Miss Sherwood observed that "Mrs. Wimby's husband" was remarkable for the

exceeding plaintiveness of his expression. He was a weazened, blank, pale-

eyed little man, with a thin, white mist of neck whisker; his coat was so

large for him that the sleeves were rolled up from his wrists with several

turns, and, as he climbed painfully to the ground to open the gate of the

lane, it needed no perspicuous eye to perceive that his trousers had been

made for a much larger man, for, as his uncertain foot left the step of

his vehicle, one baggy leg of the garment fell down over his foot,

completely concealing his boot and hanging some inches beneath. A faintly

vexed expression crossed his face as he endeavored to arrange the

disorder, but he looked up and returned Briscoe's bow, sadly, with an air

of explaining that he was accustomed to trouble, and that the trousers had

behaved no worse than he expected.

No more inoffensive or harmless figure than this feeble little old man

could be imagined; yet his was the distinction of having received a

terrible visit from his neighbors of the Cross-Roads. Mrs. Wimby was a

widow, who owned a comfortable farm, and she had refused every offer of

the neighboring ill-eligible bachelors to share it. However, a vagabonding

tinker won her heart, and after their marriage she continued to be known

as "Mrs. Wimby"; for so complete was the bridegroom's insignificance that

it extended to his name, which proved quite unrememberable, and he was

usually called "Widder-Woman Wimby's Husband," or, more simply, "Mr.

Wimby." The bride supplied the needs of his wardrobe with the garments of

her former husband, and, alleging this proceeding as the cause of their

anger, the Cross-Roads raiders, clad as "White-Caps," broke into the

farmhouse one night, looted it, tore the old man from his bed, and

compelling his wife, who was tenderly devoted to him, to watch, they

lashed him with sapling shoots till he was near to death. A little yellow

cur, that had followed his master on his wanderings, was found licking the

old man's wounds, and they deluged the dog with kerosene and then threw

the poor animal upon a bonfire they had made, and danced around it in

heartiest enjoyment.

The man recovered, but that was no palliation of the offense to the mind

of a hot-eyed young man from the East, who was besieging the county

authorities for redress and writing brimstone and saltpetre for his paper.

The powers of the county proving either lackadaisical or timorous, he

appealed to those of the State, and he went every night to sleep at a

farmhouse, the owner of which had received a warning from the "White-

Caps." And one night it befell that he was rewarded, for the raiders

attempted an entrance. He and the farmer and the former's sons beat off

the marauders and did a satisfactory amount of damage in return. Two of

the "White-Caps" they captured and bound, and others they recognized. Then

the State authorities hearkened to the voice of the "Herald" and its

owner; there were arrests, and in the course of time there was a trial.

Every prisoner proved an alibi, could have proved a dozen; but the editor

of the "Herald," after virtually conducting the prosecution, went upon the

stand and swore to man after man. Eight men went to the penitentiary on

his evidence, five of them for twenty years. The Plattville Brass Band

serenaded the editor of the "Herald" again.




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