?"

"Yes, sir."

"You must be a lawyer first."

"Yes, sir."

"It is hard work."

"Yes, sir."

"And sometimes it's no better than farming for crows."

The boy shook his head. "It's cleaner work, sir."

The judge laughed.

"I'm afraid you are obstinate, Nicholas," he said, and added: "Now, what
do you want me to do for you? I can't make you a judge. It took me fifty
years to make myself one--a third-rate one at that--"

"I--I'd l-i-k-e to take a bo-b-o-o-k," stammered the boy.

"Dear me!" said the judge irritably, "dear me!"

He frowned, his gaze skimming his well-filled shelves. He regretted
suddenly that he had spoken to the child at the court-house. He would
never be guilty of such an indiscretion again. Of what could he have
been thinking? A book! Why didn't he ask for food--money--his best piece
of fluted Royal Worcester?

Then a loud, boyish laugh rang in from the garden, and his face softened
suddenly. In the sun-scorched, honest-eyed little figure before him he
saw his own boy--the single child of his young wife, who was lying
beneath a marble slab in the churchyard. Her face, mild and
Madonna-like, glimmered against the pallid rose leaves in the deep
window-seat.

He turned hastily away.

"Yes, yes," he answered, "I will lend you one. Read the titles
carefully. Don't let the books fall. Never lay them face downwards--and
don't turn down the leaves!"

The boy advanced timidly to the shelves between the southern windows. He
ran his hands slowly along the lettered backs, his lips moving as he
spelled out the names.

"The F-e-d-e-r-a-l-i-s-t," "B-l-a-c-k-s-t-o-n-e-'s
C-o-m-m-e-n-t-a-r-i-e-s," "R-e-v-i-s-e-d Sta-tu-tes of the U-ni-ted
Sta-tes."

The judge drew up to his desk and looked over his letters. Then he took
up his pen and wrote several replies in his fine, flowing handwriting.
He had forgotten the boy, when he felt a touch upon his arm.

"What is it?" he asked absently. "Ah, it is you? Yes, let me see. Why!
you've got Sir Henry Maine!"

The boy was holding the book in both hands. As the judge laughed he
flushed nervously and turned towards the door.

The judge leaned back in his chair, watching the small figure cross the
room and disappear into the hall. He saw the tracks of dust which the
boy's feet left upon the smooth, bare floor, but he was not thinking of
them. Then, as the child went out upon the porch, he started up.

"Nicholas!" he called, "don't turn down the leaves!"