Under
the austere stare of Mr. Bodfish their faces at once regained their
wonted calm, and the ex-constable in a somewhat offended manner resumed
his inquiries.
"Mrs. Driver has been here a good bit lately," he remarked, slowly.
Mr. Negget's eyes watered, and his mouth worked piteously.
"If you can't behave yourself, George--began began his wife, fiercely.
"What is the matter?" demanded Mr. Bodfish. "I'm not aware that I've
said anything to be laughed at."
"No more you have, uncle," retorted his niece; "only George is such a
stupid. He's got an idea in his silly head that Mrs. Driver--But it's
all nonsense, of course."
"I've merely got a bit of an idea that it's a wedding-ring, not a brooch,
Mrs. Driver is after," said the farmer to the perplexed constable.
Mr. Bodfish looked from one to the other. "But you always keep yours on,
Lizzie, don't you?" he asked.
"Yes, of course," replied his niece, hurriedly; "but George has always
got such strange ideas. Don't take no notice of him."
Her uncle sat back in his chair, his face still wrinkled perplexedly;
then the wrinkles vanished suddenly, chased away by a huge glow, and he
rose wrathfully and towered over the match-making Mr. Negget. "How dare
you?" he gasped.
Mr. Negget made no reply, but in a cowardly fashion jerked his thumb
toward his wife.
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