At this moment David announced the milkman. Counselling my man to keep strict guard over the prisoners, I went out to the road, stopped the milkman, and gave him a message which I was certain would insure the prompt arrival at my house of sufficient force to take safe charge of the burglars. Excited with the importance of the commission, he whipped up his horse and dashed away.
When I returned to the house I besought my wife and Aunt Martha to go to bed, that they might yet get some hours of sleep; but both refused. They did not feel in the least like sleep, and there was a subject on which they wished to consult with me in the dining-room.
"Now," said Aunt Martha, when the door had been closed, "these men have freely told us their stories; whether they are entirely true or not, must, of course, be a matter of opinion; but they have laid their cases before us, and we should not place them all in the hands of the officers of the law without giving them due consideration, and arriving at a decision which shall be satisfactory to ourselves."
"Let us take them in order," said I. "What do you think of the tall man's case?"
"I think he is a thief and manufacturer of falsehoods," said my wife promptly.
"I am afraid," said Aunt Martha, "that he is not altogether innocent; but there is one thing greatly in his favour,—when he told of the feelings which overcame him when he saw that little child sleeping peacefully in its bed in the house which he had unintentionally robbed, I felt there must be good points in that man's nature. What do you think of him?"
"I think he is worst of the lot," I answered, "and as there are now two votes against him, he must go to the lock-up. And now what of the stout fellow?" I asked.
"Oh, he is a burglar by his own confession," said my wife; "there can be no doubt of that."
"I am afraid you are right," said Aunt Martha.
"I know she is," said I, "and James Barlow, or whatever his name may be, shall be delivered to the constable."