n say he kem otherwise by
his death--jes' an accident in drivin' a skittish horse-critter."

Whether it was a sound, whether it was a movement, none of the group was
accurately aware. It may have been merely that mesmeric influence of an
intently concentrated gaze that caused them suddenly to turn. They beheld
standing in the road--and they flinched at the sight--a witness to all
the proceedings. A small, a simple, object to excite such abject terror
as blanched the faces of the group--a little boy, a mere baby, staring at
the men with wide blue eyes and unconjecturable emotions. He had
doubtless been enveloped in the rug which had fallen from the vehicle as
it first careened in the road, and which now lay among the wayside weeds.
His toggery of the juvenile mode made him seem smaller than he really
was; his scarlet cloth coat, embroidered in Persian effects, was thick
and rendered his figure chubby of aspect; his feet and legs were encased
in bulky white leggins; he wore a broad white beaver hat, its crown
encircled by a red ribbon, and his infantile jauntiness of attire was
infinitely incongruous with the cruel tragedy and his piteous plight.
Although perhaps stunned at first by the shock of the fall, he was
obviously uninjured, and stood sturdily erect and vigilant. He looked
alert, inquiring, anxious, resolved into wonder, silently awaiting
developments. His eyes shifted from one speaker to another of the strange
party.

"Lord! He'll tell it all!" exclaimed Alvin Holvey, appalled and in
hopeless dismay.

"Naw, he won't, now," snarled Copenny rancorously. "Thar will be a way
ter stop his mouth."

"Why, he is too leetle ter talk. He don't sense nuthin'," cried old
Clenk, with an eager note of expostulation, attesting that he was human,
after all. "Don't do nuthin' else rash, Phineas Copenny, fur the love of
God!"

Jubal Clenk dropped on one knee in front of the little boy, and the two
were inscrutably eyeing each other at close quarters. "Hello, Bubby!
Whar's yer tongue? Cat got it?" he asked in a grandfatherly fashion,
while the other men looked on, grim and anxious, at this effort to gauge
the mentality of the child and their consequent danger from him.

Still staring, the little boy began slowly to shake his head in negation.

"What's yer name, Squair? What's yer name?"

But the child still stared silently, either uncomprehending or perceiving
that his safety lay in incompetency.

Clenk rose to his feet