"It is terrible!" 'Rill said. "Mr. Moore and those others never could have thought what they were doing when they accused Mr. Haley of stealing."
"They were afraid that they would have to make good for the coins, and felt that they must blame somebody," Janice replied with a sigh.
"Of course, Hopewell went right over to tell the schoolmaster what he thought about it as soon as the story reached us. Hopewell thinks highly of the young man, you know."
"Until this thing happened, I thought almost everybody thought highly of him," said Janice, with a sob.
"Oh, my dear!" cried 'Rill, tearful herself, "there is such gossip in Polktown. So many people are ready to make ill-natured and untruthful remarks about one——"
Janice knew to what secret trouble the storekeeper's wife referred. "I know!" she exclaimed, wiping away her own tears. "They have talked horridly about Mr. Drugg."
"It is untruthful! It is unfair!" exclaimed Hopewell Drugg's wife, her cheeks and eyes suddenly ablaze with indignation. To tell the truth, she was like an angry kitten, and had the matter not been so serious, Janice must have laughed at her.
"They have told all over town that Hopewell came home intoxicated from that last dance," continued the wife. "But it is a story—a wicked, wicked story!"
Janice was silent. She remembered what she and Marty and Mrs. Scattergood had seen on the evening in question—how Hopewell Drugg had looked as he staggered past the street lamp on the corner on his way home with the fiddle under his arm.
She looked away from 'Rill and waited. Janice feared that the poor little bride would discover the expression of her doubt in her eyes.