"Proceed in justice, which shall have due course."—(The Winter's Tale).

BUT to go back. Mrs. Davis's friends, many of Mr. Whitman's, and a number of outsiders were disgusted and indignant at the treatment she had received and united in urging her to sue the estate and take her case into court. She was loath to do this, and hesitated for a long while; but in 1894 the unsolicited offer of an eminent judge to represent her without a fee (he said she was the worst used woman he had ever met) and the continued persuasions of her friends roused her at last to stand up for herself, and for once to take her own part. The loss of her money did not trouble her so much as the thought of what might be (and had been) said against her. She was confident that had Mrs. Whitman lived all would have been different. But Mrs. Whitman had not lived, and she had to face a problem that perplexed and saddened her, darkening her view of human nature, and throwing a shadow over the past and the future. The whole thing seemed so impossible, so hopelessly unfair.

The trial came off in the county court house, Camden, in April, 1894. Mrs. Davis's witnesses came voluntarily to her aid—the tea merchant only, and at his own request, being subpoenaed. There was the former orphan girl, now a wife and mother, who told the story of the poet's coming to the widow's door; of her many kind offices to him, and his appreciation; of his repeated promises to repay her if she would come to live with him, and his urgent appeals to her to do so. She gave the particulars of the transfer into the Mickle Street house, and much that followed after; the purchases Mrs. Davis had made, and the expense she had been put to. The first professional nurse, Mr. Musgrove, came forward that he might speak his good word for the late housekeeper, and the second and last trained nurse (Mrs. Keller) was glad to testify in public to the plaintiff's devotion to her distinguished patient, and his great regard for her. Warren told the plain and convincing story of Mr. Whitman's intentions, as expressed to himself, of repaying his mother for the money she had spent. When asked how he knew that she had spent her own money, he answered that he had recognized at least the new gold pieces he had given her—the double eagles—which had gone one by one during the last two years. Then when the defendant's lawyer asked, in a very insinuating manner, what had become of the champagne left in the cellar at the time of Mr. Whitman's death, the young artist who lived next door told how some boys had made their way into the cellar one day, had drunk the wine and become hopelessly intoxicated.

The friend who had kept house on the two special occasions, and who had been a constant visitor there for seven years; neighbors who had seen Mrs. Davis helping the old man in and out of his carriage and rolling chair, and carefully covering and protecting him while he was sitting out of doors; and others who knew of her unremitting attentions, all spoke for her, while quite a number of citizens told her that her case was so strong they would not volunteer as witnesses, but were with her heart and soul. Among these was the young doctor.

On the opposite side were the two literary executors, George Whitman, and a few others. The oyster man was there to tell of the quantity of oysters he had taken or sent to the house—more than one man, a sick man at that, could possibly consume; the object was to accuse Mrs. Davis by suggestion of getting them for herself in a dishonorable manner; but when on the stand the man could not speak, and after the trial went to her and begged her pardon.

Much interest was manifested in the case, which lasted two days; the court room was crowded at each session, and it was not difficult to tell on which side lay the sympathy. Her opponents could bring no charge against her; they could only try to slur her and belittle what she had done.

The testimony taken, Mrs. Davis's counsel called his client forward, placed a chair for her in the sight of all, and then in touching, eloquent words summed up the case, saying that many among those present had seen Walt Whitman going about the streets of Camden, alone, cold and neglected, that it was a well-remembered sight, just as it was a well-known fact that this good woman's heart and home alone had been opened to him.

As was expected, Mrs. Davis won her case; she received a fair sum of money, and the congratulations, spoken or written, of all who knew her sterling worth and the true story of her years of service.