them were gradually reduced to just one.  That question was not whether Ralph was the son of Robert Burnham; but it was:  which would be better for the boy, to decide in favor of the plaintiff or of the defendant.  If they found for the plaintiff, they would throw the boy’s fortune into the hands of Craft and Sharpman, where they feared the greater part of it would finally remain.  If they found for the defendant, they would practically consign the lad to a life of homelessness and toil.  It was to discuss and settle this question, therefore, that the jury remained locked up in their room through so many hours.

The day wore on and no verdict was rendered.  Sharpman’s spirits continued to rise, and Goodlaw feared that his case was lost.

At four o’clock the jury sent in word that they had agreed, and a few minutes later they filed into the court-room.  When their verdict had been inspected by the judge it was given to the prothonotary to read.  He faced the jury, saying:—­

“Gentlemen of the jury, listen to your verdict as the court has it recorded.  In the case wherein Simon Craft, guardian of the estate of Ralph Burnham, a minor, is plaintiff, and Margaret Burnham, administrator of the estate of Robert Burnham, deceased, is defendant, you say you find for the defendant, and that the boy Ralph is not the son of Robert Burnham.  So say you all?”

The jury nodded assent, and the verdict was filed.  That settled it.  Craft and Sharpman were beaten.

It was very strange that a solid truth, backed up by abundant and irreproachable evidence, presented under the strict rules of law and the solemn sanction of an oath, should be upset and shattered by a flimsy falsehood told by an unknown adventurer, heard unawares by a listening child, and denied a proper entrance into court.  It was strange but it was very true.  Yet in that ruin was involved one of the boldest schemes for legal plunder that was ever carried into the courts of Luzerne County.

Sharpman felt that a fortune had slipped from his grasp, and that he had lost it by reason of his own credulity and fear.  He saw now the mistake he had made in not defying Rhyming Joe.  He knew now that the fellow never would have dared to appear in court as a witness.  He felt that he had not only lost his money, but that he had come dangerously near to losing what character he had, also.  He knew that it was all due to his own fault, and he was humiliated and angry with himself, and bitter toward every one who had sided with the defendant.

But if Sharpman’s disappointment was great, that of his client was tenfold greater.