Lamoury could not be so badly hurt if he could come to the court house! But what was this? While the state's attorney held wide the door, Jake Hibbard solemnly pushed into the room a great wheeled chair, in which sat the small, wiry, furtive-eyed Lamoury. Mr. Peaslee's heart sank as he saw the wheeled chair, and noted the great bandages about the Frenchman's head and arm. He listened apprehensively to the loud complaint of cruelty to his client which Hibbard continued to make, until Paige, pulling the chair into the room, blandly shut the door in his face. Mr. Peaslee heaved a great sigh of mingled contrition and fear. This wreck was his work; he would be punished for it. "Mr. Lamoury," Paige began courteously, "we so wished to get your version of this painful affair that, though we are sorry to cause you any discomfort, we have felt obliged to bring you here. Will you kindly tell the gentlemen of the grand jury what happened?" "Yes, seh, me, Ah'll tol' heem!" said Lamoury, eagerly. Confident that no one knew anything about what had happened except Jim Edwards and himself, he intended to make his narrative striking. "Yes, seh, Ah'll tol' de trut'. Well, seh, Ah'll be goin' t'rough M'sieu' Edwards's horchard--walkin' t'rough same as any mans. Den I look, han' I see dat leetly boy in de windy, a-shoutin' and a-cussin' lak he gone crazee in hees head. Ah tol' you Ah feel bad for hear dat leetly boy cussin'. Dat was too shame." And Lamoury paused to let this beautiful sentiment impress itself upon the jurors. Mr. Peaslee listened with profound astonishment. "Den he holler somet'ing Ah ain't hear, honly 'Canuck,' han' Ah begins for get my mads up. Ah hain't do heem no harm, _hein_? Den he fire hees gun,--poom!--an' more as twenty--prob'ly ten shot-buck heet me on the head of it!" Buckshot! "Them's the marble," thought Mr. Peaslee, "but there wasn't but one!" "Ah tol' you dey steeng lak bumbletybees. Ah t'ink me, dat weeked leetly boy goin' for shoot more as once prob'ly--mebbe two, t'ree tam. Ah drop queek in de grass, an' Ah run--run queek! An' when Ah get home, Ah find two, t'ree, five, mebbe four hole in mah arm more beeg as mah t'umb." Pete stopped dramatically; his little sparkling black eyes traveled quickly from one face to another to note the effect he had made. Mr. Peaslee's spirits were rising; the grand jury could not believe such a "passel of lies"--only, only was one of those holes "beeg as mah t'umb" made, perchance, by a marble? "That's a mighty moving narrative," commented Sampson, dryly. "Did I understand you to say that you were hit in the head or the arm?" "Bose of it," averred Pete, without winking. "I didn't shoot any bag of marbles," whispered Mr. Peaslee to his neighbor, who nodded. That he had the courage to address a remark to any one shows how his spirits were rising. "You said you were going along the short cut through Mr. Edwards's orchard, didn't you?" the state's attorney now asked.