She was serving the judicial party herself, and capably, too. She dearly loved the time the courts met, on either side of the river. It brought many interesting people to the Bon Ami, although not often the Judge. His coming for supper was a most unusual honor, and it was due to Louise, who had playfully insisted. He had humored her much against his will, it must be confessed; for he had a deeply worn habit of making straight for the hotel from the station and there remaining until Hank Bruebacher, liveryman, who never permitted anything to interfere with or any one to usurp his prerogative of driving his honor to and from Kemah when court was in session, whistled with shameless familiarity the following morning to make his honor cognizant of the fact that he, Hank, was ready. But he had come to the Bon Ami because Louise wished it, and he reflected whimsically on the astonishment, amounting almost to horror, on the face of his good landlord at the Velpen House when it became an assured fact that he was not and had not been in the dining-room. “You are right, Mrs. Higgins,” assented the Judge gravely to her weather predictions, “and the supper you have prepared for us is worthy the hand that serves it. Kings and potentates could ask no better. Louise, dear child, I am fond of you and I hope you will never go back East.” “Thank you, Uncle Hammond,” said Louise, who knew that an amusing thought was seeping through this declaration of affection. “I am sorry to give you a heartache, but I am going back to God’s country some day, nevertheless.” “Maybe so—maybe not,” said the Judge. “Mrs. Higgins, my good woman, how is our friend, the canker-worm, coming on these days?” “Canker-worm?” repeated Mrs. Higgins. “Meanin’, your honor—” “Just what I say—canker-worm. Isn’t he the worm gnawing in discontent at the very core of the fair fruit of established order and peace in the cow country?” “I—I—don’t understand, your honor,” faltered the woman, in great trepidation. Would his honor consider her a hopeless stupid? But what was the man talking about? Louise looked up, a flush of color staining her cheeks. “Maybe fire-brand would suit you better, madame? My young friend, the fire-brand,” resumed the Judge, rising. “That is good—fire-brand. Is he not inciting the populace to ‘open rebellion, false doctrine, and schism’? Is it not because of him that roofs are burned over the very heads of the helpless homesteader?” “For shame, Uncle Hammond,” exclaimed Louise, still flushed and with a mutinous little sparkle in her eyes. “You are poking fun at me. You haven’t any right to, you know; but that’s your way. I don’t care, but Mrs. Higgins doesn’t understand.” “Don’t you, Mrs. Higgins?” asked the Judge.