The dead silence of the room almost stunned him. He seemed to feel every eye that turned to him like a dagger in his heart, and there rose up in his mind a vision of that football field far away, and the senseless figure of the boy who lay there. Everything came back. The howl of execration, the frightened faces, the cap lying where the boy had flung it, even the chill autumn breeze in his face.
He knew not how long he sat there stupefied. The voice of Mr Rosher roused him.
“Coom, now, dost thou say liar still?”
Jeffreys struggled to his feet, no longer furious, but still more terrible in his dejection.
“Yes,” snapped Jonah, astonished at the effect of his accusation, and just wise enough to see that to add to or take away from the story would be to spoil it. “What did you do to your poor schoolfellow, young Forrester? Do you suppose we don’t see through you?”
“Hold thy tongue, little donkey!” said the farmer; “let’s hear what he has to say.”
For a moment it seemed as if Jeffreys was about to take him at his word, and say something. But his tongue failed him at the critical moment, and he gave it up. He had caught sight of Teddy’s eyes fixed on his in mingled misery and terror, and the sight unmanned him.
He moved slowly to the door.
They watched him, spellbound, and in a moment he would have gone, had not Teddy with a big sob made a spring forward and seized him by the arm.
“Oh, Jeff it’s a wicked he; we don’t believe it. Freddy, we don’t believe it, do we? Father, he’s been good to us; he never did anything unkind. Don’t have him sent away!”