Lemuel could not help seeing that she and most of the others
were familiar with the place. Those two saucy jades who had mocked
him were silent, and had lost their bold looks.
After waiting what seemed a long time, the door was opened, and they
were driven up a flight of stairs into a railed enclosure at the
corner of a large room, where they remained huddled together, while
a man at a long desk rattled over something that ended with "God
bless the commonwealth of Massachusetts." On a platform behind the
speaker sat a grey-haired man in spectacles, and Lemuel knew that he
was in the court-room, and that this must be the judge. He could not
see much of the room over the top of the railing, but there was a
buzz of voices and a stir of feet beyond, that made him think the
place was full. But full or empty, it was the same to him; his shame
could not be greater or less. He waited apathetically while the
clerk read off the charges against the vastly greater number of his
fellow-prisoners arrested for drunkenness. When these were disposed
of, he read from the back of a paper, which he took from a fresh
pile, "Bridget Gallagher, complained of for habitual drunkenness.
Guilty or not guilty?"
"Not guilty, your honour," answered the Irishwoman who had come from
Lemuel's station. "But make it aisy for me this time, judge, and
ye'll never catch me in it again.
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