lence, he presently came
to the belief that this might be done without special hardship. Then
suddenly the rusted name-plate on Hannibal's old rifle danced again
before his burning eyes, and a bitter sense of hurt and loss struck
through him. He saw himself as he was, a shabby outcast, a tavern
hanger-on, the utter travesty of all he should have been; he dropped his
arm across his face.

The first rift of light in the sky found the judge stirring; it found
him in his usual cheerful frame of mind. He disposed of his toilet and
breakfast with the greatest expedition.

"Will you stroll into town with me, Solomon?" he asked, when they had
eaten. Mahaffy shook his head, his air was still plainly hostile. "Then
let your prayers follow me, for I'm off!" said the judge.

Ten minutes' walk brought him to the door of the city tavern, where he
found Mr. Pegloe directing the activities of a small colored boy who was
mopping out his bar. To him the judge made known his needs.

"Goin' to locate, are you?" said Mr. Pegloe.

"My friends urge it, sir, and I have taken the matter under
consideration," answered the judge.

"Sho, do you know any folks hereabouts?" asked Mr. Pegloe.

"Not many," said the judge, with reserve.

"Well, the only empty house in town is right over yonder; it belongs to
young Charley Norton out at Thicket Point Plantation."

"Ah-h!" said the judge.

The house Mr. Pegloe had pointed out was a small frame building; it
stood directly on the street, with a narrow porch across the front, and
a shed addition at the back. The judge scuttled over to it. With his
hands clasped under the tails of his coat he walked twice about the
building, stopping to peer in at all the windows, then he paused and
took stock of his surroundings. Over the way was Pegloe's City Tavern;
farther up the street was the court-house, a square wooden box with a
crib that housed a cracked bell, rising from a gable end. The judge's
pulse quickened. What a location, and what a fortunate chance that Mr.
Norton was the owner of this most desirable tenement.

He must see him at once. As he turned away to recross the street and
learn from Mr. Pegloe by what road Thicket Point might be reached,
Norton himself galloped into the village. Catching sight of the judge,
he reined in his horse and swung himself from the saddle.

"I was hoping, sir, I might find you," he said, as they met before the
tavern.

"A wish I should have echoed had I bee