Then my brother spoke--

"We're going to lead home our colts," he said curtly; "and you can
lead home yours. We shall take better care of ours after this
experience. They won't be allowed to run wild in the back pasture."

"Boys--Quincey an' me----"

"Shush-h-h!" said Ajax. "That fellow out there is a long way off. I
could not swear in a court of law that he is the person we take him to
be. Whom he looks like we know, who he is we don't know, and we don't
wish to know. So long."

We rode back to our colts.




III

PAP SPOONER


Pap Spooner was about sixty-five years old, and the greatest miser in
San Lorenzo County. He lived on less than a dollar a day, and allowed
the rest of his income to accumulate at the rate of one per cent, a
month, compound interest.

When Ajax and I first made his acquaintance he was digging post-holes.
The day, a day in September, was uncommonly hot. I said, indiscreetly: