and there was nothing to do but watch them lick and burn. Nor of that sudden wildness of dumb fear that rushed into the heart of the crouching creature, changing the madness of his face to palsy. Nor of the recoil from the burning stack; those moments empty with terror. Nor of how terror, through habit of inarticulate, emotionless existence, gave place again to brute stolidity. And so, heavily back across the dewy fields, under the larks' songs, the cooings of pigeons, the hum of wings, and all the unconscious rhythm of ageless Nature. No! The probings of Justice could never reach the whole truth. And even Justice quailed at its own probings when the mother-child was passed up from Tod's side into the witness-box and the big laborer was seen to look at her and she at him. She seemed to have grown taller; her pensive little face and beautifully fluffed-out corn-brown hair had an eerie beauty, perched up there in the arid witness-box, as of some small figure from the brush of Botticelli. “Your name, my dear?” “Biddy Tryst.” “How old?” “Ten next month, please.” “Do you remember going to live at Mr. Freeland's cottage?” “Yes, sir.” “And do you remember the first night?” “Yes, sir.” “Where did you sleep, Biddy?” “Please, sir, we slept in a big room with a screen. Billy and Susie and me; and father behind the screen.” “And where was the room?” “Down-stairs, sir.” “Now, Biddy, what time did you wake up the first morning?” “When Father got up.” “Was that early or late?” “Very early.” “Would you know the time?” “No, sir.” “But it was very early; how did you know that?” “It was a long time before we had any breakfast.” “And what time did you have breakfast?” “Half past six by the kitchen clock.” “Was it light when you woke up?” “Yes, sir.” “When Father got up, did he dress or did he go to bed again?” “He hadn't never undressed, sir.” “Then did he stay with you or did he go out?” “Out, sir.” “And how long was it before he came back?” “When I was puttin' on Billy's boots.” “What had you done in between?” “Helped Susie and dressed Billy.” “And how long does that take you generally?” “Half an hour, sir.” “I see. What did Father look like when he came in, Biddy?” The mother-child paused. For the first time it seemed to dawn on her that there was something dangerous in these questions. She twisted her small hands before her and gazed at her father. The judge said gently: “Well, my child?” “Like he does now, sir.” “Thank you, Biddy.” That was all; the mother-child was suffered to step down and take her place again by Tod. And in the silence rose the short and rubbery report of little Mr. Pogram blowing his nose. No evidence given that morning was so conclusive, actual, terrible as that unconscious: “Like he does now, sir.” That was why even Justice quailed a little at its own probings.