The squire nodded and spat into the cuspidor between his feet. "I think so," he said quietly, "Stand aside. Davy Alien step forward. Put your hand on the book here, son. Davy, how old are you?"
The boy gulped. "Thirteen years old, goin' on fo'teen."
"You're old enough, son, to know the nater of the oath you're about to take. For over two years you've been the mainstay an' support of your mother. You've had to carry the burdens and responsibilities of a man, Davy. The testimony you give in this case will be the truth, the whole truth an' nothin' but the truth, so help you God. What about it?"
Davy nodded, his face very white.
"All right now. Tell us about it. Talk loud so we can hear—all of us."
The boy's eyes never left Mr. Kirby's while he talked. Something in them held him, fascinated him, overawed him. Very large and imposing he looked there behind his little table, with his faded old overcoat on, and there was no sound in the room but the boy's clear voice.
"An' you come off an' left the dog at first?"
"Yes, sir,"
"An' you didn't unfasten the chain from the block till the dog got caught in the fence?"
"No, sir, I didn't."