I might feel flattered and gratified at their friendly enthusiasm, but, unfortunately for my pride, I have had an opportunity to learn how easily Trafton is excited to admiration and to anger, so I bear my honors meekly, and hide my blushing face, for a time, behind the walls of the jail.
All the vigilants are heroes this morning, and proud and happy is the citizen who can adorn his breakfast table with one of the band. The hungry fellows, nothing loath, are borne away one by one in triumph, and Jim and I, who cling together tenaciously, are wrangled over by Justice Summers and Mr. Harris, and, finally, led off by the latter.
We are not bored with questions at the parsonage, but good, motherly Mrs. Harris piles up our plates, and looks on, beaming with delight to see her good things disappearing down our hungry throats.
We have scarcely finished our meal, when a quick, light step crosses the hall, and Louise Barnard enters. She has heard the clanging bells and witnessed the excitement, but, as yet, scarcely comprehends the cause.
"Mamma is so anxious," she says, deprecatingly, to Mr. Harris, "that I ran in to ask you about it, before going down to see Carl—Dr. Bethel."
While she is speaking, a new thought enters my head, and I say to myself instantly, "here is a new test for Christianity," thinking the while of that friendless girl at this moment a paroled prisoner.
"Miss Barnard," I say, hastily, "it will give me pleasure to tell you all about this excitement, or the cause of it."
"If I understand aright, you are the cause, sir," she replies, smilingly. "How horribly you have deceived us all!"
"But," interposes Mr. Harris, "this is asking too much, sir. You have been vigorously at work all night, and now—"