Then, as the boys went on together up the hill to the Ellison farm, Colonel Witham, recovering in a measure from the shock he had received, arose from his chair, somewhat unsteady on his legs, and began, for the hundredth and more time, a weary, fruitless search of the old mill, from the garret to the very surface of the water flowing under it.
And as Colonel Witham groped here and there, in dusty corners, he muttered, "What on earth did he mean? The fortune-teller—how could he know of that? There's witchcraft at work somewhere. But there aren't any papers in this mill. I know it. I know it. I know it."
And still he kept up his search until it was long past the time for shutting down.
Three days after this, Lawyer Estes was talking to John Ellison at the farmhouse.
"Well, I've run down your witch," he said, smiling; "and there isn't anything to be made out of her. I've been clear to the fair-grounds at Newbury to see her. She's a shrewd one; didn't take her long to see that something was up. Sized me up for a lawyer, I guess, and shut up tighter than a clam. I told her what I knew, but she swore Tim Reardon was mistaken.
"Those people have a fear of getting mixed up with the courts; naturally suspicious, I suppose. She declared she had said that the man she talked with asked about some letters he had lost, himself; and that was all she knew about it. No use in my talking, either. I didn't get anything more out of her. We're right where we were before."
"Well, I'm going to get into that mill and look around, just the same," exclaimed John Ellison. "I'll do it some way."
"Then you'll be committing trespass," said Lawyer Estes, cautiously.
"I don't care," insisted the boy. "I won't be doing any harm. I'm not going to touch anything that isn't ours. But I'm going to look."
"Then don't tell me about it," said the lawyer. "I couldn't be a party to a proceeding like that."