Byers, with a jocosely crooked finger. "HE air so peart an'
forehanded a-viewin' harnts, he don't hev to wait till folkses be
dead. HE hev seen Mis' Price's harnt--an' it plumb skeered the wits
out'n him."

Perkins did not understand this. His interest was suddenly alert.
He took his pipe from his mouth, and glanced over his shoulder at
Byers. "What air Rufe aimin' at, Andy?" he asked, surprised.

Byers did not reply. He still gazed steadfastly at Rufe; the knife
lay unheeded on the ground at his feet, and the hide was slipping
from the wooden horse.

At last he said slowly, "Birt tole ye 'bout'n it, eh?"

"Naw, sir! Naw!" Rufe rocked himself fantastically to and fro in
imminent peril of toppling off the wood-pile. "'Twar Tom Byers ez
tole me."

"TOM!" exclaimed Byers, with a galvanic start.

For Tom was his son, and he had not suspected filial treachery in
the matter of the spectral blackberry bush.

Rufe stared in his turn, not comprehending Byers's surprise.

"TOM," he reiterated presently, with mocking explicitness. "Tom
Byers--I reckon ye knows him. That thar freckled-faced, snaggled-
toothed, red-headed Tom Byers, ez lives at yer house. I reckon ye
MUS' know him."