Just then there was a bustle, and a movement of fresh interest in the court. Another witness was appearing.
Led by the hand of Constable 21 B. a little girl was led into the witnesses’ box, a little girl with an old woman’s face, grave, worn, pale. At the sight of this witness Dick changed colour violently, and even Jenks gave way to some passing emotion.
For an instant a pair of sad dark eyes gazed steadily at both the boys. They were speaking eyes, and they said as plainly as possible—“I cannot save you. I would help you, even you, Jenks, out of this, but I cannot. I have come here to speak the truth, and the truth will, the truth must do you harm.”
Flo, with all her deep ignorance, had one settled conviction, that no one was ever yet heard of who told a lie in the witnesses’ box.
“How old is the little girl?” asked Mr Vernon.
The question was repeated to her.
“Don’t know,” she answered promptly.
“Have you no idea, child? try and think!”
“No, I doesn’t know,” said Flo. Then she added after a pause, “Mother knowed me age, and she said ef I lived till this month (ain’t this month June?) as I’d be nine.”
“Nine years old,” said the magistrate, and the clerk of the court took a note of the fact.