his beard and became a hermit. And ever since, for fifteen years,
we've remained in hiding. This is all I have to say. And I swear
it is the truth, every word."

When the Doctor finished reading Bob's long speech the excitement
among the twelve men of the jury was positively terrific. One, a
very old man with white hair, began to weep in a loud voice at
the thought of poor Luke hiding on the fen for fifteen years for
something he couldn't help. And all the others set to whispering
and nodding their heads to one another.

In the middle of all this up got that horrible Prosecutor again,
waving his arms more wildly than ever.

"Your Honor," he cried, "I must object to this evidence as
biased. Of course the dog would not tell the truth against his
own master. I object. I protest."

"Very well," said the judge, "you are at liberty to
cross-examine. It is your duty as Prosecutor to prove his
evidence untrue. There is the dog: question him, if you do not
believe what he says."

I thought the long-nosed lawyer would have a fit. He looked first
at the dog, then at the Doctor, then at the judge, then back at
the dog scowling from the witness-box. He opened his mouth to say
something; but no words came. He waved his arms some more. His
face got redder and redder. At last, clutching his forehead, he
sank weakly into his seat and had to be helped out of the
court-room by two friends. As he was half carried through the