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"Thank you, Judge, I ain't cold," rejoined Mr. Shrimplin in his best manner. The judge turned to the woman. She had once been a servant in his household, but had quitted his employ to marry Joe Montgomery, and to become by that same act Mr. Shrimplin's sister-in-law.
From his seat by the stove he watched the hurrying flakes beyond the windows, and as he watched, the darkness came down imperceptibly until he ceased to see beyond the four walls of the room. Mrs. Shrimplin was busy with her mending. She did not attempt conversation with her son, though she occasionally cast a curious glance in his direction; he was not usually so silent.
We found no clue. The murderer had gone without leaving any trace of his passing. It is probable he entered by the front door, which Mr. Shrimplin found open, and left by the side door, which was also open, but the crowd gathered so quickly both in the yard and in the street, that it has been useless to look for footprints in the freshly fallen snow.
What's the use of bringing children into the world when you can't half take care of 'em?" "I didn't keep still about it, only I had so much to worry me!" said Nellie, with a shadowy sort of resentment at the little lamplighter's words and manner. "It's a nice-looking baby!" admitted Mr. Shrimplin, relenting. "It's a boy, see he's got his father's eyes and nose "
"Is it likely I could have been in earnest?" demanded Shrimplin, hitching up his chin with an air of disdain. "What's my record right here in Mount Hope? Was it Andy Gilmore or Colonel Harbison that found old man McBride when he was murdered in his store?" And the little lamplighter's tone grew more and more indignant as he proceeded. "Maybe you think it was your disgustin' and dirty Uncle Joe?
He rose in his britching and then the other end of him come up and he acted like he wanted to set down on the singletree!" "Why did he do that?" asked Custer. "Well, I guess you've got some few things to learn, Custer;" said Mr. Shrimplin indulgently. "He smelt blood that's what he smelt!" "Oh!" gasped Custer. "I've knowed it to happen before. It's instinct," explained Shrimplin.
"You wish what had never happened, Custer?" "About you I mean!" Shrimplin gave a hollow little laugh. "Well, and what about me, son if I may be allowed to ask?" "I wish you'd gone down to the crick bank like I wanted you to!" rejoined the boy. Again he felt the hot tears gather, and drew the back of his hand across his eyes.
Esteeming Joe a gentleman of uncertain habits, and of criminal instincts that might at any moment be translated into vigorous action, Mr. Shrimplin had always been at much pains to placate him. In the heat of the moment, however, all this was forgotten, and Mr. Shrimplin's love of decency and rectitude promptly asserted itself.
A moment later some dark object came to the surface and a white face seemed to look up into his, but only for a second, and then the restless flood bore it swiftly away. Early that same night Mr. Shrimplin, taking Custer with him, had driven out into the country.
"But I've always heard old fishermen say you couldn't catch nothing unless you did." "Did you ever try to?" "I can't say as I ever did. What would be the use when you know better?" said Mr. Shrimplin, who was strictly orthodox. His cork went under and he landed a flopping shiner on the bank; this he took from his hook and tossed back into the water. "It's a funny thing about shiners!" he said.
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