h as any of us 'ud long to possess
come into them two young faces. I tell you, if you're goin' to gossip
jist turn it onto Judson er me, but let them two alone."

Judson was too violently angry to be discreet.

"It's all silly scand'lous foolishness, and I won't hear another word of
it," he shouted.

Just as he spoke, Marjie herself came in. Judson stepped forward in an
officious effort to serve her, and unable to restrain himself, he called
out to O'mie, "Put four yards of towelling, twelve and a half cents a
yard, to Mrs. Whately's standing account."

It was not the words that offended, so much as the tone, the proprietary
sound, the sense of obligation it seemed to put upon the purchaser,
unrelieved by his bland smile and attempt at humor in his after remark,
"We don't run accounts with everybody, but I guess we can trust you."

It cut Marjie's spirit. A flush mounted to her cheeks, as she took her
purchase and hurried out of the door and plump into my father, who was
passing just then.

Judge Baronet was a man of courtly manners. He gently caught Marjie's
arm to steady her.

"Good-morning, Marjie. How is your mother to-day?"

The little girl did not speak for a moment. Her eyes were full of tears.
Presently she said, "May I come up to your office pretty soon? I want
to ask you something--something of our business matters."

"Yes, yes, come now," he replied, taking her bundle and putting himself
on the outer side of the walk. He had forgotten my appointment for the
moment.

When they reached the courthouse he said: "Just run into my room there;
I've got to catch Sheriff Karr before he gets away."

He opened the door of his private office, thrusting her gently inside,
and hurried away. I turned to meet my father, and there was Marjie. Tear
drops were on her long brown lashes, and her cheeks were flushed.

"Why, my little girl!" I exclaimed in surprise as she started to hurry
away.

"I didn't know you were in here; your father sent me in"--and then the
tears came in earnest.

I couldn't stand for that.

"What is it, Marjie?" I had put her in my father's chair and was bending
over her, my face dangerously near her cheek.

"It's Amos Judson--Oh, Phil, I can't tell you. I was going to talk to
your father."

"All right," I said gayly. "Ask papa. It's the proper thing. He must be
consulted, of course. But as to Judson, don't worry. O'mie promised me
just this morning to sew him up in a sack and throw h