"Do you want to question the witness?" my father asked of the indolent young prosecutor.
"Don't know who she is and don't believe she is telling the truth," was the laconic refusal of the prosecutor to let me influence his case.
"Well, now, Jim, Parson Goodloe here brought the gal along with him and I reckon he can character witness for her," interposed the judge. "Sheriff, swear in the parson." His command was duly executed.
"Mr. Goodloe, do you consider Miss Powers a woman who can be depended upon to speak the truth?" father asked him formally.
"I do," the Reverend Mr. Goodloe answered quietly, and just for a second a gleam from his eyes under their dull gold brows shot across the distance to me, and if it hadn't all been so serious I should have laughed with glee at his thus having to declare himself about my character in public. But the next moment the situation became much more serious and my heart positively stopped still as I seemed to see prison doors close upon the young husband.
"Do you want to question the witness?" father asked of the lolling young prosecutor.
"How long have you known the lady, Parson?" he asked, with a drawl and one eye half closed.
There was an intense silence in the court room for almost a minute. Then the Reverend Mr. Gregory Goodloe answered calmly:
"Three days."
"That might be long enough fer a parson, but it ain't fer a jury," the young attorney answered, and there was a quizzical kindness in the old judge's face as he smiled at Mr. Goodloe and shook his head.