“Can’t you understand my question? Why did you go?”
“Nothing particular made me go, sir. Only that I had got some money; and I was feeling so sorry that the little lame boy was dead, I couldn’t bear to be still.”
“You have been punished often, Mark Ferrar, for going off on these expeditions?” cried one of the jury.
“I used to be, sir. Father has leathered me for it at home, and Clerk Jones at school. I can’t do without going out a bit. I wish I was a sailor.”
“Oh, indeed! Well—is there one of your companions that you can suspect of having harmed this poor little boy—accidentally or otherwise?”
“No, sir. It is being said that he was pushed over in ill-feeling, or else by accident; but it don’t seem likely.”
“Did you push him over yourself?”
“Me!” returned Ferrar, in surprise. “Me push him over!”
“As far as we can learn yet, no one was with him there but you.”
“I’d have saved him from it, sir, if I had been there, instead of harming him. When he sent me away he was all right, and not sitting anigh the edge. If it was me that had done it, sir, he’d not have asked for me to go up to him in his room—and shook hands—and said I should see him in heaven.”