over, and
he is nominated, we will get out an extra; and I am so confident of your
success that I'll tell you now that the extra will be ready the night
before the convention. We will contrive that Mr. Harkless shall not
receive his copy of the paper containing the notice of the change of
date, and I think the chance of his seeing it in any Rouen paper may be
avoided. That is all, I think."

"Thank you," said Keating. "That is certainly the course to follow."
Every one nodded, or acquiesced in words; and Keating and Bence came
over to Helen and engaged her in conversation. The others began to look
about for their hats, vaguely preparing to leave.

"Wait a minute," said the judge. "There's no train due just now." And
Minnie appeared in the doorway with a big pitcher of crab-apple cider,
rich and amber-hued, sparkling, cold, and redolent of the sweet-smelling
orchard where it was born. Behind Miss Briscoe came Mildy Upton with
glasses and a fat, shaking, four-storied jelly-cake on a second
tray. The judge passed his cigars around, and the gentlemen took them
blithely, then hesitatingly held them in their fingers and glanced at
the ladies, uncertain of permission.

"Let me get you some matches," Helen said, quickly, and found a box on
the table and handed it to Keating. Every one sat beaming, and fragrant
veils of smoke soon draped the room.

"Why do you call her 'Miss Sherwood'?" Boswell whispered in Keating's
ear.

"That's her name."

"Ain't she the daughter of that old fellow over there by the window?
Ain't her name Fisbee?"

"No; she's his daughter, but her legal name's Sherwood; she's an
adop----"

"Great Scott! I know all about that. I'd like to know if there's a man,
woman, or child in this part of the country that doesn't. I guess it
won't be Fisbee or Sherwood either very long. She can easy get a new
name, _that_ lady! And if she took a fancy to Boswell, why, I'm a
bach----"

"I expect she won't take a fancy to Boswell very early," said Keating.
"They say it will be Harkless."

"Go 'way," returned Mr. Boswell. "What do you want to say that for?
Can't you bear for anybody to be happy a minute or two, now and then?"

Warren Smith approached Helen and inquired if it would be asking too
much if they petitioned her for some music; so she went to the piano,
and sang some darky songs for them, with a quaint suggestion of the
dialect--two or three old-fashioned negro melodies of Foster's, followed
by some