"In the pine-thicket behind the graveyard," responded Mr. Sanders, so earnestly and promptly that the crowd shouted with laughter. Even Mr. Tidwell, who was "case-hardened," as Mrs. Absalom would say, to Mr. Sanders's jokes, joined in with the rest. "Gus is a purty good lawyer," said Mr. Sanders, lifting his voice a little to make sure that Silas Tomlin would hear every syllable of what he intended to say; "but he'll never be at his best till he finds out that the Constitution, like the Bible, can be translated to suit the idees of any party or any crank. But I allers brag on Gus because I believe in paternizin' home industries. Howsomever, between us boys an' gals, an' not aimin' for it to go any furder, there's a lawyer in town to-day--an' maybe he'll be here to-morrow--who knows more about the law in one minnit than Gus could tell you in a day and a half. An' when it comes to explutterations on p'ints of constitutional law, Gus wouldn't be in it." "Is that so? What is the gentleman's name?" asked Mr. Tidwell. "Judge Albert Vardeman," replied Mr. Sanders. "Now, when you come to talk about lawyers, you'll be doin' yourself injustice ef you leave out the name of Albert Vardeman. He ain't got much of a figure--he's shaped somethin' like a gourdful of water--but I tell you he's got a head on him." "Is the Judge really here?" Mr. Tidwell asked. "I'd like very much to have a talk with him." "I don't blame you, Gus," remarked Mr. Sanders, "you can git more straight p'ints from Albert Vardeman than you'll find in the books. He's been at Mrs. Claiborne's all day; I reckon she's gittin' him to ten' to some law business for her. They's some kinder kinnery betwixt 'em. His mammy's cat ketched a rat in her gran'mammy's smokehouse, I reckon. We've got more kinfolks in these diggin's, than they has been sence the first generation arter Adam." At the mention of Mrs. Claiborne's name Silas Tomlin opened his eyes and uncrossed his legs. This movement caused him to lose his balance, and his chair fell from a leaning position with a sharp bang. "What sort of a dream did you have, Silas?" Mr. Sanders inquired with affected solicitude. "You'd better watch out; Dock Dorrin'ton says that when a man gits bald-headed, it's a sign that his bones is as brittle as glass. He found that out on one of his furrin trips." "Don't worry about me, Sanders," replied Silas. He tried to smile. "Well, I don't reckon you could call it worry, Silas, bekaze when I ketch a case of the worries, it allers sends me to bed wi' the jimmyjon. I can be neighbourly wi'out worryin', I hope." "For a woman with a grown daughter," remarked Mr. Tidwell, speaking his thoughts aloud, as was his habit, "Mrs. Claiborne is well preserved--very well preserved." Mr. Tidwell was a widower, of several years' standing.