When they reached the house, they found Nan up in arms. She scolded Nell for being away so long and leaving her to get supper and wash the dishes.

"I don't think it is fair," she pouted. "You go off and have a good time, while I must stay home and drudge like a slave."

"You do not look any the worse for it," Douglas laughingly told her.
"It seems to agree with you. I never saw you look better."

"H'm," and Nan tossed her head. "It may agree with my complexion but not with my temper. The only way you can make me good natured is to have a game of checkers with me. I am just dying for a game. No one here will play with me. It's too giddy, I suppose. I'm sure it's much nicer than Shakespeare—he's too dry. Why, I've been reading to daddy for the last hour, and I can't remember one word."

The professor was most anxious to discuss his book, but Nan insisted on checkers first.

"I have a right to my own way for once," she insisted. "You promised me long ago that I could have Mr. Handyman to myself the next time he came. But, no, it was Shakespeare and Church matters, and so I was pushed aside."

They all laughed heartily at her words and gestures, and the professor at last agreed that they should play two games. Then he had something important to say.

With Nan's animated face beaming over the board, and Nell sitting quietly sewing by the table, it was a most enjoyable evening to Douglas. But the professor was not so happy. The minutes dragged heavily, so when the players had won a game each, he gave a sigh of relief and claimed Douglas' special attention.

"I wish to discuss several points in the tragedy of Hamlet," he began. "I am not altogether sure in my own mind, and would like to have your opinion."

Though Douglas had studied Hamlet at college, yet he felt very diffident about discussing the "several points," which he felt sure would be difficult ones. But as the professor began to talk, he knew that his opinion would not be necessary. Once launched upon his subject, the old man seemed to imagine that he was once more in the class room. Several times he asked Nell to read certain extracts from his notes, and upon these he always enlarged. It was pathetic to observe his intense eagerness, and he was certain that his visitor was keenly interested in his subject.

It was well for him that he could not see into the hearts and minds of the others in the room. Nan was lost in a story book she had borrowed from a girl friend that very afternoon; while Nell's thoughts were not upon the wonders of Shakespeare, but upon the events of the day. Douglas tried to pay strict attention to what was being said, though his eyes would often wander to the young woman sewing just in front of him. He noted the varying expressions upon her face, and he intuitively surmised something of what she was thinking. How he longed to be talking with her and listening to her as it had been his privilege that afternoon. Could she ever care for him? he asked himself just at the very instant when the professor was waxing eloquent about Shakespeare as an artist. He tried to listen, but the force of the words of wisdom were lost upon him. The professor, however, was pleased, and as Douglas rose to go he told him how delightful had been their conversation, and that the several points which had been troubling him were quite clear.

Douglas' heart was happy and his step light and elastic as he left the house. He thought over what Nell had told him, and her confidence in him gave him great joy. He valued this far more than the explanation she had volunteered about her family affairs. She trusted him and turned to him for sympathy. Little wonder, then, that his face glowed and his eyes shone with rapture. It was all a new experience to him, and life seemed very pleasant.

He was roused from this reverie by the sound of angry voices. He stopped and listened intently. They were evidently men, quarrelling on the road ahead of him, though he could not distinguish what they were saying. The fact that they were talking so loudly made him feel that they were not there with any evil designs. Nevertheless, he felt that it was just as well to find out what was the trouble, and at the same time remain out of sight.

Along the road ran a hedge of thick bushes, and, keeping well within the dark fringe of these, Douglas slowly advanced. He could hear the talking more plainly now, and ere long he was able to tell that the men were under the influence of liquor. Their voices were maudlin, and they were wrangling with one another in a somewhat petulant and childish manner.

"I tell ye he is," he heard one say.

"He ain't," another retorted.

"Yes, he is, ye blame fool."

"He ain't."

"Shet up ye'r jawin'," a third ordered. "Ye'r both drunk. Sure he's there. Wasn't he seen goin' into the house?"

"Well, I'll be darned if I'm goin' to wait any longer," the first speaker whined. "I'm tired an' sleepy, an' want to go home. I wish to G— that Ben would do his own dirty work."

"Ye liked his whiskey well enough, didn't ye?" his companion asked.

"Oh, yes, that's all right, but there wasn't enough of it."

"Too much fer you, though. Why, it's gone to ye'r head, an' has made yer tongue like a mill-clapper. Ye'd better shet ye'r mouth or the guy'll hear ye an' take to his heels before we kin lay hands on him."

"I ain't talkin' any, am I? Watcher growlin' 'bout? I'm goin' home."

"No, ye ain't."

"Yes, I am."

A scuffle followed these words, and Douglas could dimly see the forms of the two men as they rolled and tumbled about on the ground. Then some one pulled them apart and administered a resounding cuff upon their ears.

"Stop fightin', ye fools," was the peremptory order. "De'ye want to spoil the whole show to-night?"

"Who's spoilin' the show?"

"You are."

"I ain't. I want to go home. I'm sick of this business."

"Ye'r not goin' till the guy comes, I tell ye."

"When's he comin'?"

"I don't know."

