Burton knew the deceased, had lived all his life near them, was at home the night of the fire, went to assist the old people, saw the two skeletons, had no doubt they were the remains of Peter Goodwin and his wife, observed the effects of a heavy blow across the foreheads of each, the same that was still to be seen, inferred that this blow had destroyed them, or so far stunned them as to leave them incapable of escaping from the fire.
This witness was then questioned on the subject of the stocking, and Mrs. Goodwin’s hoard of money. He had seen the stocking but once, had often heard it mentioned by his sisters, did not think his wife had ever alluded to it, did not know the amount of the gold, but supposed it might be very considerable, saw the bureau examined, and knew that the stocking could not be found. In a word, his testimony in chief went generally to sustain the impression that prevailed relative to the murders, though it is unnecessary to repeat it in this form, as the cross-examination will better explain his statements and opinions.
“Mr. Burton,” said Dunscomb, “you knew the Goodwins well?”
“Very well, sir. As well as near neighbours generally know each other.”
“Can you swear that those are the skeletons of Peter and Dorothy Goodwin?”
“I can swear that I believe them to be such—have no doubt of the fact.”
“Point out that which you suppose to be the skeleton of Peter Goodwin.”
This request embarrassed the witness. In common with all around him, he had no other clue to his facts than the circumstances under which these vestiges of mortality had been found, and he did not know what ought to be his reply.
“I suppose the shortest of the skeletons to be Peter Goodwin’s, and the longest that of his wife,” he at length answered. “Peter was not as tall as Dorothy.”
“Which is the shortest of these remains?”