I will not hesitate to state that I was nearly stunned by Mr. Aaron Woodward’s unexpected statement.  I knew that when he announced that I was a worse villain than my father he meant a good deal.

Yet try as hard as I could it was impossible for me to discover what he really did mean.  I was not conscious of having done him any injury, either bodily or otherwise.  Indeed, of late I had hardly seen the man.  The Widow Canby was not partial to dealings with him, and I never went near him on my own account.

It was plain to see that the merchant was thoroughly aroused.  His face was pale with anger, and the look he cast upon me was one of bitter resentment.  For the instant he eyed me as if he intended to spring upon me and choke the life out of my body, and involuntarily I shrank back.  But then I recollected that the minions of the law who stood beside me would not allow such a course of procedure, and this made me breathe more freely.

“Yes, sir; he’s a worse villain than his father!” repeated Mr. Aaron Woodward, turning to Judge Penfold; “a most accomplished villain, sir.”  And he shook his fist within an inch of my nose.

“What have I done to you, Mr. Woodward?” I demanded, as soon as I could speak.

“Done, sir?  You know very well what you’ve done, you young rascal!” puffed the merchant.  “Oh, but I’ll make you pay dearly for your villainy.”

“I’ve committed no villainy,” I returned warmly.  “If you refer to the way I treated Duncan this morning, why all I’ve got to say is that it was his own fault, and I can prove it.”

“Treated Duncan?  Oh, pshaw!  This is far more serious affair than a boy’s quarrel.  Don’t let him escape, Parsons”—­ the last to the constable, who had his hand on my shoulder.

“No fear, sir,” was Parson’s reply.  “He’s already under arrest.”

“Under arrest?” repeated the merchant quickly.  “Then you’ve already heard—­”

“He is ahem—­ only under detention as a witness,” spoke up Judge Penfold.  “I do not think he had anything to do with the theft of the widow’s money.”

“Widow’s money!  What do you mean?”

In a few words Judge Penfold explained the situation.  “Isn’t this what you came about?” he asked then.

“Indeed, no, sir.  My affair is far more important—­ at least to me.  But you can make up your mind that Strong’s story is purely fiction.  He is undoubtedly the real culprit, undoubtedly.  Takes after his father.”

“My father was an honest man!” I cried out.  “I don’t care what you or any one may say!  Some day he will be cleared of the stain on his name.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” sneered Mr. Woodward.  “Mean while, however, the community at large had better keep a sharp eye on his son.  Whom do you assert stole the Widow Canby’s money?”

“A tramp.”

“Humph!  A likely story.”

“It’s true.  His name was John Stumpy.”

“John Stumpy!”