is slow youth, to manhood, and the last
good-by kiss.

Nothing was heard from either of them for a long while, save the creak
of her chair and the rustle of his paper as he turned to the page
recording the results in the incessant Gettysburgs over the prices of
corn, pork, poultry, butter, and eggs. They were history to him. He
could grow angry over a drop in December wheat, and he could glow at a
sign of feverishness in oats. To-day he was profoundly moved to read
that October ribs had opened at 10.95 and closed at 11.01, and
depressed to see that September lard had dropped from 11.67 to 11.65.

As he turned the paper his eye was caught by the head-lines of an old
and notorious trial at law, and he was confirmed in his wrath. He
growled:

"Good Lord, ain't that dog hung yet?"

"What you talkin' about, Paw?"

"I was just noticin' that the third trial of Tom Carey is in full swing
again. It's cost the State a hundred thousand dollars already, and the
scoundrel ain't punished yet."

"What did he do, Paw?"

The old man blushed like a boy as he stammered: "You're too young to
know all he did, Maw. If I told you, you wouldn't understand. But it
ended in murder. If he'd been a low-browed dago they'd have had him
railroaded to Jericho in no time. But the lawyers are above the law, and
they've kept this fellow from his deserts till folks have almost forgot
what it was he did. It's disgraceful. It makes our courts the
laughing-stock of the world. It gives the anarchists an excuse for
saying that there's one law for the poor and another for the rich."

After the thunder of his ire had rolled away there was a gentle murmur
from the old woman. "It's a terrible thing to put a man to death."

"So it is, Maw, and if this fellow had only realized it he'd have kept
out of trouble."

"He was excited, most likely, and out of his head. What I mean is, it's
a terrible thing for a judge and a jury to try a man and take his life
away from him."

"Oh, it's terrible, of course, Maw, but we've got to have laws to hold
the world together, ain't we? And if we don't enforce 'em, what's the
use of havin' 'em?"

Silence and a far-away look on the wrinkled face resting on the wrinkled
hand and then a quiet question:

"Suppose it was our Steve?"

"I won't suppose any such thing. Thank God there's been no stain on any
of our family, either side; just plain hard-workin' folks--no crazy
ones, no criminals."

"But supposing it was our