"We'll see what we'll see when they get to the trial," he asserted. "And what we'll see 'll be that Varge's story won't hold water, an' what's behind it 'll come out. Why, gol-blame it to blazes, look at the town! There ain't one of us but 'd give our right hand to have the old Doc back, but who's sayin' a word against Varge? An' ordinarily we'd be for lynchin' the man that done it if we could get our hands on him! Now if it was that sanctimonious-faced Harold, son of the Doc though he is, I wouldn't say a word—but Varge! No, siree! An' he'll have the dog-gonest job makin' any jury in these parts believe it, either."
Another view, though utterly at variance with that of the brawny blacksmith and Berley Falls in general, was expressed that morning by Miss Amelia Higgins, the president of the Berley Falls Ladies' Hermeneutic and Historical Society. It is worthy of mention because, later on, in the absence of any competing theory, it gained some acceptance, faute de mieux.
"I believe," announced Miss Higgins, shaking her grey ringlets at the executive committee, who were engaged in the preparation of a somewhat ambitious program for the society's next meeting, "I believe, and I believe firmly, and I always have believed in heredity. I spoke to poor dear Mrs. Merton about it years ago when she first adopted that boy, and I warned her then. To adopt a child without the slightest inkling of who his parents were is simply tempting Providence. What is bred in the bone will come out. I always knew something would happen."
"Gracious goodness!" said the executive committee, in sudden dismay. "We never thought of that."
