Within the Capes

“Mine!”

“Yes; yours, Tom. I expect the constable’s on his way from Eastcaster now. Anyway, there’s no time to lose. Here’s a horse ready for you; jump on her and leave the country!”

“Will.”

“Well; what is it?”

“Do you believe that I killed Isaac Naylor?”

Will did not answer, but stood looking fixedly on the ground.

“Never mind; I don’t ask you to answer me, Will. I’ll tell you, however, that I did not do it. I’ll stay and face the music.”

Then Tom turned and called his father and John. “Father – John – did you hear what Will said?”

“No.”

“He said that there’s a warrant out against me for this thing.”

“A warrant out against thee?”

“Yes.”

“But thee hasn’t seen Isaac Naylor since thee came home, Thomas,” said his father.

“Yes, I did, father.”

“Where?”

“At the very place where he was murdered.”

Then he told all that had passed between him and Isaac Naylor, and of how near he had come to doing that of which he was accused. His father listened without a word, looking deeply and fixedly into Tom’s eyes the while. John was looking intently at him, too. Will was standing, turned half away. When Tom had ended, his father spoke to him in a low voice:

“Thomas.”

“Well?”

“Is – is that all? Has thee told us all?”

“Yes, father.”

“Why didn’t thee speak of it before?”

“I couldn’t bear to do it. I was afraid to tell how I had treated him – an overseer in the meeting.”

Tom’s heart crumbled within him at the silence that followed his words.

“Father,” he said, “so help me God, my hands are clean of this thing. Does thee suppose I’d have come home if I’d done it?”

“Wait a minute, Thomas; I’m thinking,” said his father. He stood picking at his finger-tips, and looking earnestly at them. At last he raised his head. “I don’t believe that thee did do it, Thomas. I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I!” burst out John. “My brother couldn’t do a thing like that. My mother’s son couldn’t kill a man. I don’t believe it, and I can’t believe it!”

The tears sprang into Tom’s eyes at these words. He looked at Will, but Will’s head was still turned away. “Here comes the constable,” said he, at last, in a low voice.

A horse and gig had come up from behind Stony-Brook Hill. When it reached the level road between them and the crest of the rise the nag broke into a trot.

“Yes, that’s Johnson’s team,” said John, and then he turned his head away.

They all stood silently until at last the gig came up to where they were. The constable and his deputy were both in it. The constable drew up the horse, and threw the reins to the deputy. Then he stepped out and came over to where the others were standing, drawing a paper out of his breast-pocket as he did so. He had not said a word up to this time.

“I know what you’re coming for,” said Tom; “I’m ready to go with you, Johnson.”

“The Lord knows – I’d rather lose a hundred dollars, than have to do this,” said the constable.

“I believe you would,” said Tom.

“Can thee wait a little while, Eben?” said Tom’s father; “I’d like to drive over to Squire Morrow’s along with you. I’ll slip up to the house and gear Nelly to the wagon; it won’t take me a minute.”

The constable drew a watch out of his fob, and looked at it. “I guess I can wait a little bit, Mr. Granger,” said he; “the witnesses weren’t all at the squire’s when I left. You’ll have to step into the gig though, Tom, and I’ll – I’ll have to put cuffs on you.”

“Will you have to do that?”

“I’m afraid I will;” – he drew the hand-cuffs out of his pocket as he spoke; there was a sharp “click! click!” and Tom felt the cold iron circling his wrists.

His father groaned, and when Tom looked at him, he saw that his face was as white as wax. He turned, and he and John walked slowly up the lane toward the house.

Then Tom stepped to the gig, and climbed in beside the deputy constable. Johnson went to the roadside, and sat down on the bank. He sat with his elbows resting on his knees, and his hands hanging clasped together between them. Will stood leaning against the pailing fence, and nothing was said, excepting once when the constable spoke to his deputy.

“Better turn the hoss, Jos; you won’t have to do it then when Mr. Granger and John come back.”

After a while they saw John drive the farm-wagon over from the stable to the house. William was sitting beside him and presently Tom’s father came out of the house and climbed slowly into it. Then they drove down the road to where the others were waiting.

“Father, how did mother take the news?” said Tom.

“Very well! Very well! Better than I expected,” said his father, briefly; then he turned to Will: “Thee’d better go up to the house, William; I’d like thee to stay with mother and Susan while we’re gone.”

Will mounted his horse without a word, and, turning into the lane, galloped up to the house beneath the shadows of the trees.

“Are you all ready?” said the constable, standing with one foot on the step of the gig.

“All ready.”

Then he climbed in and they all drove away toward Eastcaster.

CHAPTER XVII

AS the gig rattled down the hill and past the end of Penrose’s road, Tom leaned forward and looked up toward the spot where he had met Isaac Naylor the day before. A knot of people had gathered about the place where the body had been found, collected there by the morbid curiosity that stirs men at such a time; they were talking earnestly together, some sitting on the fence, some leaning against it.