the pity of it! Where are the great names? A race
of upstarts has taken their place--sons of nobody--nephews of
nobody--cousins of nobody--I observe only deterioration in the trend of
modern life. The social fabric is tottering--I can see it totter--" and
he tottered himself as he said this.

The boy had watched him out of wide eyes, as ponderous and unwieldy he
shuffled back and forth in the dim candlelight; now shaking his head and
muttering, the judge dropped into his chair.

"Well, I'm an old man-the spectacle won't long offend me. I'll die
presently. The Bench and Bar will review my services to the country, the
militia will fire a few volleys at my graveside, here and there a flag
will be at half-mast, and that will be the end--" He was so profoundly
moved by the thought that he could not go on. His voice broke, and he
buried his face in his arms. A sympathetic moisture had gathered in
the child's eyes. He understood only a small part of what his host was
saying, but realized that it had to do with death, and he had his own
terrible acquaintance with death. He slipped from his chair and stole
to the judge's side, and that gentleman felt a cool hand rest lightly on
his arm.

"What?" he said, glancing up.

"I'm mighty sorry you're going to die," said the boy softly.

"Bless you, Hannibal!" cried the judge, looking wonderfully cheerful,
despite his recent bitterness of spirit. "I'm not experiencing any of
the pangs of mortality now. My dissolution ain't a matter of to-night
or to-morrow--there's some life in Slocum Price yet, for all the rough
usage, eh? I've had my fun--I could tell you a thing or two about that,
if you had hair on your chin!" and the selfish lines of his face twisted
themselves into an exceedingly knowing grin.

"You talked like you thought you were going to die right off," said
Hannibal gravely, as he resumed his chair. The judge was touched. It had
been more years than he cared to remember since he had launched a decent
emotion in the breast of any human being. For a moment he was silent,
struck with a sense of shame; then he said:

"You are sure you are not running away, Hannibal? I hope you know
that boys should always tell the truth--that hell has its own especial
terrors for the boy who lies? Now, if I thought the worst of you, I
might esteem it my duty to investigate your story." The judge laid a fat
forefinger against the side of his nose, and regarded him with drunken
gravity. Hanni