"And do you know that you are probably denying yourself the right to bear one of the most honored names, and to live in one of the most beautiful homes in this community?"
"Yes, sir, I know it all. I wouldn't mind all that so much though if it wasn't for my mother. I've got to give her up now, that's the worst of it; I don't know how I'm goin' to stan' that."
Mrs. Burnham, sitting by her counsel, bent her head above the table and wept silently.
"Was your decision to disclose your knowledge reached with a fair understanding of the probable result of such a disclosure?"
"Yes, sir, it was. I knew what the end of it'd be, an' I had a pirty hard time to bring myself to it, but I done it, an' I'm glad now 'at I did."
"Did you reach this decision alone or did some one help you to it?"
"Well, I'll tell you how that was. All't I decided in the first place was to tell Uncle Billy,—he's the man't I live with. So I told him, an' he said I ought to tell Mrs. Burnham right away. But she wasn't home when I got to her house, so I started right down here; an' they was an accident up on the road, an' the train couldn't go no further, an' so I walked in—I was afraid I wouldn't get here in time 'less I did."
"Your long walk accounts for your dusty and shoeless condition, I suppose?"
"Yes, sir; it was pirty dusty an' hot, an' I had to walk a good ways, an' my shoes hurt me so't I had to take 'em off, an' I didn't have time to put 'em on again after I got here. Besides," continued the boy, looking down apologetically at his bruised and dusty feet, "I hurt my feet a-knockin' 'em against the stones when I was a-runnin', an' they've got swelled up so 'at I don't believe I could git my shoes on now, any way."
Many people in the room besides Mrs. Burnham had tears in their eyes at the conclusion of this simple statement.