“Ayeh!—who knows?—the polis is terrible!”
“Well, after that?”
“Well, when I heard them pass, I opened the door, and then I saw enough. They were standing at Sam's house; one of them talking to Sam, and the other two rummaging about, sticking poles into the thatch, and tumbling oyer the turf in the stack.
“'Isn't this a pretty business?' says Sam, calling out to me. 'The polis is come to take me off to prison because some one murdered the master.' 'Well, his soul's in glory, anyhow,' says I, and I shut the doore.”
“And saw nothing more?”
“Only the polis lading Sam down the boreen betune them.”
“He made no resistance, then?”
“Not a bit; he went as quiet as a child. When he was going by the doore, I remember he said to one of the polis, 'Would it be plazing to ye to help me wid my coat; for I cut my finger yesterday?'”
“Did n't I say it was with a reaping-hook?” cried Meekins, who, in all the earnestness of anxiety, followed every word that fell from the witness.
His counsel sprang to his feet, and pulled him back by the arm; but not before the unguarded syllables had been heard by every one around. Such was the sensation now produced, that for several minutes the proceedings were interrupted, while the counsel conferred in low whispers together, and all seemed thunderstruck and amazed. Twice Meekins stood forward to address the court, but on each occasion he was restrained by the counsel beside him; and it was only by the use of menaces that Wallace succeeded in enforcing silence on him. “When the moment of cross-examination arrives,” said he to the jury, “I hope to explain every portion of this seeming difficulty. Have you any further questions to ask the witness?”