The next witness called is Mrs. Rosebrook.  This good and benevolent lady is more resolute and determined.  The gentlemen of the bar find her quite clever enough for them.  Approaching the stand with a firm step, she takes her place as if determined upon rescuing the children.  Her answers come rather faster than is compatible with the dignity of the learned gentlemen of the bar.  She knows Marston, knows Franconia, knows the old plantation, has spent many happy hours upon it, is sorry to see the old proprietor reduced to this state of things.  She knows the two children,—­dear creatures,—­has always had a kindly feeling for them; knew their poor mothers, has befriended them since Marston’s troubles began.  She always-her large, loving eyes glowing with the kindness of her soul-heard Marston say they were just as free as people could be, and they should be free, too!  Some people did’nt look at the moral obligation of the thing.  Here, the good lady, blushing, draws the veil over her face.  There is something more she would like to disclose if modesty did not forbid.

“Nothing direct in such testimony, your honour will perceive!” says Mr. Petterwester, directing himself to the judge.

“Is there any question with regard to the father of the children?” enquires his honour, again placing his hand to his ear and leaning forward inquisitively.  His honour suddenly forgot himself.

“Ah, ha’h, he-em!  The question, so buried under a mountain of complexity, requires very nice legal discrimination to define it properly.  However, we must be governed by distinct pleadings, and I think that, in this case, this specific question is not material; nor do my brother colleagues of the Bench think it would be advisable to establish such questions, lest they affect the moral purity of the atmosphere we live in.”

“If your honour will permit it, I may say it will only be necessary in this case to establish the fact of property existing in the mothers.  That will settle the whole question; fathers, as you are aware, not being embraced in the law regulating this species of property;” the learned gentleman instructs the court.

His honour, rejoining with a few very grave and very legal remarks, says they look very much alike, and are of one mother.  He is a little undecided, however, takes another good stare at them, and then adds his glasses, that the affinity may be more clear.  Turning again to his book, he examines his pages, vacantly.  A legal wag, who has been watching the trial for mere amusement, whispering in the ear of his brother, insinuates that the presiding functionary is meditating some problem of speculation, and has forgotten the point at issue.

“No!” interrupts Mr. Petterwester, “your honour is curiously labouring under an error; they have two mothers, both of the same tenour in life—­that is”—­Mr. Petterwester corrects himself—­“embodying the same questions of property.  The issue of the case now on is taken as final over the rest.”