"He'll stay there till midnight. They always do. I never got home till mornin' when I was courtin', an' Sal wasn't half as sweet as the 'fessor's daughter. Gad, she's a peach!"

"Ye'r no judge of beauty, Tom Fleet," was the retort. "You'd kiss a cow when ye'r drunk, thinkin' she's beautiful."

"I ain't drunk, I tell ye."

"Ye are."

"I ain't; I'm only sleepy an' want to go home."

"Well, ye ain't goin' till the guy comes."

"Then I'm goin' to fetch him."

"Now, ye'r talkin'. That's the stuff, Tom. We'll take him from his lady love. Come on."

"Wait a minute," one of the bunch ordered. "How'll we do it?"

What their plan was Douglas could not tell, for their voices suddenly became low as they made their plans. But it did not matter. He knew that they were after him, and most likely would go to the house and do considerable harm. He must have assistance, and he at once thought of Jake. With him at his side, he felt that the men before him could be mastered, especially in their present condition.

Creeping through the bushes as quietly as possible, he reached the open field and across this he bounded like a greyhound. He knew that every minute was precious, and the thought of Nell facing those drunken men caused his feet fairly to spurn the grass. Reaching the main road, he tore through the dust, sprang over a ditch, leaped a fence, raced through the orchard and ran plumb into Jake and Empty standing at the back door.

"Great punkins!" Jake exclaimed, recovering from the impact. "What's wrong?"

"Quick, quick!" Douglas panted. "Come at once. Ben's men are after me. They think I'm at the professor's, and they are going to break into the house. Hurry."

"G-g-good Lord," Jake stuttered in amazement. "Let me git me gun!"

"No, no, never mind that; your fists will do. Come."

Without waiting for further parley, Douglas darted away, with Jake and Empty close at his heels. He did not go to the spot where he had left the men but kept off into the middle of the field, and ran down opposite the professor's house. Then turning sharply to the left, he hurried across to the garden and stopped before the row of bushes which ran almost to the shore.

The rescuers were not a moment too soon, for the attackers had already reached the house and were pounding loudly upon the back door. When it presently slowly opened, Douglas could hear Nell's voice anxiously enquiring what was the matter.

"Give us the guy who's here," one of the men demanded.

"Who?" Nell asked in surprise.

"Oh, you know, all right. The feller that's courtin' ye; Jake's man."

Douglas' hands clenched hard together as he listened to these words, and it was with difficulty that he restrained himself. It would not do to rush forth just then. He must wait for the men's next move. He could not see the features of Nell's face very plainly, but the words she uttered in reply to the impudent order told of her indignation.

"How dare you come here with such a request?" she demanded. "Leave this place at once or I shall have you all arrested. I am surprised at you, Tom Totten. What will your wife say? Go home at once, and leave me alone."

"No, we don't," was the surly reply. "We're under orders, an' we won't leave until we git our man. Ye've got him in the house, so hustle him out an' be quick about it."

"He is not here," Nell replied. "And even if he were, I wouldn't let you touch him. You have all been drinking, that is what's the matter with you. I am ashamed of you all. Go away at once before you make fools of yourselves."

"We won't go, I tell ye, before we git our man. We know he's in the house, an' we're goin' to git him."

Nell's only reply was to turn quickly and shut the door in their faces.
Then a hubbub arose.

"Smash in the door," cried one.

"Break in the winder," ordered another.

Then a rush was made against the door, which gave way with a crash, and the men stumbled into the kitchen where Nell was standing.

As the door went through, Douglas and his companions sprang from their hiding place, bounded toward the house and fell upon the attackers like a whirlwind. Douglas' blood was up, and he delivered telling blows to right and left.

"Here I am," he cried, as he gave Tom Totten a punch under the ear, which sent him reeling across the room. "Why don't you take me? I am the man you want. Now is your chance."

Jake and Empty nobly supported him, and in a few minutes the room was cleared of all the attackers except two who were sprawling upon the floor. Their noses were bleeding and they were groaning most dolefully. The others had made good their escape, though not without serious injury, for their faces were cut and bleeding, and they limped as they hurried away from the scene of their defeat.

"Great punkins!" Jake exclaimed. "Is it all over? I was jist beginnin' when everything stopped. Hi, there, Tom Totten," he cried, as he tickled the defeated man's ribs with the toe of his boot, "so this is the way ye spend ye'r evenin's, eh? Why don't ye git up an' let us see what a purty face ye have? It never was much to look at, though I guess it's a sight fer sore eyes now. Ho, ho, this is the best lark I've had in years, hey, Empty?"

"Ye bet," and the lad smacked his lips. "Did ye see the way I landed one on Jim Parks' nose? It was a bruiser. I bet he's rubbin' it yit an' roarin' like a bull. My, it was great! I'm sorry it was over so soon."

But Nell had no such feelings of regret. She was standing in the door leading into the hallway. Her face was very white, and her body was trembling. By her side stood Nan, her face beaming and her eyes sparkling with animation.

"It's just like a story," she exclaimed, clasping her hands before her.
"It's far better than a picture show, for this is real, isn't it, Nell?"

So unexpected was this view of the situation, that they all laughed except the two men on the floor.

