"She's as much guilty of theft as if there had been a hundred dollars in
it," said Farmer Weeks, recovering from his dismay at the exposure of
the trick. "You arrest her or I'll--"

"What will yez do, ye spalpeen?" said the policeman. "If ye get gay wid
me I'll run yez in--and don't be afther forgettin' that, either!"

As he spoke he turned, angrily, to observe a small boy who was tugging
at his sleeve.

"Say, mister, say," begged the boy, "listen here a minute, will yer? I
seen the old guy slip his purse into her pocket. She never took it."

Tom's eyes, as he heard, lighted up.

"By Gad, Mike, that's what he did!" he exclaimed. "Did you hear how
ready he was to tell just which pocket she had it in? How'd he have
known that--unless he put it there, eh?"

"It's a lie!" stormed Farmer Weeks. "Here, are you going to lock that
girl up as a thief or not?"

"Indade and I'm not," said the officer, warmly. "Drop her wrist--quick!"

He stepped forward as he spoke, and Weeks, seeing by the gleam in the
Irishman's eye that he had gone too far, quickly released Bessie. As she
moved away from him he stood still, red-eyed and trembling with rage.

"An' what's more, you old scalawag," said the policeman, "I'm going to
run _you_ in. Maybe you never heard tell of perjury, but it's worse