ure into the house. The
squire disappeared with his pears, leaving his visitor in the narrow
hall; but he returned in a moment and led the way into his office. It
was a large, rag-carpeted room, filled with all those worsted
knickknacks which women make, and littered comfortably with books and
papers.

Squire Cady put on a flowered dressing-gown, drew a pair of spectacles
out of a pocket, a bandana handkerchief from another, and requested
Chamberlain to sit down and make himself at home. The two men sat
facing each other near a tall secretary whose pigeonholes were stuffed
with papers in all stages of the yellowing process. Squire Cady's face
was yellowing, like his papers, and it was wrinkled and careworn; but
his eyes were bright and humorous, and his voice pleasant. Chamberlain
thought he liked him.

"Come to get a marriage license?" the squire inquired. Chamberlain
immediately decided that he didn't like him, but he foolishly blushed.

"No, it's another sort of matter," he said stiffly,

"Not a marriage license! All right, my boy," agreed Squire Cady.
"'Tisn't the fashion to marry young nowadays, I know, though 'twas the
fashion in my day. Not a wedding! What then?"

Then Chamberlain set to work to tell his story. Placed, as it were,
face to face with the law, he realized that he was but poorly equipped
for carrying on actual proceedings, even though they might be against
Belial himself; but he made a good front and persuaded Squire Cady that
there was something to be done. The squire was visibly affected at the
mention of the old red house, and fell into a revery, looking off
toward the fields and tapping his spectacles on the desk.

"Hercules Thayer and I read Latin together when we were boys," he said,
turning to Chamberlain with a reminiscent smile on his old face. "And
he licked me for liking Hannibal better than Scipio." He laughed
heartily.

The faces of the old sometimes become like pictured parchments, and
seem to be lighted from within by a faint, steady gleam, almost more
beautiful than the fire of youth. As Chamberlain looked, he decided
once more, and finally, that he liked Squire Cady.

"But I got even with Hercules on Horace," the squire went on, chuckling
at his memories. "However," he sighed, as he turned toward his desk
again, "this isn't getting out that warrant for you. We don't want any
malefactors loose about Charlesport; but you'll have to be sure you
know what you're