“Oh, but Jedge,” she said, “you must listen to me, please. You oughter know the truth and there ain't no way for you to know it without I tell it to you. Jimmy didn't want no quarrel with that man--it wasn't never none of his choosin'. He tried not to bear no grudge for what had gone before--he jest craved to be let alone and not be pestered. Why, when Ranee Fleming cussed him that first time, last Fall, he come home to me cryin' like his heart would break. He said he'd been insulted and that he'd have to take it up and fight it out with Ranee Fleming; he felt like he just had to. But we begged him on our bended knees mighty nigh, me and Emmy did, not to do nothin' for our sakes--and for our sakes he promised to let it go, and say nothin'. Even after that, if Ranee Fleming had just let him be, all this turrible trouble wouldn't a-come on us. But Ranee Fleming he come back again and slapped Jimmy's face, and Jimmy knowed then that sooner or later he'd have to kill Ranee Fleming or be killed his-self--there wasn't no other way out of it for him. “Jedge Priest, he's been the best prop a lone woman ever had to lean on--he's been like a son to me. My own son couldn't a-been more faithful or more lovin. I jest ask you to bear all these things in mind tomorrow.” “I will, Madame,” said the old Judge, rather huskily. “I promise you I will. Your nephew shall have a fair trial and all his rights shall be safe-guarded. But that is all I can say to you now.” Emmy Hardin, who hadn't spoken at all, plucked her by the arm and sought to lead her away. Shaking her head, the old woman turned away from the steps. “Jest one minute, please, Miss Puss,” said Judge Priest, “I'd like to ask you a question, and I don't want you to think I'm pryin' into your private and personal affairs; but is it true what I hear--that you've mortgaged your home place to raise the money for this boy's defense?” “I ain't begredgin' the money,” she protested. “It ain't the thought of that, that brought me here tonight. I'd work my fingers to the bone if 'twould help Jimmy any, and so would Emmy here. We'd both of us be willin' and ready to go to the porehouse and live and die there if it would do him any good.” “I feel sure of that,” repeated the old Judge patiently, “but is it true about this mortgage?” “Yes, suh,” she answered, and then she began to cry again, “it's true, but please don't even let Jimmy know. He thinks I had the money saved up from the marketin' to hire Mr. Prentiss with, and I don't never want him to know the truth. No matter how his case goes I don't never want him to know.” They had moved off down the gravel walk perhaps twenty feet, when suddenly the smouldering feud-hate stirred in the old woman's blood; and it spread through her and made her meager frame quiver as if with an ague. And now the words came from her with a hiss of feeling: