"My God, yes!" exclaimed the men. "Did you find all that, and where?"
"And what would you think," continued Pritchen, thoroughly enjoying the sensation he was causing, "if the man responsible for it all came to Klassan and never said a word about it to any one?"
"That it looked mighty suspicious," replied Perdue. "But is there any one here who knows about the matter?"
"Maybe this'll tell the tale," and Pritchen opened the book he was holding in his hand. "See, look for yourselves; there's something to think over."
"Read it, Bill; let's have it, quick."
Holding the volume to the flickering candle light, Pritchen read the following, written in a firm hand:
"Keith Steadman,
"First Prize for proficiency in English Literature.
"Collegiate School,
"Windsor, N. S.
"Christmas, 18—."
"What, is that the parson?" asked Tim.
"Certainly, who else would it be?" replied Perdue.
Silence followed these words, and the men looked at one another. Pritchen, noticing this, was vexed and puzzled.