Bart, but we’ll go honest.”

“Come on, Bart,” Uncle Peabody called cheerfully, as he walked toward the barnyard.  “Le’s go an’ git in them but’nuts.”

He paid no attention to our visitors—­neither did my aunt, who followed us.  The two men talked together a moment, unhitched their horses, got into their buggies and drove away.  The great red rooster had stood on the fence eying them.  As they turned their horses and drove slowly toward the gate, he clapped his wings and crowed lustily.