extinguishing
the dull red of the oak, the clear gold of the hickory flashing through
the gloss of the holly. As yet the leaves had not begun to fall; they
held tenaciously to the living branches, fluttering light heads in the
first autumn chill. In the underbrush, where the deerberry showed hectic
blotches, a squirrel worked busily, completing its winter store, while
in the slanting sun rays a tawny butterfly, like a wind-blown, loosened
tiger lily, danced its last mad dance with death.

To Nicholas the scene was without significance. With a gesture he threw
off the spell of its beauty, as he shifted the "sack" of corn meal upon
his shoulder. He had found Uncle Ish tottering homeward with the load,
and he had taken it from him with a careless promise to leave it at the
old negro's cabin door--then, passing him by a stride, he had gone on
his kindly, confident way. He forgot Uncle Ish as readily as he forgot
the bag he carried. His mind was busily reviewing the points of his last
case and the possible facts of a more important one he believed to be
coming to him. In this connection he went back to his first fight in the
little court-house, and he laughed with an appreciation of the humour of
his success. It was Turner, after all, who had given it to him; Turner,
who, having bought a horse that died upon the journey home, wanted
revenge as well as recompense. He remembered his perturbation as he rose
to cross-examine the defendant--the nervousness with which he drove his
weapons home. It had all seemed so important to him then--the court,
his client, the great, greasy horse dealer forced into the witness
stand.

He had proved his case by the defendant, and he had won as well a mild
reputation among the farmers who had assembled for the day. Since then
he had done well, and the judge's patronage had placed much in his hands
that, otherwise, would have gone elsewhere.

Beyond the wood, the uncultivated wasteland sported its annual carnival
of golden rod and sumach, and across the brilliant plumes a round, red
sun hung suspended in a quiet sky. In the corn field, where the late
crop was fast maturing, negro women chanted shrilly as they pulled the
"fodder," their high-coloured kerchiefs blending, like autumn foliage,
with the landscape. Around them the bared stalks rose boldly row on row,
reserving their scarred and yellow husks for the last harvest of the
year.

When Nicholas reached his father's house he did not enter