Beyond, and occupying the full width of the building, was the
court-room, with its hard, wooden benches and its staring white
walls. Advancing to the door, which stood open, the judge
surveyed the room with the greatest possible satisfaction. He
could fancy it echoing to that eloquence of which he felt himself
to be the master. He would show the world, yet, what was in him,
and especially Solomon Mahaffy, who clearly had not taken his
measure.

Turning away from the agreeable picture his mind had conjured up,
he entered the county clerk's office. He was already known to
this official, whose name was Saul, and he now greeted him with a
pleasant air of patronage. Mr. Saul removed his feet from the
top of his desk and motioned his visitor to a chair; at the same
time he hospitably thrust forward a square box filled with
sawdust. It was plain he labored under the impression that the
judge's call was of an unprofessional character.

"A little matter of business brings me here, sir," began the
judge, with a swelling chest and mellow accents. "No, sir, I'll
not be seated--another time I'll share your leisure if I may--now
I am in some haste to look up a title for my client, Mr. Norton."

"What Norton?" asked Mr. Saul, when he had somewhat recovered
from the effect of this announcement.

"Mr. Charles Norton, of Thicket Point," said the judge.

"I reckon you mean that timber tract of old Joe Quaid's." Mr.
Saul viewed the judge's ruinous exterior with a glance of