schoolfellows, and, in my day; for one boy to tell on another was
the unpardonable sin.

My father came in soon after, and when he heard so much of the
story as I had told Mistress Pennyquick he drew his fingers through
his beard and said in his quiet way: "To be sure, barrels were not
made for that kind of vetch!"

And then we sat down to supper. We had hardly begun when there came
a smart rap on the door, and, with the freedom of our country
manners, in walked a visitor. My heart gave a jump when I saw it
was none other than Captain Galsworthy, the gentleman with whom Mr.
Vetch had been in converse at the bridge.

We knew the captain well; he was, in a way, one of the notable
persons of our town. We boys looked on him with a vast admiration
and reverence, not so much for his title--for there are captains
and captains, and I have known some who have done little in the
matter of feats of arms--as because he bore on his lean and rugged
countenance marks which no one could mistake. A deep scar seamed
his right temple, and on one of his cheeks were several little
black pits which we believed to be the marks of bullets. He spoke
but rarely of his own doings, and until he came to Shrewsbury a few
years before this he had been a stranger to the town: but it was
commonly reported that he had been in the service of the Czar of
Muscovy, and since that potentate was ever unwilling that any
officer who had once served him should leave him (save by death or
hanging), it was supposed that the captain had made his escape. He
lived alone in a little cottage on the Wem road, and, not being too
plentifully endowed with this world's goods, he eked out his