Brandon’s face flamed up redly, and he sprang to his feet in rage.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“Don’t ye let him escape, officer!” the farmer exclaimed, shrinking back. “He’s quick’s a cat.”
But here Adoniram took a hand in the proceedings.
“I should like to know, sir, what you mean by this?” he said, his gray eyes flashing behind the tip tilted eye glasses. “Brandon is under my care, sir, and I will not allow such remarks to be addressed to him.”
No one would have believed that it was the jolly Adoniram, to see his face now. The habitual smile had disappeared entirely.
“I dunno who yeou be,” Arad replied defiantly; “but I kin tell ye who I be, purty quick. I’m Arad Tarr; this young reskil here is my nevvy; an’ I’m his nateral an’ lawful guardeen.”
“Ah!” said Mr. Pepper, with quiet sarcasm. “So you are his guardian, are you? How long since?”
“How long since?” repeated the old man, in a rage. “I’ll show ye! I’ve allus been his guardeen—leastways, since his pa died.”
“Which occurred a little over two months ago,” said Adoniram briefly. “Now, Mr. Tarr, for I suppose that is your name, where are your papers making you this lad’s guardian? Who appointed you?”