I'll bid farewell to every fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes."

Kit slipped around the side drive behind the house out to the hill road.
Mr. Hicks would have to come from Gilead Green in this direction, and here
she sat on one of the high entrance posts, waiting and cogitating.

The woodbine that clambered over the two high, white posts was still
green, but scrambling along the ground were wild blackberry runners just
turning a rich brown crimson.

The minutes passed and still Mr. Hicks failed to appear. If Kit could have
visualized his journey hither, she might have beheld him, lingering here
and there along the country roads, stopping to tell the news to any
neighbor who might be working out his road tax in the lull of the season
between haying and harvest time. Beside him sat Elvira, his youngest,
drinking in every word with tense appreciation of the novelty. It was the
first chance Mr. Hicks had had to make an arrest during his term of
office, and as a special test and reward of diligence, Elvira had been
permitted to come along and behold the climax with her own eyes. But the
twenty minutes stretched out into nearly an hour's time and more, and
Kit's heart sank when she beheld her father strolling leisurely down the
orchard path, just as Mr. Hicks hove in sight.

Mr. Weaver hobbled beside him, smiling contentedly.

"Well, I guess we've got 'em licked this time, Jerry," he chuckled. "If
there's a bug or a moth that can stand that leetle dose of mine, I'll eat
the whole apple crop myself."