The squire was at the end of his resources now, as far as evidence could go. It remained but for him to do his duty in the minds of his clients and his townsmen, and he did it—to his own satisfaction, at least, in his address to the court. He painted the heroism of the boys at the fire in colours glowing as the flames. He enlarged upon the probability and the presumption of innocence. And he paid his respects to the colonel and the squire in a few stinging sentences that turned the eyes of the assembled audience upon them in indignation. And when he was all done and the court-room turned with expectancy toward the prosecuting attorney, the latter simply said: “Your Honour, the people will submit their case without argument.” And so, with startling abruptness, the case had come to its crisis. There was nothing left but for the law to act. There succeeded a deathlike stillness in the court-room. His Honour sat for some moments, with his eyes cast down upon his desk. He seemed loath to speak. Finally he arose and, with some effort, said, gently: “In all my experience as attorney and as judge I have never before been placed in a position so distasteful to me nor so distressing. The case of these young men is most unfortunate. Their stories impress me as honestly told. Their characters are clearly such as are opposed to any such wanton destruction as is here alleged. And yet the circumstances are such that I should be blind to the duty of my office if I failed to hold them for trial. I hope that when their case shall come to trial this fall that they will have gathered evidence that shall show conclusively their innocence. In the meantime, deeply as I regret it, it becomes my painful duty to order that they be held.” Again an utter stillness in the court-room, broken only by the sobbing of a woman. The entire court-room waited silently for the next move, amazed at the suddenness of the conclusion. Six boys set their teeth hard and tried to look undismayed, but the face of each spoke only too plainly of his distress. Then all at once the patter of feet broke the silence in the court-room, and a slight boyish figure, poorly dressed and unkempt, darted up the aisle, into the august presence of the court, and sought refuge in the seat next to that occupied by Mr. Warren. A court officer, who had been stationed at the door, lumbered in after the boyish figure. “Officer,” cried Squire Ellis, irritably, “how came you to let this lad into the court-room? What does this mean? Put him out.” “If you please, Your Honour,” said the officer, very red in the face, “I drove him away from the door once, but he dodged in past me again before I could stop him.” “Remove him from the room at once,” said the court, sharply. The officer advanced.