-day. Keep back."

"They can't?" cried Mr. Bowdoin. "Since when do the courts of
Massachusetts ask permission of a pack of slave-hunters whether they
shall sit or not?"

Harley was chuckling with suppressed delight. "If only grandma were
here!" thought he.

"Let them in! Let Judge Wells in!" shouted the crowd.

The soldier called his corporal, and a hasty consultation followed; as
a result of which the chain dropped at one end, and the three men
walked over it in triumph.

"Three cheers for Judge Wells! Three cheers for Mr. Bowdoin!" cried
the crowd, recognizing him.

When they got into the dark, cool corridor of the old stone fort,
"That I should ever come to be cheered by a mob of Abolitionists!"
gasped Mr. Bowdoin, mopping his face. "Upon my word, I think I lost my
temper."

"Oh no, sir," said Harley Bowdoin gravely. "But where is the
court-room?"

"Follow the line of soldiers," replied the judge, and hurried to his
lobby.

Up the stone stairs went our friends, three flights in all; soldiers
upon every landing, and, leaning over the banisters and carelessly
spitting tobacco juice on the crowd below, a row of "deputy" United
States marshals, with no uniform, but with drawn swords.

Mr. Bowdoin started. "Harley," said he, stopping by one of them, "I
know that fellow. His name's Huxford, and he keeps a gambling-house; I
had him turned out of one of my houses."

"Very likely," said Harley.

"Move on there, move on," said the man surlily, pretending not to
recognize Mr. Bowdoin.

"What are you doing here, sir?" said that gentleman. "Don't you know I
swore out a warrant against you?"

"Who the h----l are you?"

"James Bowdoin, confound you!" answered that peppery person, and
swung his fist right and left with such vigor that Huxford went down
on one side, and another deputy on the other. Then Harley hurried the
old gentleman through the breach into the upper court-room, where they
were under the protection of the county sheriff in his swallow-tailed
blue coat, cocked hat, gold lace, and sword, and a friendly judge.

"Hang it, sir, they'll be arresting you, next," said Harley.

"By Heaven, I should like to see them do it!" cried our old friend in
a loud whisper, if the term can be used. "Sheriff Clark, do you know
those fellows are all miserable loafers?"

"They are federal officers, sir; I can do nothing," whispered back
that gorgeous official.

"Humph!" returned Mr. Bowdoin. "How about state rig