“Laws-a-me!” exclaimed Mrs. Marvin, clutching her sun-bonnet with both hands, and thrusting it backward from her head, as if it intercepted the news.
“Waal, sir!” cried the moonshiner, amazed.
“Oh,” cried Alethea, clasping both her hands, “ef I hed called ye back that evenin’, an’ promised not ter tell, like I war minded ter do”—
“Ye ’lowed ’twarn’t right,” suggested the moonshiner.
—“ye would hev knowed ez Tad warn’t no spy, but war jes’ vagabondin’ round the kentry, a runaway, houseless an’ hongry; an’ ye would hev tuk him back ter old man Griff, an’ Reuben wouldn’t hev been tried fur killin’ him!”
“Shucks, Mink warn’t tried fur sech sure enough?” said Marvin, uneasily. His face had changed. His wife was turning the corner of her apron nervously between her fingers, and looking at him in evident trepidation.
“He hev been in jail fur months an’ months,” said Alethea. “An’ when he war tried, I told on the witness stand ’bout glimpsin’ Tad one night whenst I kem from camp,—mus’ hev been the same night whenst he went up the mounting ter yer house, ’kase thar war a awful storm. An’ when I seen him suddint I screamed, bein’ s’prised; an’ I reckon that war the reason he said ‘Lethe Sayles.’ An’ at the trial they lowed I hed seen nuthin’ but Tad’s harnt, an’ the jury disagreed.”
“An’—an’—an’ air Mink in jail yit?” demanded the moonshiner, his jaw falling in dismay.
“The rescuers tuk him out,” said Alethea.
“Waal, sir,” he exclaimed, with a long breath. “Ye see,”—he seemed to feel that he must account for his excitement and interest,—“bein’ hid out, I hain’t hearn no news, sca’cely, sence we-uns lef’.”