The judge sat for a minute in silence, as if weighing the matter carefully.  Finally he said:—­

“We do not think the testimony is competent, Mr. Goodlaw.  Although the point is a new one to us, we are inclined to look upon the law of the case as Mr. Sharpman looks on it.  We shall be obliged to refuse your offer.  We will seal you a bill of exceptions.”

Goodlaw had hardly dared to expect anything else.  There was nothing for him to do but to acquiesce in the ruling of the court.

Ralph turned to face him with a question on his lips.

“Mr. Goodlaw,” he said, “ain’t they goin’ to let me tell what I heard Rhymin’ Joe say?”

“I am afraid not, Ralph; the court has ruled that conversation out.”

“But they won’t never know the right of it unless I tell that.  I’ve got to tell it; that’s what I come here for.”

The judge turned to the witness and spoke to him, not unkindly:—­

“Ralph, suppose you refrain from interrogating your counsel, and let him ask questions of you; that is the way we do here.”

“Yes, sir, I will,” said the boy, innocently, “only it seems too bad ‘at I can’t tell what Rhymin’ Joe said.”

The lawyers in the bar were smiling, Sharpman had recovered his apparent good-nature, and Goodlaw began again to interrogate the witness.

“Are you aware, Ralph,” he asked, “that your testimony here to-day may have the effect of excluding you from all rights in the estate of Robert Burnham?”

“Yes, sir, I know it.”

“And do you know that you are probably denying yourself the right to bear one of the most honored names, and to live in one of the most beautiful homes in this community?”

“Yes, sir, I know it all.  I wouldn’t mind all that so much though if it wasn’t for my mother.  I’ve got to give her up now, that’s the worst of it; I don’t know how I’m goin’ to stan’ that.”

Mrs. Burnham, sitting by her counsel, bent her head above the table and wept silently.

“Was your decision to disclose your knowledge reached with a fair understanding of the probable result of such a disclosure?”

“Yes, sir, it was.  I knew what the end of it’d be, an’ I had a pirty hard time to bring myself to it, but I done it, an’ I’m glad now ’at I did.”

“Did you reach this decision alone or did some one help you to it?”

“Well, I’ll tell you how that was.  All’t I decided in the first place was to tell Uncle Billy,—­he’s the man’t I live with.  So I told him, an’ he said I ought to tell Mrs. Burnham right away.  But she wasn’t home when I got to her house, so I started right down here; an’ they was an accident up on the road, an’ the train couldn’t go no further, an’ so I walked in—­I was afraid I wouldn’t get here in time ’less I did.”

“Your long walk accounts for your dusty and shoeless condition, I suppose?”