He like
everybody else was up that night, and already alarmed at my
continued absence.
"Spencer's Folly is on fire," I cried, as he cast dismayed eyes at
my pallid and dripping figure. "If you go to the door, you can see
it!"
But I told him nothing more.
Perhaps other boys of my age can understand my silence.
I not only did not tell my father, but I told nobody, even after
the discovery of Spencer's charred body in the closet so
miraculously preserved. With every day that passed, it became
harder to part with this baleful secret. I felt it corroding my
thoughts and destroying my spirits, and yet I kept still. Only my
taste for modelling was gone. I have never touched clay since.
Claymore Tavern did change owners. When I heard that a man by the
name of Scoville had bought it, I went over to see Scoville. He
was the man. Then I began to ask myself what I ought to do with my
knowledge, and the more I asked myself this question, and the more
I brooded over the matter, the less did I feel like taking, not
the public, but my father, into my confidence.
I had never doubted his love for me, but I had always stood in
great awe of his reproof, and I did not know where I was to find
courage to tell him all the details of this adventure.
There is one thing I did do, however. I made certain inquiries
here and there, and soon satisfied myself as to how Scoville had
been able to come into town, commit this horrid deed and escape
without any one but myself being the wiser.
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