But how was it to concern Barney?
An old white-haired man had pushed up to the wagon; he polished his spectacles on his coat-tail, then put them on his nose, and focused them on Barney. Those green spectacles seemed to the boy to have a solemnly accusing expression on their broad and sombre lenses. He shrank as the old man spoke,—
"And is this the boy who was slipped through the window to steal from Blenkins?"
"No," said the deputy, "this ain't the boy."
Barney could hardly believe his senses.
"Fact is," continued the deputy, with a brisk wave of his hand, "there wasn't any boy with 'em,—so little Jeff Carew says. He jumped through the window-pane himself. We wouldn't believe that until we measured one there at the jail of the same size as Blenkins's window-glass, and he went through it without a wriggle."
Barney sprang to his feet.
"Oh, tell it ter me, folkses!" he cried wildly; "tell it ter me, somebody! Will they keep me hyar all the same? An' when will I see G'liath Mounting agin, an' be whar Melissy air?"
He had burst into tears, and there was a murmur of sympathy in the crowd.
"Oh, that lets you out, I reckon, youngster," said Stebbins. "I'm glad enough of it for one."