turned away. "And now," said I, "where's the girl?"
"This is her afternoon out. What is the matter? You look frightened."
"Oh, I'm not frightened, but I find I must go down to the station again. Just run up and put on your bonnet. It will be a nice little walk for you."
I had been rapidly revolving the matter in my mind. What was I to do with this wretch who was now asleep in my outer kitchen? If I woke him up and drove him off—and I might have difficulty in doing it—there was every reason to believe that he would not go far, but return at night and commit some revengeful act. I never saw a more sinister-looking fellow. And he was certainly drunk. He must not be allowed to wander about our neighbourhood. I would go for the constable and have him arrested.
So I locked the door from the kitchen into the house and then the outside door of the kitchen, and when my wife came down we hurried off. On the way I told her what I intended to do, and what I thought of our guest. She answered scarcely a word, and I hoped that she was frightened. I think she was.
The constable, who was also coroner of our township, had gone to a creek, three miles away, to hold an inquest, and there was nobody to arrest the man. The nearest police-station was at Hackingford, six miles away, on the railroad. I held a consultation with the station-master and the gentleman who kept the grocery store opposite.
They could think of nothing to be done except to shoot the man, and to that I objected.
"However," said I, "he can't stay there," and a happy thought just then striking me, I called to
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