-no great men but Tom Sawyer,
and he ain't a man yet. There ain't anybody in his book that can't be
matched by some one in this town--but there's no one in his book to
equal Linkern, and this is Linkern's town. And I've been thinkin' about
it."

I says: "There you have it, Mitch. It's true. We're the luckiest boys in
the world to live here where Linkern lived, and to hear about him from
people who knew him, to see this here house where he made a mistake,
though doin' his best, to hear about them books, and to walk over the
ground where he lived at Salem, and more than that, to have all this as
familiar to us as Nigger Dick or Joe Pink."

"It's too familiar," said Mitch. "My pa says we won't appreciate it or
understand it all for years to come."

So I went on tellin' Mitch how my grandpa hired Linkern once in a
lawsuit; then we went to the court house, for I wanted to show Mitch
some things I knew about.

The court house was a square brick building with a hall running through
it, and my pa's office, the coroner's office, the treasurer's office on
each side of the hall. And there was a big yard around the court house,
with watermelon rinds scattered over the grass; and a fence around the
yard and a hitch rack where the farmers tied their teams. And at one
side there was a separate building where the clerks of the courts had
their offices. I knew all the lay of the land. So I took Mitch into the
clerk's office and showed him papers which Linkern had written and
signed. At first he wouldn't believe it. So while we was lookin' at them
papers, John Armstrong came in to pay his taxes or somethin' and he knew
me because him and my pa had played together as boys. He was a brother
of Duff which Linkern had defended for murder, and I tried to get him
to tell Mitch and me about the trial, but he didn't have time, and he
said: "The next time you come to your grandpap's, come over to see me. I
live about 7 miles from your grandpap. And I'll tell you and play the
fiddle for you."

"When can we come?" says Mitch.

"Any time," says John.

"To-morrow," says Mitch.

"Wal, to-morrow I'm goin' to Havaner--But you just get your grandpap to
drive you and Mitch over some day, and we'll have a grand visit." So he
went away.

Then as we was comin' out of the clerk's office, Sheriff Rutledge
stepped up and read a subpoena to Mitch and me to appear before the
Grand Jury in August, about Doc Lyon.

"We won't be here," says Mitch.

"