clear the sky. And
Mrs. Taylor looked at the pale girl and saw that she could do nothing to
help her toward peace of mind.

"Of course," she said to her husband, after returning from her
profitless errand, "you might know she'd feel dreadful.

"What about?" said Taylor.

"Why, you know just as well as I do. And I'll say for myself, I hope
you'll never have to help hang folks."

"Well," said Taylor, mildly, "if I had to, I'd have to, I guess."

"Well, I don't want it to come. But that poor girl is eating her heart
right out over it."

"What does she say?"

"It's what she don't say. She'll not talk, and she'll not let me talk,
and she sits and sits."

"I'll go talk some to her," said the man.

"Well, Taylor, I thought you had more sense. You'd not get a word in.
She'll be sick soon if her worry ain't stopped someway, though."

"What does she want this country to do?" inquired Taylor. "Does she
expect it to be like Vermont when it--"

"We can't help what she expects," his wife interrupted. "But I wish we
could help HER."

They could not, however; and help came from another source. Judge Henry
rode by the next day. To him good Mrs. Taylor at once confided her
anxiety. The Judge looked grave.

"Must I meddle?" he said.

"Yes, Judge, you must," said Mrs. Taylor.

"But why can't I send him over here when he gets back? Then they'll just
settle it between themselves."

Mrs. Taylor shook her head. "That would unsettle it worse than it is,"
she assured him. "They mustn't meet just now."

The Judge sighed. "Well," he said, "very well. I'll sacrifice my
character, since you insist."

Judge Henry sat thinking, waiting until school should be out. He did not
at all relish what lay before him. He would like to have got out of it.
He had been a federal judge; he had been an upright judge; he had met
the responsibilities of his difficult office not only with learning,
which is desirable, but also with courage and common sense besides, and
these are essential. He had been a stanch servant of the law. And now
he was invited to defend that which, at first sight, nay, even at second
and third sight, must always seem a defiance of the law more injurious
than crime itself. Every good man in this world has convictions about
right and wrong. They are his soul's riches, his spiritual gold. When
his conduct is at variance with these, he knows that it is a departure,
a falling; and this is a simple and clear matter. If fallin