looked timidly at her, and took the hands she gave him; then
he produced from his pocket a yellow telegraph envelope, watching
her anxiously as she received it. However, she seemed to attach no
particular importance to it, and, instead of opening it, leaned toward
him, still holding one of his hands.

"These awful old men!" Harkless groaned inwardly as he handed the horses
over to the judge. "I dare say _he_'ll kiss her, too." But, when the
editor and Mr. Willetts had gone, it was Helen who kissed Fisbee.

"They're coming out to spend the evening, aren't they?" asked Briscoe,
nodding to the young men as they set off down the road.

"Lige has to come whether he wants to or not," Minnie laughed, rather
consciously; "It's his turn to-night to look after Mr. Harkless."

"I guess he won't mind coming," said the judge.

"Well," returned his daughter, glancing at Helen, who stood apart,
reading the telegram to Fisbee, "I know if he follows Mr. Harkless
he'll get here pretty soon after supper--as soon as the moon comes up,
anyway."

The editor of the "Herald" was late to his supper that evening. It was
dusk when he reached the hotel, and, for the first time in history, a
gentleman sat down to meat in that house of entertainment in evening
dress. There was no one in the diningroom when he went in; the other
boarders had finished, and it was Cynthia's "evening out," but the
landlord came and attended to his guests' wants himself, and chatted
with him while he ate.

"There's a picture of Henry Clay," remarked Landis, in obvious relevancy
to his companion's attire, "there's a picture of Henry Clay somewheres
about the house in a swallow-tail coat. Governor Ray spoke here in one
in early times, Bodeffer says, except it was higher built up 'n yourn
about the collar, and had brass buttons, I think. Ole man Wimby was
here to-night," the landlord continued, changing the subject. "He
waited around fer ye a good while. He's be'n mighty wrought up sence the
trouble this morning, an' wanted to see ye bad. I don't know 'f you
seen it, but that feller 't knocked your hat off was mighty near tore
to pieces in the crowd before he got away. 'Seems some the boys
re-_cog_-nized him as one the Cross-Roads Skillets, and sicked the dogs
on him, and he had a pretty mean time of it. Wimby says the Cross-Roads
folks'll be worse 'n ever, and, says he, 'Tell him to stick close to
town,' says he. 'They'll do anything to git him now,' says he, 'and