"My friends urge it, sir, and I have taken the matter under
consideration," answered the judge.
"Sho, do you know any folks hereabouts?" asked Mr. Pegloe.
"Not many," said the judge, with reserve.
"Well, the only empty house in town is right over yonder; it
belongs to young Charley Norton out at Thicket Point Plantation."
Ah-h!" said the judge.
The house Mr. Pegloe had pointed out was a small frame building;
it stood directly on the street, with a narrow porch across the
front, and a shed addition at the back. The judge scuttled over
to it. With his hands clasped under the tails of his coat he
walked twice about the building, stopping to peer in at all the
windows, then he paused and took stock of his surroundings. Over
the way was Pegloe's City Tavern; farther up the street was the
court-house, a square wooden box with a crib that housed a
cracked bell, rising from a gable end. The judge's pulse
quickened. What a location, and what a fortunate chance that Mr.
Norton was the owner of this most desirable tenement
He must see him at once. As he turned away to recross the street
and learn from Mr. Pegloe by what road Thicket Point might be
reached, Norton himself galloped into the village. Catching
sight of the judge, he reined in. his horse and swung himself
from the saddle.
"I was hoping, sir, I might find you," he said, as they met
before the tavern.
"A wish I should have echoed had I been aware of it!" responded
the judge.
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