“Brother, I don’t understand,” said Madame. “Who lent what? And where has she gone?” “I mean Sister Olive—oh! I’m so sorry—poor Brother Ezra!—Sister Olive has gone off with Cotterell, and it was he who stole Queen Katharine, only it was proved at the trial that she lent her to him.” Brother Green was too distressed to be a good witness. “Who told you?” asked Madame. “Whoever did told a lie,” said Uncle David. “He’s outside. He was at the trial and has come to tell us about it.” “Then bring him in,” said Madame. The stranger entered, looking somewhat abashed. He was truly sorry to be the bearer of such bad tidings. “Young man, before you begin this wicked tale, I charge you think of God and tell the truth.” Uncle David stood before him like an avenging spirit. “Sir, excuse him,” said Madame in her sweet voice. “The old man is painfully distracted by grief, he does not know what he is saying. You have come to bring us definite news, have you not?” “I’m thund’rin’ sorry, so I am, an’ if we’d ha’ knowed how it would ha’ ended, the boys ’ud ha’ made sure by bangin’ him fust an’ havin’ the trial a’terwards.” “Are you speaking about Mr. Cotterell? We have not had any news for days, so perhaps you will explain it all clearly,” said Madame. “Yes, wal, when ole man Wright come an’ tole as how yer hoss was stole, the boys they ’lowed as you was all such damn—such all-fired pertikler folks as didn’t do yer own shootin’, they ’lowed they oughter kinder be neighbourly an’ do it for yer. So we sot out to run down the cuss. We got word from a teamster from beyond the Creek, he seed a man on a mare jes’ like yourn agoin’ toward the border. So we picked up the trail right away. He warn’t worth a red cent to hide a trail. He jes’ follered straight ahead ’long the road, axin’ his way an’ follerin’ plumb on the d’rections. Any fool could ha’ run down such a coon as him. He war ridin’ yer brown mare when they come up, an’ he didn’t show fight, jes’ said he’d stan’ trial, an’ he ’lowed it ’ud be fair. The boys calkerlated it wouldn’t be a fair trial ’less they toted him roun’ to Union Mills, which are his own post-office, an’ if that ain’t treatin’ a man fair nothin’ is. An’ they got a new set o’ men to stan’ jury as what cotch him, ’cause mos’ on ’em was that mad for leavin’ the corn-shuckin’ to run down such a nat’ral born fool, they’d ha’ mos’ likely strung him slap up. It war all done fair, we kep’ him down to Phillipps’ store over night, an’ I tuk a spell o’ stan’in’ guard. We didn’t sen’ for none o’ yo’uns, ’cause we knowed yer be all sot agin hangin’, an’ yer can’t have a man on a jury who’s sot agin hangin’ when that’s all yer want ter git done, can yer? So we was a-tryin’ of him fair, with ole man Strong for foreman ’cause he knowed all the forms, as he was out to the hangin’ of Howard an’ that thief over to Jacksonville an’ mos’ on ’em. He was pertikler to do it all straight ’cordin’ to law, an’ we was gittin’