"Bob west sir you Beet me out uv my Reeveng and Made me look like a bag uv Beens.but I will skware this Thing sum da and yu and that edyter hed better Watch out.I don't stand for no Throwdown like that Wm.Sizer."However，the bully received scantb sympathy，even fromhis most intimate friends，and his prestige in the community was henceforth destroyed.Arthur did not crow，for his part.He told the girls frankly of his attempt to run away and evade the meeting，which sensible intention was only frustrated by Bob West's interference，and they all agreed he was thoroughly justi？ed.The young man had proved to them his courage years before and none of the girls was disposed to accuse him of cowardice for not wishing to shoot or be shot by such a personas Bill Sizer.
A few days following the duel another incident occurred which was of a nature so startling that it drove the Sizer comedy from all minds.This time Thursday Smith was the hero.
Hetty Hewitt，it seems，was having a desperate struggleto quella the longings of her heart for the allurements of the great city.She had been for years a thorough Bohemienne，frequenting cafes，theatres and dance halls，smoking and drinking with men and women of her class and，by degrees，losing every womanly quality with which nature had generously endowed her.But the girl was not really bad.She was essentially nervous and craved excitement，so she had drifted intob this sort of life because no counteracting in？uenceof good had been injected into her pliablec disposition.None，that is，until the friendly editor for whom she worked，anticipating her final downfall，had sought to save her by sending her to a country newspaper.He talked to the girl artistvery frankly before she left for Millville，and Hetty knew he was right，and was truly grateful for the opportunity to redeem herself.The sweet girl journalists with whom she was thrown in contact were so different from any young women she had heretofore known，and proved so kindly sympathetic，that Hetty speedily became ashamed of her wasted life and formed abrave resolution to merit the friendship so generously extended her.
But it was hard work at first.She could get through the days easily enough by wandering in the woods and taking long walks along the rugged country roads；but in the eveningscame the insistent call of the cafes，the cheap orchestras，vaudevillea，midnight suppers and the like.She strenuously fought this yearning and found it was growing less and less powerful to influence her.But her nights were yet restless and her nerves throbbing from the effects of past dissipations.Often she would ？nd herself unable to sleep and would go out into the moonlight when all others were in bed，and"prowlb around with the cats，"as she expressed it，until the wee hours of morning.Often she told Patsy she wished there was more work she could do.The drawings required by the paper never occupied her more than a couple of hours each day.Sometimes she made one of her cleverest cartoons in fifteen or twenty minutes.
"Can't I do something else？"she begged."Let me settype，or run the ticker—I can receive telegrams fairly well—or even write a column of local comment.I'm no journalist，so you'll not be envious."But Patsy shook her head.
"Really，Hetty，there's nothing else you can do，and your pictures are very important to us.Rest and enjoy yourself，and get strong and well.You are improving wonderfully in health since you came here."Often at midnight Hetty would wander into the pressroom and watch Thursday Smith run off the edition on the wonderful press，which seemed to possess an intelligence of its own，so perfectly did it perform its functions.At such times she sat listlessly by and said little，for Thursday was no volublea talker，especially when busied over his press.But a certainspirit of comradeship grew up between these two，and it wasnot unusual for the pressmen，after his work was ？nished and the papers were neatly piled for distribution to the carriers at daybreak，to walk with Hetty to the hotel before proceeding to his own lodgings in the little wing of Nick Thorne's house，which stood quite at the end of the street.To be sure，the hotel adjoined the printing office，with only a vacant lot between，but Hetty seemed to appreciate this courtesy and would exchange a brief good night with Smith before going to her own room.Afterward she not infrequently stole out again，because sleep would not come to her，and then the moonwatched her wanderings until it dipped behind the hills.
On the night we speak of，Hetty had parted from Thursday Smith at one o'clock and crept into the hallway of the silent，barnlike hotel；but as soon as the man turned away she issued forth again and walked up the empty street like a shadow.Almost to Thompson's Crossing she strolled，deep in thought，and then turned and retraced her steps.But when she again reached the hotel she was wide—eyed as ever；so she passed the building，thinking she would go on to Little Bill Creek and sit by the old mill for a time.
