“I didn’t really like him as well—­as well as—­” quavered the widow, her eyes on the appealing orbs of Mr. Gammon; “but I was told I was in danger, and he wanted to be my protector.”

“Protector!” sneered Hiram.  “Since he’s been a widderer he’s been tryin’ to court and marry every woman in the town of Smyrna that’s got a farm and property.  We know it.  We can prove it.  All he wants is money!  You’ve just escaped by luck, chance, and the skin of your teeth from a cuss that northin’ is too low for him to lay his hand to.  What do you think of a man that, in order to make trouble and disgrace for his neighbors, will dress up in his dead wife’s clothes and snoop around back doors and write anonymous letters to confidin’ wimmen?”

“My Lawd!” gasped the widow.

“We caught him at it!  So, as I say, you’ve escaped from a hyena.  Now, Mr. Gammon only needs a wife like you to get him out of the dumps.”

Mr. Gammon wiped tears from his cheeks and gazed down on her.

“Charles,” she said, gently, “won’t you come into the house for a few minits?  I want to talk to you!”

But as Mr. Gammon was about to obey joyously, Hiram seized his arm.

“Just a moment,” he objected.  “We’ll send him right in to you, marm, but we’ve got just a little matter of business to talk over with him.”

And when they were behind the barn he took Mr. Gammon by his coat-collar with the air of a friend.

“Gammon,” said he, “what are you goin’ to do to him?  Me and the Cap’n are interested.  He’ll be comin’ here this evenin’.  He’ll be comin’ to court.  Now, what are you goin’ to do?”

There was an expression on Mr. Gammon’s face that no one had ever seen there before.  His eyes were narrowed.  His pointed tongue licked his lips.  His thin hair bristled.

“What are you goin’ to do to him?”

“Lick him!” replied Mr. Gammon.  It was laconic, but it sounded like a rat-tail file on steel.

“You can do it!” said Hiram, cheerfully.  “The Cap’n and I both have done it, and it’s no trouble at all.  I was in hopes you’d say that!”

“Lick him till his tongue hangs out!” said Mr. Gammon, with bitterer venom.

“That will be a good place to lay for him; right down there by the alders,” suggested the Cap’n, pointing his finger.

“Yes, sir, lick him till his own brother won’t know him.”  And Mr. Gammon clicked together his bony fists, as hard as flints.

“And that’s another point!” said Hiram, hastily.  “You’ve seen to-day that I’m a pretty shrewd chap to guess.  I’ve been round the world enough to put two and two together.  Makin’ man my study is how I’ve got my property.  Now, Gammon, you’ve got that writin’ by Squire Alcander Reeves.  When you said ‘brother’ it reminded me of what I’ve been ponderin’.  Bat Reeves has been making the Widder Orff matter a still hunt.  His brother wasn’t on.  When you went to the squire to complain, squire saw a chance to get the Cap’n into a law scrape—­slander, trespass, malicious mischief—­something!  Them lawyers are ready for anything!”