Mr. Churchill pushed back his hat, and held his gloved hand toward the fire.

“Bedney, I want to see that handkerchief you found in your master’s room, the day after he was murdered.”

“What hankchuf, Marse Alfred?  I done tole everything I know, to the Crowner’s inquess.”

“I dare say you did; but something was found afterward.  I want to see it.”

“Who has been villifying of me?  You have knowed me ever since you was knee-high to a duck, and I—.”

“Nobody has vilified you, but Miss Dobbs saw you examining something, which she says you pushed up your coat sleeve.  She thinks it was a handkerchief, but it may have been valuables.  Now it is my duty, as District Solicitor, to discover and prosecute the person who killed your master, and you ought to render me every possible assistance.  Any unwillingness to give your testimony, or surrender the articles found, will cast suspicion on you, and I should be sorry to have you arrested.”

“Fore Gord, Marse Alfred, I—­”

“Own up, husband.  You did find a hankchef.  You see, Marse Alfred, we helped to raise that poor young gal’s mother; and Bedney and me was ’votedly attached to our young Mistiss, Miss Ellie, and we thought ole Marster was too hard on her, when she run off with the furrin fiddler; so when this awful ’fliction fell upon us and everybody was cusing Miss Ellie’s child of killing her own grandpa, we couldn’t believe no such onlikely yarn, and Bedney and me has done swore our vow, we will stand by that poor young creetur, for her ma’s sake; for our young mistiss was good to us, and our heart strings was ’rapped round her.  We does not intend, if we can help it, to lend a hand in jailing Miss Ellie’s child, and so, after the Crowner had ’liceted all the facts as he said, and the verdict was made up, Bedney and me didn’t feel no crampings in our conscience, about holding our tongues.  Another reason why we wanted to lay low in this hiere bizness, was that we didn’t hanker after sitting on the anxious seats of witnesses in the court-house; and being called ongodly thieves, and perjured liars, and turned wrong side out by the lie-yers, and told our livers was white, and our hearts blacker than our skins.  Marse Alfred, Bedney and me are scared of that court; what you call the law, cuts curous contarabims sometimes, and when the broad axe of jestice hits, there is no telling whar the chips will fly; it’s wuss than hull-gull, or pitching heads and tails.  You are a lie-yer, Marse Alfred, and you know how it is yourself; and I beg your pardon, sir, for slighting the perfession; but when I was a little gal, I got my scare of lie-yers, and it has stuck to me like a kuckleburrow.  One Christmas eve jest before ole Marster got married, he had a egg-nog party; and a lot of gentlemen was standing ’round the table in the dining-room.  One of ’em was ole Mr. Dunbar, Marse Lennox’ father, and he axed ole Marster if he had saved that