"Well," said Miss Ware, "I'm going to the jail now. I want to see Jimmie. It must be awful there."

"Well, now, that's real kind of ye," responded Mr. Peaslee. "I wonder now if you'd mind taking this along to him," and he offered her the paper parcel. "It's a harmonica, I guess they call it. It's real handsome. It cost consid'able--a pretty consid'able sum. I feel kinder sorry for the leetle feller, and I don't grudge it a mite."

And he kept repeating, in a tone which suggested whistling to keep your courage up, "Not a mite, not a mite."

Miss Ware smothered a laugh on hearing what the present was. She must not hurt the feelings of this kind old man!

"Oh," said the little hypocrite, "that's nice! Jimmie'll be so pleased."

But perhaps the harmonica pleased Jim as much as the schoolbooks which the school-teacher, with a solicitous eye on her pupil's standing in his studies, was taking to him. Saying good-by to Mr.

Peaslee, Miss Ware, books and harmonica in hand, went on her way to visit the afflicted boy in his dungeon. Meanwhile Jim, turning the wringer for Mrs. Calkins, and listening to her stories of "Mark's"

prowess with all sorts of malefactors, was having an excellent time.

He had decided to be a sheriff when he grew up.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Cat curled up on floor.]

V

The day of the a.s.sembling of the grand jury for the September term of the Adams County court finally dawned. How Mr. Peaslee had looked forward to that day! How often had he pictured the scene--the bustle about the court house; the agreeable crowd of black-coated lawyers, with their clever talk, their good stories; the grave judge, and the still graver side judges; the greetings and hand-shakings amid much joking and laughter; the county gossip among the grand jurors in the informal moments before they filed into the courtroom to be sworn and to receive the judge's charge; himself, finally, in his best black coat and cherished beaver hat, there in the midst of it--important, weighty, respected, a public man!

He had cherished the vision of himself walking up the village street on that first morning, a dignitary returning the cordial and admiring salutes of his village friends. He had seen himself later in the jury-room, shrewdly "leading" the reluctant witness, delivering weighty opinions on the bearing of testimony, and making all respect him as a marvel of conservatism, dignity, and wisdom.

This was to be one of the most important and pleasurable days of his life, the rung in a ladder of preferment which reached as high as the state-house dome!

And when that day came, it rained; steadily, gloomily, fiercely rained. Solomon was not allowed to wear his best clothes. When, peering out of the window, he hopefully said he "guessed mebbe 't was goin' to clear," his wife invited him tartly to "wait till it did."

She insisted that he put on his every-day clothes, and thus arrayed, and without meeting a single villager to realize the importance of his errand, he waded up to the court house, the pelting rain rattling on his old umbrella, the fierce wind almost wrenching it inside out.

There was, of course, no parade on the courthouse steps for the benefit of a wondering village, as there would have been had the day been fine. Instead, the men, steaming with wet, stood about uncomfortably in the corridors, muddy with the mud from their feet, wet with the drip from their umbrellas. The air in the court house was close, and every one felt uncomfortable and depressed.

Mr. Peaslee, having greeted three or four men whom he knew, found himself jammed into a corner behind four or five jurors who were strangers to him, but he was too disheartened to try to sc.r.a.pe acquaintance with them. He felt lonely and helpless.

He looked enviously over to the other end of the corridor, where Fred Farnsworth, Eben Sampson, and Albion Small were standing together. In contrast with the others, these men were laughing.

Albion was "consid'able of a joker," Mr. Peaslee reflected gloomily.

Then old Abijah Keith stormed in, and in his high, shrill voice began immediately to utter his unfavorable opinion of everything and everybody.

"Well, if he ain't here again!" exclaimed, in disgust, Hiram Hopkins, one of the men in front of Solomon. "Cantankerest old lummux in the whole state--just lots on upsetting things. Abijah!"

he snorted. "Can't Abijah, I call him!"

Mr. Peaslee shrank back into his corner nervously. He knew this old tyrant and dreaded him.

Not much was done that first day. The clerk swore them; the judge charged them, and appointed the sensible, steady Sampson foreman.

