noticed the hesitation. "Ye hev hed it," he cried wildly. "Ye know
ye hev been foolin' with it. Ye know 'twar you-uns!"

He changed to sudden appeal. "Don't put the blame off on me, Birt,"
he pleaded. "I'm fairly afeared o' Nate."

"Ain't the grant in the pocket o' his coat--whar ye left it hangin'
on a peg in the shed?" asked Birt, dismayed.

"Naw--naw!" exclaimed Tim, despairingly. "He missed his coat this
mornin', bein' the weather war cooler, an' then the grant, an' he
sent me arter it. An' I fund the coat a-hangin' thar on the peg,
whar I hed lef' it, bein' ez I furgot it when I went off with Rufe
ter look at his chickens, an' the pocket war empty an' the paper
gone! Nate hev kem ter sarch, too!"

Once more he held out his hand. "Gimme the grant. Nate 'lows 'twar
you-uns ez tuk it, bein' ez I lef' it hyar."

Birt flushed angrily. "I'll say a word ter Nate Griggs!" he
declared.

And he pushed past the trembling Tim, and took his way briskly into
the tanyard.

There was a vague murmur in the group as he approached, and Nate
Griggs came out from its midst, nodding his head threateningly. His
hat, thrust far back on his sandy hair, left in bold relief his
long, thin face with its small eyes, which seemed now so close
together that his glance had the effect of a squint. He scanned