without apparently the slightest concern whether anybody else spoke,
whether he was listened to, or whether his remarks were at all relevant
to the case. Yet he was always listened to for that reason. When he had
finished writing, he folded up the paper, put it in an envelope, and
addressed it.

"Shall I take it to her?" said Leonidas eagerly.

"It's not for HER; it's for him--Mr. Burroughs," said Mr. Hamlin
quietly.

The boy drew back. "To get him out of the way," added Hamlin
explanatorily. "When he gets it, lightning wouldn't keep him here. Now,
how to send it," he said thoughtfully.

"You might leave it at the post-office," said Leonidas timidly. "He
always goes there to watch his wife's letters."

For the first time in their interview Mr. Hamlin distinctly laughed.

"Your head is level, Leo, and I'll do it. Now the best thing you can do
is to follow Mrs. Burroughs's advice. Quit going to the house for a day
or two." He walked towards his horse. The boy's face sank, but he kept
up bravely. "And will I see you again?" he said wistfully.

Mr. Hamlin lowered his face so near the boy's that Leonidas could see
himself in the brown depths of Mr. Hamlin's eyes. "I hope you will,"
he said gravely. He mounted, shook the boy's hand, and rode away in the
lengthening shadows. Then Leonidas walked sadly home.