But Dannie did not move. The revulsion of feeling on learning that, after all, he was not to be punished, that the iron doors of the grim old jail were not to open for his admittance, was too strong to be controlled. His face flushed with sudden joy, and then the color all went out and he grew white as death. The lashes of his eyelids drooped upon his cheeks, his hands fell to his sides, his chin sank upon his breast, and those who looked on him saw that he had been stricken with sudden faintness. A court attendant hurried into a side room for a glass of water. Abner Pickett and Marshall were on their feet in an instant hurrying toward the fainting boy. But before either of them could reach his chair, Charlie Pickett, with great strides, had swung himself from the bench where he was sitting to the boy’s side, and had caught him in his arms. He held him to his breast, looking about for an instant to see what he should do. Then, without waiting to follow any of the dozen suggestions that were given to him simultaneously by lawyers and officers of the court, he started with his burden down the crowded aisle. People gave way before him, looking with sympathetic eyes on the limp little body borne so tenderly in the strong parental arms. When he reached the long corridor, Charlie saw the door of a jury room standing invitingly open, and into that he hurried and laid the unconscious boy at full length on a convenient bench. A court attendant bustled in with a glass of water. A young physician, who had been sitting in the court room, hurried in and offered his services. “I am a doctor,” he said; “perhaps I can be of some assistance.” He felt the boy’s pulse, touched his cheek, and listened to his breathing. “It is only a fainting spell,” he said; “he will come out of it in a minute. Brought on by excitement and exhaustion, I presume. I don’t wonder at it if the boy’s story of his journey through the storm is true.” He was chafing Dannie’s hands as he spoke, loosening the neckband of his shirt, and touching his cheek to note the returning circulation. “Whatever he said is true,” declared Abner Pickett; “the boy never told a lie in his life.” Gabriel, who had followed the party to the jury room, had, with a quick instinct not unusual for him, constituted himself a doorkeeper, and was holding back the curious and inquiring crowd. “Jest a little faintin’ spell,” he explained. “Ain’t used to court, you know, an’ the judge an’ the lawyers an’ all, they kind o’ scairt ’im. He’ll be all right in a minute or two--much obleeged to ye.” Charlie Pickett, leaning over the prostrate body of his son, touched his father’s arm. “Father,” he said, “I want to speak to you for a moment. Dannie is safe in the doctor’s hands. Will you come out with me?” And Abner Pickett looked up at him coldly and replied:-- “I’ve no call to speak to you, sir. I’ll take care of the boy.” “Then I shall exercise my right as a father in the presence of these people.”