Lawyer Talcott had asked young Burns to get at this if possible, for purpose of defense, but it was not possible.
The court met on the first Tuesday in September.

The day was windless and warm, and as Harold walked across the yard with the sheriff he looked around at the maple leaves, just touched with crimson and gold and russet, and his heart ached with desire to be free.

The scent of the open air made his nostrils quiver like those of a deer.
Jack met them on the path--eager to share his hero's trouble.
"Please, sheriff, let me walk with Harry." "Fall in behind," the sheriff gruffly replied; and so out of all the town people Jack alone associated himself with the prisoner.

Up the stairs whereon he had romped when a lad, Harold climbed spiritlessly, a boy no longer.
The halls were lined with faces, everyone as familiar as the scarred and scratched wall of the court room, and yet all were now alien--no one recognized him by a frank and friendly nod, and he moved past his old companions with sullen and rigid face.

His father met him at the door and walked beside him down the aisle to a seat.
The benches were crowded, and every foot of standing space was soon filled.