Father said it was a great pity, because a man like that shouldn't be left to prey on the community; but mother said she didn't want to be mixed up with a trial, or to be responsible for taking the liberty of a fellow creature, and father said that was exactly like a woman.

Leon went to sleep, but none of us thought of going to bed; we just stood around and looked at him, and smiled over him, and cried about him, until you would have thought he had been shipped to us in a glass case, and cost, maybe, a hundred dollars.
Father got out his books and figured up his own and the road money, and Miss Amelia's, and the church's.

Laddie didn't want her around, so he stopped at the schoolhouse and told her to stay at Justices' that night, we'd need all our rooms; but she didn't like being sent away when there was such excitement, but every one minded Laddie when he said so for sure.
When father had everything counted there was more than his, quite a lot of it, stolen from other people who sheltered the traveller no doubt, father said.

We thought he wouldn't be likely to come back for it, and father said he was at loss what to do with it, but Laddie said he wasn't--it was Leon's--he had earned it; so father said he would try to find out if anything else had been stolen, and he'd keep it a year, and then if no one claimed it, he would put it on interest until Leon decided what he wanted to do with it.
When you watched Leon sleep you could tell a lot more about what had happened to him than he could.

He moaned, and muttered constantly, and panted, and felt around for the gun, and breathed like he was running again, and fought until Laddie had to hold him on the couch, and finally awakened him.