in in Robie's mind whether the Judge was regretting the lost
ability to stand the cold, or the lost pleasure of riding with the
girls.

"Great days, those, gentlemen! Lived in Vermont then.
Hot-blooded--lungs like an ox. I remember, Sallie Dearborn and I used
to go a-foot to singing school down the valley four miles. But now,
wouldn't go riding to-night with the handsomest woman in America, and
the best cutter in Rock River."

"Oh! you've got both feet in the grave up t' the ankles, anyway," said
Robie from his desk, but the Judge immovably gazed at the upper shelf
on the other side of the room where the boilers, and pans, and
washboards were stored.

"The Judge is a little on the sentimental order to-night," said Amos.

"Hold on, Colonel! hold on. You've _got_ 'o jump. He! he!" roared
Gordon from the checker-board. "That's right, that's right!" he ended,
as the Colonel complied reluctantly.

"Sock it to the old cuss," commented Amos. "What I was going to say,"
he resumed, rolling down the collar of his coat, "was, that when my
wife helped me bundle up t' night, she said I was gitt'n' t' be an old
granny. We _are_ agein', Judge, the's no denyin' it. We're both gray
as Norway rats now. An' speaking of us ageing reminds me,--have y'
noticed how bald the old Kyernel's gitt'n'?"

"I have, Amos," answered the Judge, mournfully. "The old man's head is
showing age, showing age! Getting thin up there, aint it?" The old
Colonel bent to his work without reply, and even when Amos said,
judicially, after long scrutiny, "Yes, he'll soon be as bald as a
plate," he only lifted one yellow, freckled, bony hand, and brushed
his carroty growth of hair across the spot under discussion. Gordon
shook his fat paunch in silent laughter, nearly displacing the board.

"I was just telling Robie," pursued Brown, still retaining his
reminiscent intonation, "that this storm takes the cake over
anything--"

At this point Steve Roach and another fellow entered. Steve was
Ridings' hired hand, a herculean fellow, with a drawl, and a liability
for taking offence quite as remarkable.

"Say! gents, I'm no spring rooster, but this jest gits away with
anything in line of cold _I_ ever see."

While this communication was being received in ruminative silence,
Steve was holding his ears in his hand and gazing at the intent
champions at the board. There they sat; the old Judge panting and
wheezing in his excitement, for he was planning a great "snap