Sherry got down, but crouched at Paul’s feet, wagging his tail with short barks and occasionally leaping up again towards his face. Paul kept his hand upon him, while he inhaled the pure salt air in long breaths and looked about him as if the place were new. To his right was the sea, dotted with sails afar in the horizon,—nearer the shore a boat was coming as fast as steam could bring it, its lower deck black with passengers, who, afraid of being late, were crowding to the front in order to be among the first to land. To the south, over the roofs of other buildings, he could see the cupola of his father’s house, and he winked hard to keep back the tears choking him as he thought he might never enter that house again. He could not see Mrs. Percy’s cottage, nor Miss Hansford’s, but he knew where they were and his eyes wandered from one locality to the other and then went on to the Court House half a mile away and on the same wide street with the jail. He could see the people hurrying there before he entered the carriage and after he was in it and out of the jail yard he could see them more distinctly lining the way and reminding him of ants when their nest is disturbed. All turned their heads to look as the carriage drove by with Sherry in attendance trotting on the side where Paul was sitting and sometimes springing up to see that his master was there. Many lifted their hats, and the piping voice of a little child grasping its mother’s dress called out, “Mam-ma, which is _him_!”