"I do not think Tony is guilty, Mrs. Weston; but you must consider that appearances are very strong against him," said he.
"I know it, sir. Poor Tony! must he spend the night in jail? Is there no way to get him out?" sobbed the widow.
"He shall not want for a friend, Mrs. Weston. Farmer Whipple must have returned by this time, and I will go up and see him. But I do not think we can get him out to-day."
"Thank you, sir; you are very good. If I could only see him, and tell him that I feel sure he is innocent, the cold walls would seem less dreary to him. I know what the poor fellow is thinking about."
Mrs. Weston cried like a child when she thought of her darling boy shut up within the narrow walls of a prison cell.
"He will be thinking of his home," continued she. "He will think of me."
"He has been a good son, Mrs. Weston."
"That he has, sir. Tony steal? No, sir. He thinks too much of his mother and his home to do such a thing. But don't you suppose I could see him?"
"I will see him myself; won't that do as well?"
"I don't know."