The Voice of the People

that Kingsborough's proudest boast was that she had been and was not-a distinction giving her pre?minence over certain cities whose charters were not received from royal grants-cities priding thems

ups, and the implied loyalty had been found wanting. Kingsborough juries still sat in their original semicircle, with their backs to the judge and their faces, presumably, to the law; Kingsborough farmers still marketed their small truck in the street called after the Duke of Gloucester; and Kingsborough cows still roamed at will over the vaults in the churchyard. In time trivial changes would come to pass. Tourists would arrive with the railroad; the powder-magazine would turn from a church into a museum; gardens would decay and ancient elms would fall, but the farmers and the cows would not be missed from their accustomed haunts. On the hospitable thresholds of "general" stores battle-scarred veterans of the war between the States dealt in victorious reminiscences of vanquishment. They had fought well, they had fallen silently, and they had risen without bitterness. For the people of Kingsboro

n, and Kingsbor

d bleating in the crooked footpath, which traversed diagonally the waste of buttercups like a white seam in a cloth of gold. Against the arching sky rose the bell-tower of the grim old church, where the sparr

feet. No sound came from the house behind her, but a breeze blew through the dim hall, fluttering the folds of her dress. Beyond the adjoining garden a lady in mourning entered a gate where honeysuckle grew, and above, on the low-dormered roof, a white pigeon sat preening its feathers. Up the m

ng past the church, and then looked straight ahead through the avenue of maples, which began at the smaller green facing the ancient site of the governor's palace and skirted the length of the larger one, wh

?sar, d

blue bowl, wid de little white critters

d you twenty times to let

y han's same es I'se hol'n dis yer broom, w'en it come right ter part. I de

gate and waved the

C?sar," he said, "and kee

he held out his hands to a pretty g

yesterday that I didn't approve of sending our fairest products away from Kingsborough. It wasn

and blushed until her soft eyes were like forget-me-nots set in rose leaves. She posses

oice; "and I am out this afternoon looking up my Sunday-school class. The

he lucky scamp! Ah, I only wish I were a boy again, with a

the temples. She exhaled an atmosphere of gentleness mixed with a saintly coquetry, which produced an impression at once human and divine, such as one

d. "There's not one of them that wouldn't rather be off fishing than learn

sir?" asked the girl w

ook his stic

ther was courting your mother-and she was like you, though she hadn't your eyes, or your face, for that matter-he went into her Bible

Tom, I won't come in. I am looking for Dudley Webb, and I see his

tched her until the flutter of her white dress vanished down the lane of maples; then

ashed wheels and rusty springs. It was drawn by an ill-matched pair of horses an

om which the collar had wilted away; "fine afternoon! Is that Eugenia?" to a little girl of seven or eigh

whereupon he leaned forward, resting h

e just seen Juliet Burwell, and, on my life, she

ace with a large pocket handkerchief. "Keep her! If I were thi

sing her short, dark plait from her shoulder. "What would you do w

t head and laughed till his wid

he man I used to be. She wouldn't look at me. Bless

loser and turned her eyes u

in front of her," she answered gravely, in a v

on its rusty springs, and the coloured boy, Samps

dly, stooping to recover the brown linen lap robe which had slipped from his

rily. "Don't, precious," she said to the puppy, wh

ging the subject with that gracious tact which was mind

d oddly with the animation of her features. "But his real name is James Burwell

l was a source of amazement to him, "and she hasn't let go of him since she got him. By the way, Judge, you have a first-rate garden spot. I h

nia, "and Aunt Chris can't put up her preserve

that whip a month ago, and I've never re

redly, still grasping the linen robe with his plump, red hand; and the carriage j

way. The smile with which he had followed the vanishing figure of Juliet Burwell

droning of a voice came to him, and looking beyond the bars, he saw little Nicholas Burr ly

wn stones leading to the church steps, and paused within h

it ends, with a code-" He was not reading, for the book was closed. He seemed rat

Ro-man Law con-sistently em-ployed lan-guage which implied that the body of their s

boy glanced up, blushed, and would ha

heard you as I was going

arn

me! What do you

d, if you don't mind, sir, what do

ng the boy's eager gaze wi

gain. "You aren't trying t

No, sir," he answered. "I'm jest learnin' it

to remember it?"

er forget,"

xclaimed the judge

ing. Of the wordy epitaph which had once redounded to the honour of the bones beneath th

king with his accustomed dignity. "

s,

he

ut I had to leave off on o'count o'

udge

ow, and his playmates come to study with him. He's about your age, and it will give you

gazed straight before him at the oriel window, where the ivy was tremulous with the shining bodies and clamorous voices of nesting sparrows. They darted swiftly

the damask roses. Across the white vaults and the low-lying marble slabs innumerable shadows chased, and from above the gnarled old locust trees swept a fringe of vivid green, the slender blossoms hanging in tassels from the branches' ends, and filling the air with a so

outside, stopped before the closed gate, and stood philosophically chewing the cud as she looked within through impeding bars. From the judge's garden came the faint sound of a negro voice as the old gardener weeded the vegetables. Nicholas rolled over again and faced the outstretched wings of the noseless angel on the nearest tombstone