"Ye'r a brick, all right, Nell," Jake remarked. "I like ye'r pluck. Now, some gals would have yelled an' hollered an' tumbled down in a faint. But that's not the way with the gals of this house," and he cast a glance of admiration at Nell.

Douglas had now stepped to Tom's side and was bending over him.

"Get up," he ordered, "and explain the meaning of all this."

Tom slowly obeyed, crawled to his knees and then to his feet. His companion, Pete Rollins, did the same. They presented a sorry spectacle, and Douglas could scarcely repress a smile. But Nan laughed outright when she saw them.

"My, what beauties!" she exclaimed. "This isn't Hallowe'en, Tom. Did you think it was? You'll know better next time, won't you?"

"'Deed I will, miss," was the emphatic reply. "No more sich doin's fer me, I tell ye that."

Nell in the meantime had procured a basin of water, a wash-cloth and a towel. She now stood before the battered men.

"Sit down, both of you," she quietly ordered. "It won't do for you to go home looking that way."

Meekly they obeyed and sat very still while she washed the blood from their faces.

"It's good of ye, miss," Tom told her. "We don't deserve sich kindness after what we said an' done to you to-night. Some would have kicked us out of the house an' left us there half dead."

"You, fer instance, Nan, eh?" Empty grinned, as he looked toward the girl.

"No, I wouldn't," Nan stoutly protested. "That would have been too good for them. I would like to keep them and start a travelling show throughout the country. I would make my fortune in a short time. They deserve to be treated like that for disturbing my peaceful slumbers. And just look at that door, all broken down. Who's going to fix it, I'd like to know?"

"I'll fix it, miss," Pete eagerly replied. "I'll come to-morrow an' make it as good as new."

"No, you won't. You'll be in jail; that's where you'll be."

"Hush, hush, Nan," Nell ordered, though she found it hard not to smile at the frightened look which came into Pete's eyes. "Don't mind Nan, Pete. She isn't as terrible as she sounds."

"Yes, she is," Empty insisted. "She kin use her hands as well as her tongue. I know it, fer she's often boxed my ears."

"H'm!" and Nan tossed her head disdainfully. "If you'd been a man I would have done more than that; I would have blackened your eyes, and——"

"There, there, Nan, that will do," Nell interrupted, and from the tone of her voice Nan knew that she must obey. With a sigh of resignation she stood with her eyes fixed upon the floor and her hands clasped before her, unheeding Empty, who was grinning at her on the other side of the room.

"Guess we'd better go now," Tom remarked when Nell had finished her ablutions. "It must be purty late. But afore I go I wish to ask ye'r pardon, miss," and he turned to Nell as he spoke. "I wasn't jist meself to-night, an' I guess the rest were in the same fix."

"A moment, Tom," and Douglas laid his hand upon his shoulder. "I want you to tell us why you and your companions made this attack to-night."

"To git you, of course. Didn't ye know that?"

"Yes, indeed I did, but I wanted to hear you say so. Now, what did you want to get me for? What harm have I done to you or to the men who were with you?"

"None, none at all. But, ye see, we were under orders. We were told to come."

"Who told you?"

"Ben Stubbles."

"What did he tell you to do?"

"Lay fer ye by the road, an' give ye a thorough hidin'."

"Didn't you feel ashamed to undertake such a cowardly thing as that?"

"We did, an' we refused at first, an' told him that we didn't want to git into any trouble. But he promised that he would stand by an' take the hull blame. When we still refused, he threatened us, an' when that wouldn't work he produced the whiskey."

"Now, will you swear to all this?" Douglas asked.

"Swear! sure I will. I'll swear to them very words anywhere an' at any time. Won't ye, Pete?"

"Ay, ay," was the reply. "I'll swear any old time, an' I feel mighty like swearin' jist now, 'deed I do."

"But what will Ben say?" Douglas asked. "Won't he make it hot for you?"

"Let him make it hot, then," Pete declared. "I don't have to stay here an' work fer old Stubbles. I kin go somewhere else, an' mebbe it will be jist as well if I do."

"Who were the other men with you to-night besides Pete? It is important that we should have their names."

"D'ye mind if I don't tell ye now, sir?" and Tom lifted his eyes to Douglas' face. "They're all friends of mine, an' I'd hate to squeal on 'em."

"But you didn't mind telling on Ben, did you?"

"Oh, that's different. He ain't a friend of mine, an' never was. He's big feelin' an' mighty, an' has no use fer the likes of me, unless he's got some axe to grind. Oh, no, I don't mind squealin' on the likes of him."

"But we must have the names of the men who were with you to-night,"
Douglas insisted. "I cannot help whether you like it or not."

"Look, sir, I'll tell ye this: Whenever ye want me an' Pete, we'll be there, an' we'll have the rest with us."

"But perhaps they won't come, what then?"

"Don't ye worry a mite about that. They'll come all right. But supposin' they buck an' won't come, then I'll tell ye their names. I'll give 'em fair warnin', an' if they don't come I'll squeal on 'em then, but not before. Will that do, sir?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Douglas assented. "But don't you fail to come when you're called. We have all these witnesses to what you have said to-night. You may go now."