Whistler proceeded with his letter. Clinton came in, after a short absence, and reported that he had applied his safety-guard to the hay-cutter, and that it worked admirably. He said it interfered but very little with the operation of the machine, and he thought it would not trouble him at all after he became accustomed to it. It was impossible, he said, for a person to cut his fingers when this guard was on, unless he did it with design.
When Whistler had finished his letter, Clinton took it over to the Cross Roads, this being the nearest post-office. The rain had ceased, and Mrs. Davenport, having an errand to do, accompanied Clinton, leaving the house in charge of Whistler and Annie, who found plenty of ways of amusing each other until the return of the absentees.
It was not until bed time that Whistler began to experience much inconvenience from his cut finger. He then found that he should need Clinton’s assistance in undressing; and he subsequently discovered that it was not quite so easy to keep his finger from contact with surrounding things in bed, as it was when sitting up.
As the boys talked over the incidents of the day, after they had got into bed, Clinton inquired, in a low tone:
“Didn’t you think of Dick Sneider, Willie, when you heard of the fire?”
“Yes, I thought of him the very first thing, and I should have spoken of it if we hadn’t promised not to,” replied Whistler.
“So should I,” added Clinton; “but, then, it isn’t likely he set the fire, for he was so lame he couldn’t have got over to Mr. Walker’s.”
“No, I don’t imagine he did it,” said Whistler; “but there was something about his looks that I didn’t like. How cross he looked when he first saw us!”
“I know it; and how afraid he was that we should tell somebody we saw him!” added Clinton.
“Well, if he wasn’t so lame I should have some suspicion of him,” said Whistler.