straggling spectators to the sunken stone steps of the platform outside.
As the crowd in the doorway parted slightly, a breeze passed into the
room, scattering the odours of bad tobacco and farm-stained clothing.
The sound of a cow-bell came through one of the small windows, from the
green beyond, where a red-and-white cow was browsing among the
buttercups.

"A fine day, gentlemen," said the judge, bowing to right and left. "A
fine day."

He moved slowly, fanning himself absently with his white straw hat,
pausing from time to time to exchange a word of greeting--secure in the
affability of one who is not only a judge of man but a Bassett of
Virginia. From his classic head to his ill-fitting boots he upheld the
traditions of his office and his race.

On the stone platform, just beyond the entrance, he stopped to speak to
a lawyer from a neighbouring county. Then, as a clump of men scattered
at his approach, he waved them together with a bland, benedictory
gesture which descended alike upon the high and the low, upon the rector
of the old church up the street, in his rusty black, and upon the
red-haired, raw-boned farmer with his streaming brow.

"Glad to see you out, sir," he said to the one, and to the other, "How
are you, Burr? Time the crops were in the ground, isn't it?"

Burr mumbled a confused reply, wiping his neck laboriously on his red
cotton handkerchief.

"The corn's been planted goin' on six weeks," he said more distinctly,