"Ah! You feel better!" exclaimed the captain. "I am glad of it, my trusty friend. Tell me, now, when and how did this outrageous thing happen?"
"I'll trouble ye for another drop of that tonic, Mr. Samson," said Timothy.
"I reckon not," returned the miller. "Doctor Nash says as how too much is a long sight worse nor too little."
"Then where's my book?" demanded Timothy. "And my cigarettes?"
"You have not answered my questions, my dear fellow," said the captain.
"Chuck it!" returned the old servant. "I ain't in the mood for answerin' fool questions."
"I fear his nerves are badly shaken," whispered the captain to the miller. "We must get him home and put him to bed."
"But you ain't intendin' to leave the ropes and blanket behind, surely!" exclaimed Benjamin. He stooped, picked up the blanket, and held it to the light of the lantern. "Hah!" he cried. "It's my blanket! It's my new hoss blanket, by gosh! I missed it fust, last Sunday. And the rope's mine, too—my new hay rope, all cut to bits. I'll have the law on whoever done this, sure's my name's Benjamin Samson."
"Your blanket?" queried Captain Wigmore. "Your blanket and rope? But no, Benjamin. I don't suspect you, my friend, for I know you to be an honest man. But others—people who don't know you as I do—might think you were the person who tied Timothy to the tree."
"Chuck it!" growled Mr. Fletcher, picking up the lantern and limping away.