und the bar-room; and he seemed disappointed, I thought, at finding
it empty.

"Is Simon Slade here?"

As I answered in the negative, Mrs. Slade entered through the door that
opened from the yard, and stood behind the counter.

"Ah, Mrs. Slade! Good evening, madam!" he said.

"Good evening, Judge Hammond."

"Is your husband at home?"

"I believe he is," answered Mrs. Slade. "I think he is somewhere about
the house."

"Ask him to step here, will you?"

Mrs. Slade went out. Nearly five minutes went by, during which time
Judge Hammond paced the floor of the bar-room uneasily. Then the
landlord made his appearance. The free, open, manly, self-satisfied
expression of his countenance, which I had remarked on alighting from
the stage in the afternoon, was gone. I noticed at once the change, for
it was striking. He did not look steadily into the face of Judge
Hammond, who asked him, in a low voice, if his son had been there
during the evening.

"He was here," said Slade.

"When?"

"He came in some time after dark and stayed, maybe, an hour."

"And hasn't been here since?"

"It's nearly two hours since he left the bar-room," replied the
landlord.

Judge Hammond seemed perplexed. There was a degree of evasion in
Slade's manner that he could hardly help noticing. To me it was all
apparent, for I had lively suspicions that made my observation acute.

Judge Hammond crossed his arms behind him, and took three or four
strides about the floor.

"Was Judge Lyman here to-night?" he then asked.

"He was," answered Slade.

"Did he and Willy go out together?"

The question seemed an unexpected one for the landlord. Slade appeared
slightly confused, and did not answer promptly.

"I--I rather think they did," he said, after a brief hesitation.

"Ah, well! Perhaps he is at Judge Lyman's. I will call over there."

And Judge Hammond left the bar-room.

"Would you like to retire, sir?" said the landlord, now turning to me,
with a forced smile--I saw that it was forced.

"If you please," I answered.

He lit a candle and conducted me to my room, where, overwearied with
the day's exertion, I soon fell asleep, and did not awake until the sun
was shining brightly into my windows.

I remained at the village a portion of the day, but saw nothing of the
parties in whom the incidents of the previous evening had awakened a
lively interest. At four o'clock I left in the stage, and did not visit
Cedarville again for a year