It's in with the tavern."
"Let's go and ask the jailer if he'll let us in," suggested Prudence.
"I wuz gonter wait an' git Isr'el Goodrich tew go long an kinder speak
fer me, ef I could," said Mrs. Poor. "He's considabul thought on by
folks roun' here, and he's a neighbor o' ourn, an real kind, Isr'el
Goodrich is. But I don' see him nowhar roun', an mebbe we mout's well
go right along, an not wait no longer."
And so the two women went on toward the jail, and Prudence dismounted
before the door of the tavern end, and tied the horse.
"I callate they muss keep the folks in that ere ell part, with the row
o' leetle winders," said Mrs. Poor. She spoke in a hushed voice, as
one speaks near a tomb. The girl was quite pale, and she stared with a
scared fascination at the wall behind which her father was shut up.
Timidly the women entered the open door. Both Bement and his wife were
in the barroom.
"What dew ye want?" demanded the latter, sharply.
Mrs. Poor curtsied very low, and smiled a vague, abject smile of
propitiation.
"If ye please, marm, I'm Mis Poor. He's in this ere jail fer debt.
He's kinder pulin like, Zadkiel is, an I jess fetched daown some yarbs
fer him.
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