as he keeps clear of Mr. Christopher. It's Mr. Christopher, he
swears, that's been the ruin of him."

Christopher met this with a sneer. "Why does he let him dog my
footsteps, then?" he inquired with a laugh. "I never go to the
Hall, and yet he's always after me."

"Bless you, suh, it ain't any question of lettin' an' thar never
has been sence the boy first put on breeches. Why, when I refused
to sell him whisky at my sto', what did he do but begin smugglin'
it out from town! Fletcher found it out an' blew him sky-high,
but in less than a month it was all goin' on agin."

"An' the funny part is," said Jim Weatherby, "that you can't
dislike Will Fletcher, however much you try. He's a kindhearted,
jolly fellow, in spite of the devil."

"Or in spite of Mr. Christopher," added Tom, with a guffaw.

Frowning heavily, Christopher turned toward the door.

"Oh, you ask Will Fletcher who is his best friend," he said, "and
let me hear his answer."

With an abrupt nod to Jacob, he went out of the tobacco barn and
along the little path to the road. He had barely reached the
gate, however, when Jim Weatherby ran after him with the
horseshoes, and offered eagerly to come over in the morning and
see that the gray mare was properly shod.