us brace myself
an' say' I'm doing just what Tom did many a day for me.' When I sign his
name to me checks an' papers,--the name I've loved an' that I've worked
for, the name I've kep' clean for him--me Tom that loved me, an' never
lied or was mean--me Tom that I promised, an'--an'"--

All the woman in her overcame her now. Sinking to her knees, she threw
her arms and head on the lounge, and burst into tears.

Babcock rested his head on his hand, and looked on in silence. Here was
something, it seemed to him, too sacred for him to touch even with his
sympathy.

"Tom," he said, when she grew more quiet, his whole heart going out to
her, "what do you want me to do?"

"I don't know that ye can do anything," she said in a quivering voice,
lifting her head, her eyes still wet. "Perhaps nobody can. But I thought
maybe ye'd go wid me to Judge Bowker in the mornin'. Rowan an' all of
'em 'll be there, an' I'm no match for these lawyers. Perhaps ye'd speak
to the judge for me."

Babcock held out his hand.

"I knew ye would, an' I thank ye," she said, drying her eyes. "Now
unlock the door, an' let 'em in. They worry so. Gran'pop hasn't slep'
a night since I was hurted, an' Jennie goes round cryin' all the time,
sayin' they 'll be a-killin' me next."

Then, rising to her feet, she called out in a cheery voice, as Babcock
opened the door, "Come in, Jennie; come in Gran'pop. It's all over,
child. Mr. Babcock's a-going wid me in the mornin'. Niver fear; we'll
down 'em all yit."

XVII. A DANIEL COME TO JUDGMENT

When Judge Bowker entered his office adjoining the village bank, Justice
Rowan had already arrived. So had McGaw, Dempsey, Crimmins, Quigg, the
president of the board, and one or two of the trustees. The judge had
sent for McGaw and the president, and they had notified the others.

McGaw sat next to Dempsey. His extreme nervousness of a few days
ago--starting almost at the sound of his own footstep--had given place
to a certain air of bravado, now that everybody in the village believed
the horse had kicked Tom.

Babcock and Tom were by the window, she listless and weary, he alert
and watchful for the slightest point in her favor. She had on her brown
dress, washed clean of the blood-stains, and the silk hood, which better
concealed the bruises. All her old fire and energy were gone. It was not
from the shock of her wound,--her splendid constitution was fast healing
that,--but from this deeper hurt, this last