“Why, you know just as well as I do. And I'll say for myself, I hope you'll never have to help hang folks.”
“Well,” said Taylor, mildly, “if I had to, I'd have to, I guess.”
“Well, I don't want it to come. But that poor girl is eating her heart right out over it.”
“What does she say?”
“It's what she don't say. She'll not talk, and she'll not let me talk, and she sits and sits.”
“I'll go talk some to her,” said the man.
“Well, Taylor, I thought you had more sense. You'd not get a word in. She'll be sick soon if her worry ain't stopped someway, though.”
“What does she want this country to do?” inquired Taylor. “Does she expect it to be like Vermont when it—”
“We can't help what she expects,” his wife interrupted. “But I wish we could help HER.”
They could not, however; and help came from another source. Judge Henry rode by the next day. To him good Mrs. Taylor at once confided her anxiety. The Judge looked grave.