He shoved ingratiating hand into the hook of the other’s bony elbow and led him away.

“But I want my valise,” pleaded Mr. Crymble.

“You leave that coffin-plate and epitaph with her,” said the Cap’n, firmly.  “You’re in for a good old age and don’t need ’em.  And they may cheer up Mis’ Crymble from time to time.  She needs cheerin’ up.”

Hiram Look, following them out of the yard, yanked up the trespass sign and advanced to Batson Reeves and brandished it over his head.

“Gimme it!” he rasped.

“What?” quavered Reeves.

“That paper I stood here and watched you makin’ up.  Gimme it, or I’ll peg you like I peg tent-pegs for the big tent.”

And Reeves, having excellent ideas of discretion, passed over the list of trespasses.  He did not look up at the windows of the Crymble house as he rode away with his brother, the squire.  And what was significant, he took away with him the neck-halter that, for convenience’ sake on his frequent calls, he had left hanging to the hitching-post in the Crymble yard for many weeks.

XXVII

At last the Women’s Temperance Workers’ Union of Smyrna became thoroughly indignant, in addition to being somewhat mystified.

Twice they had “waited on” Landlord Ferd Parrott, of the Smyrna tavern—­twelve of them in a stern delegation—­and he had simply blinked at them out of his puckery eyes, and pawed nervously at his weazened face, and had given them no satisfaction.

Twice they had marched bravely into the town office and had faced Cap’n Aaron Sproul, first selectman, and had complained that Ferd Parrott was running “a reg’lar rum-hole.”  Cap’n Sproul had nipped his bristly beard and gazed away from them at the ceiling, and said he would see what could be done about it.

Mrs. Aaron Sproul, a devoted member of the W.T.W.’s, was appointed a committee of one to sound him, and found him, even in the sweet privacy of home, so singularly embarrassed and uncommunicative that her affectionate heart was disturbed and grieved.

Then came Constable Zeburee Nute into the presence of the town’s chief executive with a complaint.

“They’re gittin’ worse’n hornicks round me,” he whined, “them Double-yer T. Double-yers.  Want Ferd’s place raided for licker.  But I understood you to tell me—­”

“I hain’t told you northin’ about it!” roared the Cap’n, with mighty clap of open palm on the town ledger.

“Well, you hain’t give off orders to raid, seize and diskiver, libel and destroy,” complained the officer.

“What be you, a ’tomatom that don’t move till you pull a string, or be you an officer that’s supposed to know his own duty clear, and follow it?” demanded the first selectman.

“Constables is supposed to take orders from them that’s above ’em,” declared Mr. Nute.  “I’m lookin’ to you, and the Double-yer T. Double-yers is lookin’ to you.”