"Well, nearly all. I can only speak for myself, sir. No doubt the others will tell you what they saw."

Obviously, Mr. Dane was unprepared for the cool self-possession displayed by this farmer's son. He nodded acquiescence with Martin's views and sat down.

Mr. Stockwell, watching the boy narrowly, had caught the momentary gleam of surprise when his look encountered that of the pretty dark-eyed child whose fashionable attire distinguished her from the village urchins among whom she was sitting.

"By the way," he began, "why do you call yourself Bolland?"

"That is my name, sir."

"Are you John Bolland's son?"

"No, sir."

"Then whose son are you?"

"I do not know. My father and mother adopted me thirteen years ago."

The lawyer gathered by the expression on the stolid faces of the jury that this line of inquiry would be fruitless.

"What was the cause of the fight between you and young Beckett-Smythe?"

This was the signal for an interruption from the jury. Mr. Webster, the foreman, did not wish any slight to be placed on Mrs. Saumarez. The upshot might be that he would lose a good customer. The Squire dealt at the Stores. Let him protect his own children. But Mrs. Saumarez needed a champion.

"May I ask, sir," he said to the Coroner, "what a bit of a row atween youngsters hez te do wi' t' case?"

"Nothing that I can see," was the answer.

"It has a highly important bearing," put in Mr. Stockwell. "If my information is correct, this witness is the only one whose evidence connects Mrs. Pickering even remotely with the injuries received by her husband. I a.s.sume, of course, that Marshall's testimony is not worth a straw. I shall endeavor to elicit facts that may tend to prove the boy's statements unreliable."

"I cannot interfere with your discretion, Mr. Stockwell," was the ruling.

"Now, answer my question," cried the lawyer.

Martin's brown eyes flashed back indignantly.

"We fought because I wished to take a young lady home, and he tried to prevent me."

"A young lady! What young lady?"

"I refuse to mention her name. You asked why we fought, and I've told you."

"Why this squeamishness, my young squire of dames? Was it not Angle Saumarez?"

Martin turned to the Coroner.

"Must I reply, sir?"

"Yes.... I fail still to see the drift of the cross-examination, Mr.

Stockwell."

"It will become apparent quickly. Yes, or no, Bolland?"

"Yes; it was."

"Was she committed to your care by her mother?"

"No. She came out to see the fair. I promised to look after her."

"Were you better fitted to protect this child than the two sons of Mr.

Beckett-Smythe?"

"I thought so."

"From what evil influences, then, was it necessary to rescue her?"

"That's not a fair way to put it. It was too late for her to be out."

"When did you discover this undeniable fact?"

"Just then."

"Not when you were taking her through the fair in lordly style?"

"No. There was no harm in the shows, and I realized the time only when the clock struck ten."

Every adult listener nodded approval. The adroit lawyer saw that he was merely strengthening the jury's good opinion of the boy. He must strike hard and unmercifully if he would shake their belief in Martin's good faith.

"There were several other children there--a boy named Bates, another named Beadlam, Mrs. Atkinson's three girls, and others?"

"Bates was with me. The others were in the yard."

"Ah, yes; they had left you a few minutes earlier. Now, is it not a fact that these children, and you with them, had gone to this hiding-place to escape being caught by your seniors?"

"No; it is a lie."

"Is that your honest belief? Do you swear it?"

"I shirked nothing. Neither did the others. Hundreds of people saw us.

As for Miss Saumarez, I think she went there for a lark more than anything else."

"A questionable sort of lark. It is amazing to hear of respectable children being out at such an hour. Did your parents--did the parents of any of the others realize what was going on?"

"I think not. The whole thing was an accident."

"But, surely, there must be some adequate explanation of this fight between you and Beckett-Smythe. It was no mere scuffle, but a severe set-to. He bears even yet the marks of the encounter."

Master Frank was supremely uncomfortable when the united gaze of the court was thus directed to him. His right eye was discolored, as all might see, but his nose was normal.

"I have told you the exact truth. I wished her to go home----"