forth."

"And yet you think Jackson had the right of it?" I asked, pausing for
the moment on the threshold.

"I don't think; I know it," was his answer. "And at first I thought
he had some show, too. But I didn't tell my wife. I didn't want to
disappoint her. She had her heart set on a trip to the country hard
enough as it was."

"Why did you not call attention to the fact that Jackson was trying to
save the machinery from being injured?" I asked Peter Donnelly, one of
the foremen who had testified at the trial.

He pondered a long time before replying. Then he cast an anxious look
about him and said:

"Because I've a good wife an' three of the sweetest children ye ever
laid eyes on, that's why."

"I do not understand," I said.

"In other words, because it wouldn't a-ben healthy," he answered.

"You mean--" I began.

But he interrupted passionately.

"I mean what I said. It's long years I've worked in the mills. I began
as a little lad on the spindles. I worked up ever since. It's by hard
work I got to my present exalted position. I'm a foreman, if you please.
An' I doubt me if there's a man in the mills that'd put out a hand to
drag me from drownin'. I used to belong to the union. But I've stayed
by the company through two strikes. They called me 'scab.' There's not
a man among 'em to-day to take a drink with me if I asked him. D'ye see
the scars on me head where I was struck with flying bricks? There ain't
a child at the spindles but what would curse me name. Me only friend is
the company. It's not me duty, but me bread an' butter an' the life of
me children to stand by the mills. That's why."

"Was Jackson to blame?" I asked.

"He should a-got the damages. He was a good worker an' never made
trouble."

"Then you were not at liberty to tell the whole truth, as you had sworn
to do?"

He shook his head.

"The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" I said
solemnly.

Again his face became impassioned, and he lifted it, not to me, but to
heaven.

"I'd let me soul an' body burn in everlastin' hell for them children of
mine," was his answer.

Henry Dallas, the superintendent, was a vulpine-faced creature who
regarded me insolently and refused to talk. Not a word could I get from
him concerning the trial and his testimony. But with the other foreman I
had better luck. James Smith was a hard-faced man, and my heart sank
as I encountered him. He, too, gave me the impression that he was no