The old man shook his head. "He can't, and I don't know that he would if he could. I mean that he can't and still be true to himself. Ever since our agreement, the one I told you about, he has been putty open in talkin' to me, and I know that he wanted Millie to marry Stuart. No, he's too proud to help us." "But can he for family reasons afford not to help us? His son----" "Don't speak of that now, if you please, sir. Are you goin' to the house?" "I don't know. I am almost afraid to meet his mother." "Don't be afraid of that. She won't reproach you; she knows that you had nothing to do with it--knows that he never would have killed him if he had asked your advice and followed it." "I don't mean that--I mean that I cannot bear to look upon her grief." "She is a Christian, sir. She is praying to her God, and whatever comes she will trust in Him. The stock that she is from has stood at the stake, sir." We were slowly walking toward the house. Suddenly he clutched my arm with a grip that reminded me of Alf, and in a voice betraying more emotion than I had known him to show, asked whether I intended to leave him. I put my arm about him and pressed him to me, just as if he were Alf telling me of the love-trouble that lay upon his heart. "I understand you, God bless you," he said. "Don't say a word; I understand you. Git on the mare and go to town and find out all you can. I won't go jest now--can't stand to see my son in jail. But don't say a word, for I understand you. I reckon the neighborhood is pretty well alive over it by this time. See if they'll let him go about on bail, but I don't reckon they will, even if he did give himself up. They'll think that he done it because he must have knowed that they were bound to catch him. Go on and do whatever your jedgment tells you, and I know it will be all right." Over the road I went, toward Purdy, and the people who had come out of their houses to speak words of encouragement to Alf and me when we were on our way to see the Aimes boys tried, now stood about their doors, gazing stupidly. At the wagon-maker's shop a crowd was gathered, and I was recognized as I drew near by young men who had met me at the General's house the night before--now so long ago, it seemed--and they came out into the road and urged me to tell them all I knew. I felt that Etheredge had already stirred in his own coloring, but I told the story of the tragedy just as I had told it to the old man; and I had gathered rein to resume my journey when a man rode up. "I'm going back to town!" he shouted, waving his hand to a man who stood in the door of the wagon-maker's shop. I rode on and he came up beside me. "Are you Mr. Hawes?" he asked, and when I had answered him he said: "I am Dr. Etheredge."