"Yes; and it’s as good a way as any. The sooner men are tried and afforded a chance to prove their innocence, or stand convicted, the more likely justice is to be done. Only time enough should be given to get together the evidence. More than that is a trick." "Enough time hasn’t been allowed Uncle Job," I answered, "for there’s only three days more, and nothing has been done." "I don’t know. A good many things might happen in three days, Gilbert; so don’t be too downhearted. Go back to town and see what more you can learn, and don’t forget to spy out what Moth and the constable are doing. Then come here the second night from this, crammed with news, and I will be here to meet you. You are sure, though, that you have told me everything you have heard?" he added. "Yes, I’m sure." "Well, then, if that is all, give me your hand and I will help you to a ride to town." On our way back he sought to cheer me up, but not with much success, for I could see no loophole by which Uncle Job could escape, so closely was the web drawn about him—unless, indeed, his good name should serve him with the jury, as he thought; but of this I had not much hope, so greatly did I fear Moth’s misrepresentations and sarcasm of speech. The next day, when on my way to visit Uncle Job, I met Blott as he was leaving the jail. Jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Uncle Job’s cell, he remarked, in his slow way: "He’s in the spider’s web, sure; Pickle’s got him, the little ant!" "Yes," I cried; "and he is the man who saved your life. Now he’s in trouble why don’t you save him, and pay your debt?" I asked, in a heat. "There’s nothin’ in the world I wouldn’t do to help him. He saved my life an’ saved me from other things worse’n dyin’," Blott answered, mournfully. "I could git him out of jail easy enough, if that was all, an’ offered to, but he won’t budge." "I spoke without thinking, Blott," I answered, ashamed of myself; "but he is in trouble, and needs friends, and hasn’t any." "He’s lots of friends, an’ that’s all the good it does; but the Lord ain’t goin’ to let a man like him be eaten up by moths, I don’t believe, though how he’s to be saved I don’t see." "Can’t anything be done?" I asked, in despair. "Not as it appears now; but be cheerf, Gilbert, be cheerf. It’ll all come out right in the end, an’ truth’ll triumph, if what the Sunday-school teachers preach is true. To make sure, though, git your uncle into the idea of movin’, an’ I’ll have him clear of the place an’ out of the country in twenty-four hours"; saying which, Blott wrung my hand and hurried away, as if not daring to trust himself to speak further.