Then Rosina Sacco came forward, glancing at her husband with as much courage as she could muster. She stood there, a slight pathetic, determined figure, her red-gold hair softening her fine, slightly archaic features so that with her sprinkling of freckles she looked almost adolescent. Her story was simple. She told of her husband’s receiving the black-bordered envelope containing the news of his mother’s death one noon just after he had eaten. He had gone back to the factory, but after half an hour came home again. She remembered how on the day of his arrest she had been cleaning out a closet and found the shotgun shells. Vanzetti had picked them up and said he would sell them for fifty cents to a friend. Then, going through the bureau drawers, she had found a pistol and some more shells. These she placed on top of the bureau and asked her husband what he was going to do with them. That same day Orciani and Boda had come to supper. After supper her husband left with Vanzetti to catch the Brockton streetcar. Boda and Orciani started out later after fixing a tire on the motorcycle. When Vanzetti had said good-by to her, he had given her a message to take back to Italy. She did not learn of her husband’s arrest until twelve the next day when officers Connolly and Scott and two or three others arrived at the house. On April 15 a man from Milford named Iacovelli had come to see about taking over Sacco’s job and stayed a quarter of an hour. Jerry McAnarney showed Rosina the caps that had been exhibited before. The gray cap, she thought, looked like her husband’s, like the cap the police had taken from her house on May 6. As for the dark one with the earflaps, her husband had never owned such a cap “because he never liked it ... he don’t look good in them positively.” When Katzmann questioned her, she told him that even before the death of Sacco’s mother they had been planning to return to Italy. “That’s why we were saving our money, because we wanted to go across in the old country, but since the mother died, we hurried more because he was sorry about his mother died without seeing him.” Sabino’s letter telling of the mother’s death had arrived March 23 or 24. Thirteen or fourteen days later Sacco had gone in to the consulate with his photograph. Katzmann wanted to know how thirteen or fourteen days after March 24 could make the date April 15. “Well, you count up from the twenty-third or twenty-fourth of March,” she told him, “and going to the fifteenth, I says thirteen or fourteen days, and I don’t think it is much different, because it is over a year he is in prison, and I don’t remember everything.” Katzmann asked her nothing more. Sacco’s savings-bank book, introduced as evidence, showed that from December 9, 1918, he had deposited amounts from $30 to $270 for a total of about $1500.