something, and with an expression of terror glanced around and pointed
with his whip behind him. The furious rattle of the wagon prevented Tom's
catching the words, and the terrified farmer did not repeat them, but
lashed his team harder than ever, vanishing in a cloud of dust raised by
his own wheels.

"He must be crazy," said Tom, unable to think of any other explanation of
the old man's frantic behavior.

The lad stood with his head turned toward the cloud of dust, wondering and
speculating over the strange affair, when hurried footsteps caused him to
turn quickly and look again in the direction of the village.

This time it was Jim Travers, who was panting from his running, and whose
face was a picture of consternation, equal to that of Farmer MacDowell.

"What's the matter, Jim?" asked Tom as his schoolmate reached him.

"O Tom, ain't it awful?" gasped the new arrival, coming to a halt, still
panting, and casting affrighted glances in the direction of Briggsville.

"Ain't _what_ awful?"

"Gracious! hain't you heard the news? I thought everybody knowed it."

And the tired boy took off his hat and rubbed his sleeve across his
steaming forehead, as though his expression of surprise at Tom's ignorance
communicated of itself the news to him. Tom, as may be supposed, was on
needles; for, as yet, he had not received the first hint of the
occurrence, which certainly must have been of a stirring nature.