"It's enough, ain't it?" demanded Thornycroft angrily.
The squire nodded and spat into the cuspidor between his feet. "I think
so," he said quietly, "Stand aside. Davy Alien step forward. Put your
hand on the book here, son. Davy, how old are you?"
The boy gulped. "Thirteen years old, goin' on fo'teen."
"You're old enough, son, to know the nater of the oath you're about to
take. For over two years you've been the mainstay an' support of your
mother. You've had to carry the burdens and responsibilities of a man,
Davy. The testimony you give in this case will be the truth, the whole
truth an' nothin' but the truth, so help you God. What about it?"
Davy nodded, his face very white.
"All right now. Tell us about it. Talk loud so we can hear--all of us."
The boy's eyes never left Mr. Kirby's while he talked. Something in them
held him, fascinated him, overawed him. Very large and imposing he
looked there behind his little table, with his faded old overcoat on,
and there was no sound in the room but the boy's clear voice.
"An' you come off an' left the dog at first?"
"Yes, sir,"
"An' you didn't unfasten the chain from the block till the dog got
caught in the fence?"
"No, sir, I didn't."
"Did you try to get him to follow you then?"
"No, sir, he wanted to."
"Ask him, Mr. Kirby," broke in Thornycroft angrily, "if he tried to
drive him home!"
"I'll ask him whatever seems fit an' right to me, sir," said Mr. Kirby.
"What did you tell your ma, Davy, when you got home?"
"I told her he followed me.
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