Unconscious of the danger that lurked in future ambush, the great
politician would pass on, the rear view of his little stiff, quickly
stepping figure showing a high silk hat and the parted tails of a
broadcloth coat, which in front buttoned importantly at the waist.
Dressed with exactly the same splendor, even to the waist-buttoning of
the coat, the huge negro towered a full head taller than his hated,
feared, and brilliant intimate.

In that secret, mysterious way which was a feature of the troublous
times, both were recognized targets for other missiles than stones
flung by dimpled baby hands.

* * * * *

It was an educating period for small maids of six, that long-ago time
of bitter party hatred. Though only a short half-dozen years crowned
her fair cropped head, and she lisped still in an adorable baby way,
Hope Carolina was very wise--"monstrous wise," the black people said.
She did not understand the meaning of "renegade" exactly,--the Radical
Judge was a renegade too,--but she knew all about Reconstruction. It
was what made _them_, the black people, so sassy, and your own darling
family wretched.

[Illustration: "'WADICAL!'"]

She knew, too, that Radical judges always wore chain shirts under
their white ones, because they were afraid; and that they carried
knives, oh, mighty big ones, forever up their sleeves, to show in
bar-rooms sometimes to Uncle John when anybody talked too loudly of