another, a harsh one that growled something
unintelligible, and Wetherell guessed, from the fragments which he
heard, that the judge before sitting down to his duty was trying to
dissuade the stage driver from a step that was foolhardy. He guessed
likewise that Lem was not to be dissuaded. At length a silence followed,
then the door swung open, and three figures came down the illuminated
path.

"Like to make you acquainted with Jedge Abner Parkinson, Mr. Wetherell,
and Jim Irving. Jim's the sheriff of Truro County, and I guess the
jedge don't need any recommendation as a lawyer from me. You won't mind
stayin' awhile with the jedge while Jim and I go down town with the
team? You're both literary folks."

Wetherell followed the judge into the house. He was sallow, tall
and spare and stooping, clean-shaven, with a hooked nose and bright
eyes--the face of an able and adroit man, and he wore the long black
coat of the politician-lawyer. The room was filled with books, and from
these Judge Parkinson immediately took his cue, probably through a fear
that Wetherell might begin on the subject of Lemuel's errand. However,
it instantly became plain that the judge was a true book lover, and
despite the fact that Lem's visit had disturbed him not a little, he
soon grew animated in a discussion on the merits of Sir Walter Scott,
paced the room, pitched his nasal voice higher and higher, covered his
table with volumes of that author to illustrate his meaning. Neither
of them heard a knock, and they both stared dumfounded at the man who
filled the doorway.

It was Jethro Bass!

He entered the room with characteristic unconcern, as if he had just
left it on a trivial errand, and without a "How do you do?" or a "Good
evening," parted his coat tails, and sat down in the judge's armchair.
The judge dropped the volume of Scott on the desk, and as for Wetherell,
he realized for once the full meaning of the biblical expression of
a man's tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth; the gleam of one of
Jethro's brass buttons caught his eye and held it fascinated.

"Literary talk, Judge?" said Jethro. "D-don't mind me--go on."

"Thought you were at the capital," said the judge, reclaiming some of
his self-possession.

"Good many folks thought so," answered Jethro, "g-good many folks."

There was no conceivable answer to this, so the judge sat down with an
affectation of ease. He was a man on whom dignity lay heavily, and
was not a little