It was Bachelor Billy.
In a moment he was down on his knees by the boy's side, chafing the
small cold hands and wrists, while Mrs. Burnham, kneeling on the other
side, was dipping her handkerchief into a glass of water, and bathing
the lad's face.
Bachelor Billy turned on his knees and looked up angrily at Sharpman.
"Mayhap an' ye've killet 'im," he said, "wi' your traish an' your
lees!" Then he rose to his feet and continued: "Can ye no' tell when
a lad speaks the truth? Mon! he's as honest as the day is lang! But
what's the use o' tellin' ye? ye ken it yoursel'. Ye _wull_ be fause
to 'im!"
His lips were white with passion as he knelt again by the side of the
unconscious boy.
"Ye're verra gude to the lad, ma'am," he said to Mrs. Burnham, who had
raised Ralph's head in her arms and was pressing her wet handkerchief
against it; "ye're verra gude, but ma mind is to tak' 'im hame an'
ten' till 'im mysel'. He was ower-tired, d'ye see, wi' the trooble an'
the toil, an' noo I fear me an they've broke the hert o' 'im."
Then Bachelor Billy, lifting the boy up in his arms, set his face
toward the door. The people pressed back and made way for him as he
passed up the aisle holding the drooping body very tenderly, looking
down at times with great compassion into the white face that lay
against his breast; and the eyes that watched his sturdy back until
it disappeared from view were wet with sympathetic tears.
When the doors had closed behind him, Sharpman turned again to the
jury, with a bitterly sarcastic smile upon his face.
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