His father turned a creaking page of paper And cleared his throat, “The Tribune calls,” he said, “Brown’s raid the work of a madman. Well, they’re right, But⁠—” Mrs. Ellyat put her knitting down. “Are they going to hang him, Will?” “It looks that way.” “But, Father, when⁠—” “They have the right, my son, He broke the law.” “But, Will! You don’t believe⁠—” A little spark lit Mr. Ellyat’s eyes. “I didn’t say I thought that he was wrong. I said they had the right to hang the man, But they’ll hang slavery with him.” A quick pulse Beat in Jack Ellyat’s wrist. Behind his eyes A bearded puppet creaked upon a rope