After the thunder of his ire had rolled away there was a gentle murmur from the old woman. "It's a terrible thing to put a man to death." "So it is, Maw, and if this fellow had only realized it he'd have kept out of trouble." "He was excited, most likely, and out of his head. What I mean is, it's a terrible thing for a judge and a jury to try a man and take his life away from him." "Oh, it's terrible, of course, Maw, but we've got to have laws to hold the world together, ain't we? And if we don't enforce 'em, what's the use of havin' 'em?" Silence and a far-away look on the wrinkled face resting on the wrinkled hand and then a quiet question: "Suppose it was our Steve?" "I won't suppose any such thing. Thank God there's been no stain on any of our family, either side; just plain hard-workin' folks--no crazy ones, no criminals." "But supposing it was our boy, Paw?" "Oh, what's the use of arguin' with a woman! I love you for it, Maw, but--well, I'm sorry I spoke." He returned to his paper, growling now and then as he read of some new quibble devised by the attorneys for the defense. As softly and as surreptitiously as it begins to rain on a cloudy day, she was crying. He turned again with mock indignation. "Here, here! What you turning up about now?" "I want to see my boy. I'm worried. He may be sick. He'd never let us know." The old man tried to cajole her from her forebodings, tried to reason them away, laugh them away. At last he said, with a poor effort at gruffness: "Well, for the Lord's sake, why don't you go? He's always askin' us to come and see him. I'm kind o' homesick for a sight of the boy m'self. You haven't been to town for a month of Sundays. Throw a few things in a valise and I'll hitch up. We'll just about make the next train from the village." She needed no coercion from without. She rose at once. As she opened the squeaky screen-door he was clumping down the steps. He paused to call back: "Oh, Maw!" "Yes, Paw!" "Better tuck in a jar of those preserves you been puttin' up. The boy always liked those better 'n most anything. Don't wrap 'em in my nightshirt, though." She called out, "All right," and the slap of the screen-door was echoed a moment later by a similar sound in the barn, accompanied by the old man's voice: "Give over, Fan." II The elevator-boy hesitated. "Oh, yes-sum, I got a pass-key, all right, but I can't hahdly let nobody in Mista Coburn's 'pahtment 'thout his awdas." "But we're his mother and father." "Of co'se I take yo' wud for that, ma'am, but, you see, I can't hahdly let nobody--er--um'm--thank you, sir--well, I reckon Mista Coburn might be mo' put out ef I didn't let you-all in than ef I did."