“The old man’s rough this mornin’,” a man whispered to another above him; and he saw the furtive grin on the face of Old Man Thornycroft, who leaned against the counter, waiting.

His heart jumped into his mouth when after a silence the magistrate spoke:  “Mr. Thornycroft, step forward, sir.  Put your hand on the book here.  Now tell us about that dog of yours that was stole.”

Looking first at the magistrate, then at the crowd, as if to impress them also, the old man told in a high-pitched, excited voice all the details—­his seeing Davy Allen pass in front of his house last Friday afternoon, his missing the dog, his finding the block of wood down the road beside the pasture fence, his over-hearing the squire’s talk right here in the store, his calling on Mrs. Allen, the boy’s threatening him.

“I tell you,” he cried, “that’s a dangerous character—­that boy!”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?” asked the squire.

“It’s enough, ain’t it?” demanded Thornycroft angrily.

The squire nodded and spat into the cuspidor between his feet.  “I think so,” he said quietly, “Stand aside.  Davy Alien step forward.  Put your hand on the book here, son.  Davy, how old are you?”

The boy gulped.  “Thirteen years old, goin’ on fo’teen.”

“You’re old enough, son, to know the nater of the oath you’re about to take.  For over two years you’ve been the mainstay an’ support of your mother.  You’ve had to carry the burdens and responsibilities of a man, Davy.  The testimony you give in this case will be the truth, the whole truth an’ nothin’ but the truth, so help you God.  What about it?”

Davy nodded, his face very white.

“All right now.  Tell us about it.  Talk loud so we can hear—­all of us.”

The boy’s eyes never left Mr. Kirby’s while he talked.  Something in them held him, fascinated him, overawed him.  Very large and imposing he looked there behind his little table, with his faded old overcoat on, and there was no sound in the room but the boy’s clear voice.

“An’ you come off an’ left the dog at first?”

“Yes, sir,”

“An’ you didn’t unfasten the chain from the block till the dog got caught in the fence?”

“No, sir, I didn’t.”

“Did you try to get him to follow you then?”

“No, sir, he wanted to.”

“Ask him, Mr. Kirby,” broke in Thornycroft angrily, “if he tried to drive him home!”

“I’ll ask him whatever seems fit an’ right to me, sir,” said Mr. Kirby.  “What did you tell your ma, Davy, when you got home?”

“I told her he followed me.”

“Did you tell her whose dog he was?

“No, sir.”

“Ain’t that what you ought to have done?  Ain’t it?”

Davy hesitated.  “Yes, sir.”

There was a slight shuffling movement amoung the men crowded about.  Somebody cleared his throat.  Mr. Kirby resumed.