Mr. Long paused for a moment, and his eyes looked all around over the crowd, and finally settled upon the frightened face of the unhappy prosecutor.
“Where was he?” repeated Mr. Long.
Again he paused, perhaps with a slight feeling of regard for the poor prosecutor; perhaps, on the other hand, with a desire to make his speech more effective; perhaps carried away by his own eloquence, and merely seeking the most appropriate language with which to clothe his vehement thoughts; perhaps because he faltered for an instant before he should say what was in his mind to say.
“Where was he?” he repeated once more. “Where? Why, all the time far away from the schooner, from the wharf, and from the stone wall; ignorant of everything that was going on; thinking of far different things—seated in his own house, on his own chair, by his own fireside. Yes, alone; and engaged in what I have heard him call a parent’s fondest joy! Not stealing arway a stone wall! No! but administering, in the seclusion of his own home, to the necessities of his offspring,—supplying nutriment to his—ah—infant—ah—in fact,—ah—nursing with his own hands—his—ah—his baby!”
Mr. Long stopped abruptly. He saw Captain Corbet making a violent effort to get near to him; but he avoided him, and the venerable navigator had to pour out his feelings to others who stood nearer.
The end of it all was, that the case was dismissed, and the prosecutor had to pay costs—though that was not much.
And Captain Corbet was for a short time the hero of the village and of the hill. As he came forth they all cheered him with united voices; and about two hundred, consisting of men and boys, shook hands with him.
And all the boys marched along with him nearly all the way to his home.
And then they went to the hill, and spent the remainder of the day in discussing the famous trial.
And every one of them, from Bruce down to the smallest boy of the primary department, was in a state of frenzy about Captain Corbet and Mr. Long.