Then they retired to the jury-room--a big, desolate place, wherein was a long, ink-spattered table surrounded by wooden armchairs and spittoons. The grand jurors seated themselves, and were solemnly silent while John Paige, the state's attorney, began the dull task of presenting cases. Mr. Peaslee found that he had nothing brilliant to say.

As a matter of fact, his own troubles were making him see everything yellow. The jurymen did not seem to him as agreeable a lot as he had expected, and as for Paige, he irritated Solomon beyond measure.

Paige was an able young man and a good lawyer, and was ent.i.tled to the position which he had attained so young; but, the son of a man of rather exceptional means, he had been educated at a city college, and had a sophistication which Solomon viewed with deep suspicion.

Moreover, he discarded the garb which Mr. Peaslee regarded as sacred. He was not in black. Instead, he wore a light gray business suit, his collar was very knowing in cut, and his cravat of dark blue was caught with a gold pin.

"Citified smart Aleck," was Mr. Peaslee's characterization. To tell the truth, he mistrusted the man's ability, and was afraid of him.

If that fellow knew, Mr. Peaslee felt that it would go hard with him. Generally, Paige was popular.

Solomon had, of course, been painfully awake to every hint and intimation in regard to Jim's case. He had seen Jake Hibbard, that carrion crow of the law, loafing about the corridors, and the sight had made him shiver. He had next heard that Jim's case would be quickly called,--probably on the next day,--news producing a complex emotion, the elements of which he could not distinguish.

Furthermore, a remark or so which he overheard indicated that the out-of-town men were inclined to take a harsh view of the matter.

And reflecting on all these things, he paddled home through the depressing wet.

And the next day it rained.

More and more perturbed, as the climax approached, Mr. Peaslee took his place in the jury-room, and sat there with unhearing ears. He sat and thought and delivered battle with his conscience, which was growing painfully vigorous and aggressive. But, after all, perhaps they would not find a true bill, and then Jim would go free, and he could breathe again. Mr. Peaslee clung to the hope, and hugged it.

It was the one thing which gave him courage.

"Gentlemen of the grand jury," suddenly he heard Paige saying, "the next case for you to consider is that of James Edwards, aged fifteen, of Ellmington, charged with a.s.sault, with intent to kill, upon one Peter Lamoury, also of Ellmington."

And he proceeded to read the complaint, which, in spite of the monotonous rapidity with which he rattled it off, scared Mr. Peaslee badly with its solemn-sounding legal phraseology.

"Gentlemen," said Paige, laying down the paper, "there was no eyewitness to the actual a.s.sault; and only three people have any personal knowledge of the event--Mr. Edwards, the defendant's father, the accused himself, and the complainant. Mr. Lamoury, his counsel tells me, is in no condition to appear. But I have here,"

lifting a paper, "his affidavit, properly executed, giving his version of the matter. The boy's father, however, is at hand.

Probably the jury would like to question him."

"It seems to me," said Mr. Sampson, "that Mr. Edwards would be pretty apt to know the rights of it, if he's willing to talk. I guess we'd better hear him."

The state's attorney stepped to the door.

"This way, please!" he called, and Mr. Edwards entered the room.

Farnsworth and Peaslee both studied the man's face closely, although for very different reasons, and both found it sternly uncompromising.

"Please take a chair, Mr. Edwards," said Paige, and in a swift glance rapidly estimated the man. "Here's some one who won't lie,"

he thought, impressed.

"Now," he resumed, "will you kindly tell the members of the grand jury what you know of the case?"

Mr. Edwards cleared his throat painfully. Determined as he was to let his rebellious boy take whatever punishment his mistaken course might bring, he now began to wish that the punishment would be light. His confidence that Jim needed only to be pushed a little to confess was somewhat shaken, and the charge was really serious. He felt a desire to explain, to palliate, to minimize.

"Gentlemen," he said, "my boy's always been a good boy. I can't believe that he meant to hurt Lamoury or any one else. It must have been some accident--"

"Facts, please," said Paige, crisply.

Mr. Peaslee caught his breath indignantly. He had been entirely in sympathy with Mr. Edwards's soft mode of approaching his story.

Paige seemed to him unfeeling.

"I will answer any questions," said Mr. Edwards, stiffening.

"Did you hear any shot fired?" began Paige.

"Yes."