the cordial and
admiring salutes of his village friends. He had seen himself later
in the jury-room, shrewdly "leading" the reluctant witness,
delivering weighty opinions on the bearing of testimony, and making
all respect him as a marvel of conservatism, dignity, and wisdom.
This was to be one of the most important and pleasurable days of his
life, the rung in a ladder of preferment which reached as high as
the state-house dome!

And when that day came, it rained; steadily, gloomily, fiercely
rained. Solomon was not allowed to wear his best clothes. When,
peering out of the window, he hopefully said he "guessed mebbe 't
was goin' to clear," his wife invited him tartly to "wait till it
did."

She insisted that he put on his every-day clothes, and thus arrayed,
and without meeting a single villager to realize the importance of
his errand, he waded up to the court house, the pelting rain
rattling on his old umbrella, the fierce wind almost wrenching it
inside out.

There was, of course, no parade on the courthouse steps for the
benefit of a wondering village, as there would have been had the day
been fine. Instead, the men, steaming with wet, stood about
uncomfortably in the corridors, muddy with the mud from their feet,
wet with the drip from their umbrellas. The air in the court house
was close, and every one felt uncomfortable and depressed.

Mr. Peaslee, having greeted three or four men whom he knew, found
himself jammed into a corner behind four or five jurors who were
strangers to him, but he was too disheartened to try to scrape
acquaintance with them. He felt lonely and helpless.

He looked enviously over to the other end of the corridor, where
Fred Farnsworth, Eben Sampson, and Albion Small were standing
together. In contrast with the others, these men were laughing.
Albion was "consid'able of a joker," Mr. Peaslee reflected gloomily.

Then old Abijah Keith stormed in, and in his high, shrill voice
began immediately to utter his unfavorable opinion of everything and
everybody.

"Well, if he ain't here again!" exclaimed, in disgust, Hiram
Hopkins, one of the men in front of Solomon. "Cantankerest old
lummux in the whole state--just lots on upsetting things. Abijah!"
he snorted. "Can't Abijah, I call him!"

Mr. Peaslee shrank back into his corner nervously. He knew this old
tyrant and dreaded him.

Not much was done that first day. The clerk swore them; the judge
charged them, and appointed the sensib