"Ten next month, please."

"Do you remember going to live at Mr. Freeland's cottage?"

"Yes, sir."

"And do you remember the first night?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where did you sleep, Biddy?"

"Please, sir, we slept in a big room with a screen. Billy and Susie and
me; and father behind the screen."

"And where was the room?"

"Down-stairs, sir."

"Now, Biddy, what time did you wake up the first morning?"

"When Father got up."

"Was that early or late?"

"Very early."

"Would you know the time?"

"No, sir."

"But it was very early; how did you know that?"

"It was a long time before we had any breakfast."

"And what time did you have breakfast?"

"Half past six by the kitchen clock."

"Was it light when you woke up?"

"Yes, sir."

"When Father got up, did he dress or did he go to bed again?"

"He hadn't never undressed, sir."

"Then did he stay with you or did he go out?"

"Out, sir."

"And how long was it before he came back?"

"When I was puttin' on Billy's boots."

"What had you done in between?"

"Helped Susie and dressed Billy."

"And how long does that take you generally?"

"Half an hour, sir."

"I see. What did Father look like when he came in, Biddy?"

The mother-child paused. For the first time it seemed to dawn on her
that there was something dangerous in these questions. She twisted her
small hands before her and gazed at her father.

The judge said gently:

"Well, my child?"

"Like he does now, sir."

"Thank you, Biddy."

That was all; the mother-child was suffered to step down and take her
place again by Tod. And in the silence rose the short and rubbery report
of little Mr. Pogram blowing his nose. No evidence given that morning
was so conclusive, actual, terrible as that unconscious: "Like he does
now, sir." That was why even Justice quailed a little at its own
probings.

From this moment the boy knew that Tryst's fate was sealed. What did all
those words matter, those professional patterings one way and the other;
the professional jeers: 'My friend has told you this' and 'My friend will
tell you that.' The professional steering of the impartial judge, seated
there above them all; the cold, calculated rhapsodies about the
heinousness of arson; the cold and calculated attack on the characters of
the stone-breaker witness and the tramp witness; the cold and calculated
patter of the appeal not to condemn a father on the evidence of his
little child; the