Thursday night was the date of Kitty Broughton’s ball; Wednesday, of the previous week, brought Caleb his first client. The two events afterwards fixed many things in his memory, for at this time he was trying to forget that Miss Royall had ever sat in his old armchair by the stove. The peculiarly haunting qualities of some individuals, who are not spooks, is past explanation. Caleb felt that there was no more pricking misery than to see eternally one face and one figure in his favorite chair, when neither of them could ever possibly belong there, and it was to his interest to forget them. There should be, by the way, a method for exorcising such ghosts and compelling their rightful owners to keep them labeled in a locked cabinet instead of projecting them upon the innocent and the defenseless. Caleb’s method consisted, at present, in turning the old chair upside down in the closet back of the kitchen, which ought to have discouraged any self-respecting ghost, yet Wednesday morning he got it out again and put it reverently in its place, with a sheepish feeling of having committed a crime in trying to dishonor it. It was after the ceremony of restoration that Juniper arrived with a long face. He had been temporarily reconciled to Aunt Charity and was shouldering her chief responsibility, her son Lysander. “De jedge, he sent me down ter see yo’, suh,” Juniper explained, twisting his battered hat as usual. “I’se in a po’erful lot ob trouble an’ so ez de ole woman.” Caleb moved a little impatiently. “The silver teapot?” he asked dryly. “No,” said Juniper, without embarrassment, “no, suh; de folks up ter de Corners ez gwine ter hab Lysander ’rested. I reckon dey hez had him ’rested a’ready. Dey says he dun stole der chickens on Monday. Et wuz de dark ob de moon, suh, an’ dat make it seem ez if dey got er case. De jedge, he tole me ter come ter yo’.” Caleb felt that Judge Hollis was enjoying his first case. He almost heard the shouts of Homeric laughter from that inner office. “You’ll have to prove that he didn’t steal the chickens,” he said. “In the first place, who are the people?” “Mr. Todd’s folks,” Juniper replied, “an’ dey ses et wuz two pullets an’ er cockerel.” Trench knew where Aaron Todd lived and recalled, less vividly, the presence of a large chicken-yard. “How do they suppose he could have carried them off undiscovered, even at night?” Caleb argued. “If I remember where the chicken-yard is, you could hear a commotion among the fowls at any time, particularly at night. It will be a simple matter, Juniper, when we prove an alibi.” Juniper rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. “Dat’s so, suh,” he replied; “I ’low dat I don’ wanter pay his fine, an’ Charity, she don’; she sho’ won’t pay et bekase she say I oughter, an’ ef Lysander goes up fo’ sixty days an’ works on de roads, he ain’t gwine ter do anodder stroke all de year; dat’s Lysander; I knows ’im.” “What time do they say the chickens were stolen?”