e must soon give place to younger men. We
can not afford to leave bench and bar with the stain of injustice on our
garments. We can not afford to start this boy on the road to hell at
seventeen years of age."

He stopped as abruptly as he had begun, and the room was silent for a
long time after he had taken his seat. To Harold it seemed as though he
and all the people of the room were dead--that only his brain was alive.
Then Mrs. Excell burst into sobbing. The judge looked away into space,
his dim eyes seeing nothing that was near, his face an impassive mask of
colorless flesh. The old lawyer's words had stirred his blood, sluggish
and cold with age, but his brain absorbed the larger part of his roused
vitality, and when he spoke his voice had an unwontedly flat and dry
sound.

"The question for you to decide," he said, instructing the jury, "is
whether the boy struck the blow in self-defense, or whether he assaulted
with intent to do great bodily injury. The fact that he was provoked by
a man older and stronger than himself naturally militates in his favor,
but the next question is upon the boy's previous character. Did he carry
deadly weapons? Is he at heart dangerous to his fellows? His youth
should be in mind, but it should also be remembered that he is a lad of
high intellectual power, older than most men of his age. I will not
dwell upon the case; you have heard the testimony; the verdict is in
your keeping."

During all this period of severe mental strain Mr. Excell sat beside
Lawyer Brown, motionless as a statue, save when now and again he leaned
forward to whisper a suggestion. He did not look at his son, and Harold
seldom looked at him. Jack Burns sat as near the prisoner as the sheriff
would permit, and his homely, good face, and the face of the judge were
to Harold the only spots of light in the otherwise dark room. Outside
the voices of children could be heard and the sound of the rising wind
in the rustling trees. Once a breeze sent a shower of yellow and crimson
leaves fluttering in at the open window, and the boy's heart swelled
high in his throat, and he bowed his head and sobbed. Those leaves
represented the splendor of the open spaces to him. They were like
messages from the crimson sunsets of the golden West, and his heart
thrilled at the sight of them.

It was long after twelve o'clock, and an adjournment for dinner was
ordered. Harold was about to be led away when his father came to him and
s