“But maybe he isn’t guilty,” I put in, by way of a mild protest.

“Maybe.  Of course it’s rather tough on him if he isn’t.  But you can’t tell nowadays; boys is so all-fired high toned, and want to play big fiddle.”

“Some boys are, but not all of them.”

“Some of them.  Now there’s our landlord, who is in the house now, he’s got a son as extravagant as can be, and if it wasn’t for Mr. Woodward keeping him in funds I don’t know what that boy might not do.  He—­ whoa, there, Billy, whoa!”

The last remark was addressed to a horse standing in one of the stalls.  A clap of thunder had set the animal to prancing.

“Your horse feels rather uneasy,” I remarked, glad of a chance to change the subject.

“Allers acts that way when there’s a storm going on.  Too bad, too, for I want to hitch him up and take Mr. Woodward and another man that’s with him over to Darbyville.”

As Mr. Decker spoke he led the horse from the stall and backed him up between the shafts of the carriage that stood near the rear of the barn.

While he was hitching up I set myself to thinking.  While I was perfectly willing that Mr. Woodward should return to Darbyville, I did not wish to allow John Stumpy out of my sight.  Once away, and I might not be able to lay hands on him.

Had I been sure that Kate had succeeded in finding the lost statement, I would not have cared, but the chances in her favor were slim, and I did not wish to run any risks.

“Are you going to drive around to the house for them?” I asked as the farmer finished the job.

“Guess I’ll have to.  It will be a beastly drive.  Sorry I can’t offer you a seat—­ it would be better than walking.”

“I think I’ll wait till it clears off,” I returned.  “I’m not on business, and—­”

“Say, Decker, how long is it going to take you to hitch up?” interrupted a voice from the doorway, and the next instant Mr. Woodward strode into the barn, followed by John Stumpy.

I did not have time to conceal myself.  I tried to step behind a partition, but before I could do so the merchant’s eye was on me.

“Roger Strong!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, as boldly as I could.

“How did you get here?” he demanded.

“Walked, just as you did.”

“Thought you were in jail.”

“So do most people.”

“Who is this chap?” asked the farmer, staring at me with open eyes.

“It’s the boy who was arrested for that robbery last night,” explained the merchant.

“Shoo—­ you don’t say?  And I was talking to him about that very thing.  You rascal, you!”

“How did you get out?” put in John Stumpy.

“None of your business,” I replied briskly.  “If you’d had your way I’d been burnt up in the tool house last night.”

“No such thing,” was the tramp’s reply.  “Never saw you before.”