rest easier in--" He broke off suddenly and nodded to a
little old man in a buckboard, who was turning off from the road into a
farm lane which led up to a trim cottage with a honeysuckle vine by the
door. "That's Mrs. Wimby's husband," said the judge in an undertone.

Miss Sherwood observed that "Mrs. Wimby's husband" was remarkable for
the exceeding plaintiveness of his expression. He was a weazened, blank,
pale-eyed little man, with a thin, white mist of neck whisker; his coat
was so large for him that the sleeves were rolled up from his wrists
with several turns, and, as he climbed painfully to the ground to open
the gate of the lane, it needed no perspicuous eye to perceive that his
trousers had been made for a much larger man, for, as his uncertain foot
left the step of his vehicle, one baggy leg of the garment fell down
over his foot, completely concealing his boot and hanging some inches
beneath. A faintly vexed expression crossed his face as he endeavored
to arrange the disorder, but he looked up and returned Briscoe's bow,
sadly, with an air of explaining that he was accustomed to trouble, and
that the trousers had behaved no worse than he expected.

No more inoffensive or harmless figure than this feeble little old man
could be imagined; yet his was the distinction of having received a
terrible visit from his neighbors of the Cross-Roads. Mrs. Wimby was a
widow, who owned a comfortable farm, and she had refused every offer
of the neighboring ill-eligible bachelors to share it. However, a
vagabonding tinker won her heart, and after their marriage she continued
to be known as "Mrs. Wimby"; for so complete was the bridegroom's
insignificance that it extended to his name, which proved quite
unrememberable, and he was usually called "Widder-Woman Wimby's
Husband," or, more simply, "Mr. Wimby." The bride supplied the needs of
his wardrobe with the garments of her former husband, and, alleging this
proceeding as the cause of their anger, the Cross-Roads raiders, clad
as "White-Caps," broke into the farmhouse one night, looted it, tore the
old man from his bed, and compelling his wife, who was tenderly devoted
to him, to watch, they lashed him with sapling shoots till he was near
to death. A little yellow cur, that had followed his master on his
wanderings, was found licking the old man's wounds, and they deluged the
dog with kerosene and then threw the poor animal upon a bonfire they had
made, and danced around it