The next day, the fair held a trial. The man seated high above the others was called Lord Hate-good. Gifts lay on his table, and bright lamps hung behind him. Chris was brought before the table. He heard one person accuse Faithful of stealing money, and another say he was teaching children to be disobedient.
“That was the girl’s own earnings,” Chris said. “The seller had hidden them under a plate. Faithful got them back for her.”
A man called Envy said Faithful deliberately made everyone think he was the kindest of them all. Another, called Flattery, said Faithful could avoid a great deal of trouble simply by admitting there was nothing wrong with the fair’s rules. Lord Hate-good beckoned Chris to tell them one thing Faithful had said to make him cause trouble.
Chris saw Faithful standing on the other side with his hands tied. He was frightened and wanted to go home at once. If he said just one thing they wanted to hear, perhaps he could leave this room. But the sentence turned over and over on his tongue without ever sounding true.
“He told me to look after that child first,” Chris said. “Those are the words I remember.”
Lord Hate-good struck the table hard. But Faithful first nodded to Chris, then told the story again. He did not shout louder than the others or try to prove he had never made a mistake. He simply refused to call cruelty a game, or stolen money a fair reward.
The trial did not end according to the truth he told. Faithful was taken away. After the door closed, Chris stayed where he was, gripping the edge of his clothes and waiting for him to come back.
Faithful did not come back. In the end, the people at the fair who hated the truth killed him.
A shining carriage came beside him and carried him toward the Celestial City, where the King welcomed him. But Chris did not see that carriage. All he knew was that he had lost a friend who would answer him in the dark and keep an extra portion of food for a traveler.
Some people at the fair would no longer work for Lord Hate-good. They spread the story and gathered outside the room where Chris was held, demanding that the child be released. The old bread seller came too, along with the girl Faithful had helped down from the platform. Afraid of a greater quarrel, the guards finally opened the door.
When Chris came out, he did not feel victorious. He searched the crowd again and again, certain Faithful ought to be among them. At the turning, he stood without knowing where to go. Even when someone returned his waterskin, he did not take it at once.
The old woman took his hand and brought him home with her. She did not say, “Don’t cry,” or pretend it was not so bad. She simply warmed a bowl of soup and sat beside him. After dark, Chris finally began to cry aloud.
Several days passed before he was willing to open the book. Its words about the Celestial City were still there. He read a little, closed it, and thought again of the half-piece of cake Faithful had given him. This time, he let himself remember for a while without hurrying his sadness away.