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"Who, in your opinion, uttered those words?" inquired Ketchum.

"I took it to be Dick; I know Dick pretty well, and thought it was he."

"You thought it was Dick Bunce?" said Tools.

"I KNEW it was Dick Bunce," said the sound and unflinching; doctor.

It is always curious to mark the changes of opinion that take place in a court-room when one is on trial, or a question is pending before a jury. Opinions there are often entirely reversed -- and that not only once, but two or three, or even half a dozen times -- swaying now this way and anon that way, so that at last it often happens that persons who went to a trial perfectly convinced that Mr. A. was guilty, have gone away with the full belief that the guilty party was Mr. B. So they have been known to say, "We don't know which is guilty, or whether either of them is so, if there has been even any guilt or criminality at all."

In this case, every body at first seemed perfectly satisfied that Jims Tucker was an infernal little scoundrel, who had, out of revenge, burnt up a thousand dollars' worth of property belonging to Captain Bunce. But after Doctor Murdock got through, his testimony corroborating the straightforward, simple story of Jims, every body in the court-room -- especially as Dick was so much agitated that he leaped up and rushed, pale and trembling, out of the hall -- believed Dick Bunce alone the guilty party, and Jims as innocent as Squire Ben himself.

In all human probability, Dick saved himself from the State prison by running away and escaping to sea, where he soon after died. Mrs. Bunce was terribly mortified by the result of this investigation, as Dick was her very favorite son, and she soon after was attacked with a fever that carried her off. Poor woman! she did not live to "cook the beef."

As no evidence appeared to show that Captain Bunce knew any thing of Dick's act or intention in burning the barn, he got his seven hundred dollars of the insurance company, and took to drinking harder than ever.

In the meantime, Durkee, the butcher, and Betsey Bunce made a hurried match and went out West. Captain Bunce was left in rather poor circumstances to carry on his poor-house establishment, especially as Henrietta and Elisha were infirm, and of very little help to him. But with two good stout servant girls, and a hired man, he contrived to keep along."

Contrary to the general expectation, the Captain manifested towards Jims a much more kind demeanor than ever before, so that the boy was far less uncomfortable in his quarters than he would otherwise have been.

CHAPTER XV
ALANSON.

The cold of winter continued. It was painful to witness its effect on the decrepid and poorly clad inmates of the poor-house. Without money to relieve their necessities, without friends to whom they could fly for aid, without strength to engage in any remunerative employment, without food nourishing in quality and kindly dealt to them, without warm and cleanly clothing, without comfortable rooms and beds; without congenial or desirable society, and daily companionships -- without the kind sympathy of the world, and yet quite near the end of it, they drooped rapidly, sensibly, certainly, and especially during the reign of cold. The paupers always lost from three to five of their number every winter, their broken and undermined constitutions being unable to resist its severity.

So it happened with Alanson Boyce, the author, that in two weeks' time, notwithstanding the care of Mr. and Mrs. Haddock, he began to fail.

Captain Bunce came once to see him, and proposed that he should return if able in two or three days, as he didn't like to have a bad example set before the other paupers. It made them uneasy if one fared any different from the rest.

"I think," said the Captain," you are now in a very fair way; you'll be all right, O.K. in a few days, and able to help us. I guess by day after to-morrow -- eh -- don't you think by day after morrow you can get home again, eh, Boyce?"

"Don't, pray don't fix the time now, if you please, Captain Bunce -- I will consult with Mr. Haddock."

"Oh, that's of no use; you see your doing as well now as can be expected, and the folks at the house want dreadfully to see you."

"Yes, but I am very weak yet."

"You need to get out into the open air: now a little good exercise will give you strength and an appetite. I think you had better fix the time as I mentioned."

"If I must I will; but won't you see Mr. Haddock first?"

"Well, if it comes right -- but never mind that; you know I can't afford to board you here; and Haddock will be sure, I think, to charge us a sweet bill for your trouble in the end."

Boyce groaned and turned away his head. He knew better; he knew Mr. Haddock had no such intentions, but as he was conscious of receiving from him his present kindness as a gratuity, it would be indelicate to argue this, and he said nothing. But he thought he could not return to the poor-house. How he loathed it! His sensitiveness was deeply wounded at the idea. He shrunk from any and all dependence, especially from that public relief which the town in its boasted philanthropy provided, but which made poverty more fearfully appalling and humiliating, so proving true that --