"Can't help who's there listening; money's here talkin'. Any takers?"
Not far away there was a wooden bridge over a small stream and thither I went and leaned upon the rail, listening to the murmur of the water. I thought that this must be the brook that rippled past our house, and I went down to the water's edge and bathed my aching head. Then I remembered that I had eaten nothing since early morning, and I thought that I would better go to the tavern, and was turning away when I heard some one cry: "The jury is in and court has met again!" I scrambled up and hastened toward the court-house, and at the steps I met a number of men coming out. "It's all over," one of them said to me. "Imprisonment for life. Conkwright has moved for a new trial and the judge has granted it."
I hastened to the jail, whither they had taken Alf. I found him seated on his bed. He got up when he saw me.
"Bill," he said, in a voice low and steady, "I am not going to the penitentiary if you are my friend."
"And you know that I am, Alf."
"Then you will lend me your knife."
"No, Alf, I can't do that—not now. Remember that we have another chance."
"I don't mean now—I mean if that last chance fails. Now I want you to do something for me. You tell father that he must sell his farm immediately and leave here. Tell him that I'll hate him if he doesn't do as I say. You can stay here and write to him, and if I don't come out at the next trial, all right, and if I do, I can go to him. It may seem hard, but he's got to do it. He wouldn't live here, any way. Will you do it?"
"I will, for I don't know but it is a good plan. No, he wouldn't live here. He will do as you request."
"Well, go on home now and rest. Hanged if you don't look as if you've been on trial for your life," he added, laughing. "Tell him that I'm not crushed—that it has come out better than I expected."