It would not have been easy for even so good a lawyer as Mr. Foster, if Burgin himself had not saved them all trouble on that score.  Long before the slow processes of country criminal justice could bring him to actual trial, so many misdeeds were brought home to him from here and there, that he gave the matter up and freely related not only the manner of the barn-burning, but his revengeful motive for it.  He made his case so very clear that when, in due course of time, he was brought before a judge and jury, there was nothing left for him to do but to plead “guilty.”

That was some months later, however, and just at that time the manner of his capture—­for the story of the demijohn leaked out first of all—­gave the village something new to talk about.  It was as good as a temperance lecture in spite of old Jock’s argument that: 

“You see, boys, good liquor don’t do no harm.  That was real good apple-jack, an’ it jist toled that chap across the bay and captured him without no manner of diffikilty.”

There were plenty who could testify to a different kind of “capture.”

One effect of the previous day’s work, including his adventures as an ornamental cook, was that Dab Kinzer conceived himself bound to be thenceforth especially polite to Joe and Fuz.  The remaining days of their visit would have been altogether too few for the various entertainments he laid out for them.

They were to catch all that was to be caught in the bay.  They were to ride everywhere and see everything.

“They don’t deserve it, Dab,” said Ford; “but you’re a real good fellow.  Mother says so.”

“Does she?” and Dab evidently felt a good deal better after that.

Dick Lee, when his friends found time to think of him, had almost disappeared.  Some three days afterward, while all the rest were out in the “Jenny,” having a good time with their hooks and lines, “Gloriana” made her appearance in Mrs. Kinzer’s dining-room with a face that was darker than usual with motherly anxiety.

“Miss Kinzer, has you seed my Dick dis week?”

“No, he hasn’t been here at all.  Anything the matter with him?”

“Dat’s de berry question.  I doesn’t know wot to make ob ’im.”

“Why, is he studying too hard?”

“It aint jist de books.  I isn’t so much afeard ob dem, but it’s all ’long ob dat ’cad’my.  I wish you’d jist take a look at ’im, fust chance ye git.”

“Does he look bad?”

“No, taint jist altogeder his looks.  He’s de bes’ lookin’ boy ’long shoah.  But den de way he’s goin’ on to talk.  ’T aint nateral.  He use to talk fust rate.”

“Can’t he talk now?”

“Yes, Miss Kinzer, he kin talk, but den de way he gits out his words.  Nebber seen sech a t’ing in all my born days.  Takes him eber so long jist to say good-mornin’.  An’ den he don’t say it like he used ter.  I wish you’d jist take a good look at ’im.”