A buzz of surprise ran over the scene, while Deacon Cornhill, who had made the bold declaration, pushed his way forward to the side of the young bootblack.
“It’s too bad to send such an innercent to the workhouse, judge. How much is there to pay?”
“Who are you, sir?” demanded the recorder, looking askance at the countrified speaker.
“Deacon Elihu Cornhill, of Basinburg, your honor.”
“And you promise that she shall be provided for, Mr. Cornhill?”
“I do, judge.”
“Very well. In that case sentence is suspended during good behavior. She is too young and apparently too innocent to be sent to the workhouse. But, remember, miss, if you are brought back here a double sentence will be imposed.”
“Shameful, judge. Send such a bright girl to the workhouse——”
“Silence!” ordered the recorder, at the same time pushing a ponderous book toward the discomfited deacon. “Please put your name down there.”
As soon as Deacon Cornhill signed the necessary document, and finding that she was at liberty to do so, the young prisoner took Rob’s hand. Then, without further delay, while a generous murmur of applause ran over the crowd, the three left the courtroom, to be joined at the door by Chick.