ered and sang
as joyously, a silence fell upon Pinetucky,--a silence full of
austerity. The men talked in subdued tones when they met, as though
they expected justice to discharge one of her thunderbolts at their
feet; and the women went about their duties with a degree of
nervousness that was aptly described by Miss Jane Inchly long
afterwards, when reciting the experiences of that most memorable day in
the history of Pinetucky. "I let a sifter drop out 'n my hand," said
she, "and I declare to gracious if it didn't sound like a cannon had
went off."

In all that neighbourhood the Carews, father and son, had but one
accuser, and not one apologist. Pinetucky existed in a primitive
period, as we are in the habit of believing now, and its people were
simple-minded people. In this age of progress and culture, morality and
justice are arrayed in many refinements of speech and thought. They
have been readjusted, so to speak, by science; but in Pinetucky in the
forties, morality and justice were as robust and as severe as they are
in the Bible.

It was not until after the machinery of justice had been set in motion
that Pinetucky allowed itself to comment on the case; but the comment
was justified by the peculiar conduct of the Carews, When they were
confronted with the facts--the cotton concealed in the barn and the
warrant in the hands of the sheriff,--old Billy Carew fell to trembling
as though he had the palsy. Jack had turned pale as death, and had made
a movement toward Bradley Gaither as though to offer violence; but when
he saw his father shaking so, the colour returned to his face, and he
exclaimed quickly--

"The warrant is for me alone, Mr. Sheriff. Pay no attention to father.
He is old, and his mind is weak."

"He's a liar!" the old man screamed, when he found his voice. "He's a
miserable liar! He never stole that cotton. Don't tetch him! don't you
dast to tetch him! He'll lie to you, but he won't steal your cotton!
Put my name in that warrant. Bradley Gaither stole my money and land; I
reckon I've got the rights to steal his cotton."

"He's drunk again," said Jack. "We'll carry him in the house, and then
I'll be ready to go with you."

But the old man was not carried to the house without a scene. He raved,
and screamed, and swore, and finally fell to the ground in a fit of
impotent rage, protesting to the last that Jack was a liar. When those
who were present had been worked up to the highest pitch of exci