“Ah!” said the foreman. Eli stood up and faced the others. “'Most all o' you know what our Bar is in a southeast gale. They ain't a man here that would dare to try and cross it when the sea's breakin' on it. The man that says he would, lies!” And he looked at the foreman, and waited a moment. “When my wife took sick, and I stopped goin' to sea, two year ago, and took up boat-fishin', I did n't know half as much about the coast as the young boys do, and one afternoon it was blowin' a gale, and we was all hands comin' in, and passin' along the Bar to go sheer 'round it to the west'ard, and Captain Fred Cook--he's short-sighted--got on to the Bar before he knew it, and then he hed to go ahead, whether or no; and I was right after him, and I s'posed he knew, and I followed him. Well, he was floated over, as luck was, all right; but when I 'd just got on the Bar, a roller dropped back and let my bowsprit down into the sand, and then come up quicker'n lightnin' and shouldered the boat over, t' other end first, and slung me into the water; and when I come up, I see somethin' black, and there was John Wood's boat runnin' by me before the wind with a rush--and 'fore I knew an'thing, he had me by the hair by one hand, and in his boat, and we was over the Bar. Now, I tell you, a man that looks the way I saw him look when I come over the gunwale, face up, don't go 'round breakin' in and hookin' things. He hed n't one chance in five, and he was a married man, too, with small children. And what's more,” he added incautiously, “he did n't stop there. When he found out, this last spring, that I was goin' to lose my place, he lent me money enough to pay the interest that was overdue on the mortgage, of his own accord.” And he stopped suddenly. “You have certainly explained yourself,” said the foreman. “I think we understand you distinctly.” “There is n't one word of truth in that idea,” said Eli, flushing up, “and you know it. I 've paid him back every cent. I know him better 'n any of you, that's all, and when I know he ain't guilty, I won't say he is; and I can set here as long as any other man.” “Lively times some folks 'll hev, when they go home,” said a spare tin-pedler, stroking his long yellow goatee. “Go into the store: nobody speak to you; go to cattle-show: everybody follow you 'round; go to the wharf: nobody weigh your fish; go to buy seed-cakes to the cart: baker won't give no tick.” “How much does it cost, Mr. Foreman,” said the butcher, “for a man 't 's obliged to leave town, to move a family out West? I only ask for information. I have known a case where a man had to leave--could n't live there no longer--wa' n't wanted.” There was a knock. An officer, sent by the judge, inquired whether the jury were likely soon to agree. “It rests with you, sir,” said the foreman, looking at Eli. But Eli sat doggedly with his hands in his pockets, and did not look up or speak. “Say to the judge that I cannot tell,” said the foreman.