"A little bit louder, please. Don't be afraid. You were—"
"In the graveyard."
A contemptuous smile flitted across Injun Joe's face.
"Were you anywhere near Horse Williams's grave?"
"Yes, sir."
"Speak up—just a trifle louder. How near were you?"
"Near as I am to you."
"Were you hidden, or not?"
"I was hid."
"Where?"
"Behind the elms that's on the edge of the grave."
Injun Joe gave a barely perceptible start.
"Any one with you?"
"Yes, sir. I went there with—"
"Wait—wait a moment. Nevermind mentioning your companion's name We will produce him at the proper time. Did you carry anything there with, you."
Tom hesitated and looked confused.
"Speak out my boy—don't be diffident. The truth is always respectable. What did you take there?"
"Only a—a—dead cat."
There was a ripple of mirth, which the court checked.
"We will produce the skeleton of that cat. Now my boy, tell us everything that occurred—tell it in your own way—don't skip anything, and don't be afraid."
Tom began—hesitatingly at first, but as he warmed to his subject his words flowed more and more easily; in a little while every sound ceased but his own voice; every eye fixed itself upon him; with parted lips and bated breath the audience hung upon his words, taking no note of time, rapt in the ghastly fascinations of the tale. The strain upon pent emotion reached its climax when the boy said—
"—and as the doctor fetched the board around and Muff Potter fell, Injun Joe jumped with the knife and—"
