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the Judge's conversation being of a political nature and generally
tending to vigorous denunciations of some candidate for election who
belonged to the opposite party. In Barnesville political feeling ran
high, never running low, even when there was no one to be elected or
defeated, which was very seldom the case, for between such elections and
defeat there was always what had been done or what ought to have been
done at Washington to discuss, it being strongly felt that without the
assistance of Barnesville, Washington would be in a sorry plight indeed.

To-day the Judge had been engaged in a livelier discussion than usual as
he rode homeward with a select party of legal brethren from court at
Brownsboro, and consequently made his appearance blustering and joyous.
He bestowed upon his wife a sounding kiss, and, with one arm around her
waist, shook hands with Tom in a gust of hospitality, speaking to both at
once.

"Howdy, Jenny? Howdy, Tom? It's a coon's age since we've seen you, Tom.
Time you showed yourself. How are the children, Jenny--and what's Tom
Scott been doing? What's this we hear about that stray young one? Nice
tale that is to tell on a fellow. Fowler heard it at Brownsboro and like
to have killed himself. Lord! how hot it's been! I'm ready for supper,
Jenny. Sit down, Tom. As soon as I get through supper, we'll have a real
old-fashioned talk. I've been suffering for one for three months. Jenny,
tell Sophronia to spread herself on her waffles, for I've been getting
some mighty poor stuff for the last few days. What do you think of
Thatcher running for the Legislature? Lord! Lord! what a fool that fellow
is! Most unpopular man in the county, and about the meanest too. Mean?
Lord! mean ain't the name for it! He'll be beat so that any other man
wouldn't want to show his head, and it won't make a mark on him. Nellie's
asleep, ain't she, Jenny? I've got to go and look at her and the rest of
them. Don't you want to come along, Tom? You're a family man yourself
now, and you ought to take an interest!"

He led the way into the family-room at the back and, taking the candle
from the high mantel, moved it triumphantly over the beds in which the
children slept.

"Here's Tom Scott!" he announced. "Tom Scott's got to have a crib to
himself. Look at him now. What do you think of that for a boy? He's five
years old next month, and he about runs Barnesville. The boys round here
are just ruining him with making much