looked up into the evil eyes of Farmer Weeks!

"Stop her!" he cried. "She picked my pocket!"




CHAPTER III

AND AN OLD FRIEND HELPS


Bessie gasped in sheer terror, and for a moment she couldn't open her
mouth. Farmer Weeks, his weather-beaten face twisted into a grin of
malice and dislike, stood looking down at her, his bony hand gripping
her wrist. Even had it been in Bessie's mind to run away, she could not
have done it. And, as a matter of fact, the shock of hearing his voice,
of seeing him, and, above all, of being accused of such a thing, had
deprived her for the moment of the use of her legs as well as of the
power of speech.

Then, while Farmer Weeks lifted his voice again, calling for a
policeman, Bessie got a vivid and sharp lesson in the interest a city
crowd can be induced to take in anything out of the ordinary, no matter
how trifling. The pavement where they stood was densely crowded already.
Now more people seemed to spring up from nowhere at all, and they were
surrounded by a ring of people who pressed against one another, calling
curious questions, all trying to get into the front rank to see whatever
was to be seen.