"Still, where? I might go to Cannon's
Ferry and tell my tale to those hard-hearted merchants, or to Seaford
and beg a shelter somewhere there; but first I will try our old cottage
home again."
She went so quietly up the field lane that dogs could not have heard
her, and, as she approached the little house, saw lights in it, and soon
heard voices and saw moving figures within.
Knowing every knot-hole and crack of the little dwelling, Hulda soon had
a perfect view of the contents of the house by standing in the dark, a
little distance from one of the low, small windows.
A table stood in the middle of the main room, on which was an old
mouldered chest with the earth clinging to it, and beside the chest were
bones and shreds of clothing on the riven lid of the chest.
"You swear that the evidence you give shall be the truth, the whole
truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God!" exclaimed a small,
chunky, Irish-looking person, presenting a book to be kissed by a
scrawny, chinless, goose-necked lad, whom Hulda immediately recognized
as Cyrus James.
"Shall I take him, Doctor Gibbons?" asked a fine-looking, easy-mannered
man, of the magistrate.
"Yes, Mr. Clayton."
"Do you know the nature of an oath? What is it?"
"I'll be fried like a slapper on the devil's griddle ef I don't tell
right," whined Cy James, zealously.
"No you won't; at least, not _first_. If you don't tell me the truth
I'll have your two ears cut off on the pillory, and no slapper shall
enter that hungry stomach of yours for a month.
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