Thus, without further heralding and no outward commercial negotiation, the old Harding homestead passed quietly into Mr. Field’s possession, and this matter once settled, Elliott began in earnest the practice of his profession. Accordingly, his law card at once appeared in the local papers and his “shingle” was hung out beside another, bearing the name “John Holmes, Attorney at Law,” at the door of a building containing numerous small offices. Elliott knew his literary work was not enough to satisfy his insistent appetite for occupation, and for this reason, besides the necessity of earning something toward his modest expenses, he went into the practice of law. As Mr. Field felt he had been largely instrumental in his nephew’s settling here, he took an active interest in furthering his success. “That is Elliott Harding, my nephew,” he would say, with an affectionate familiarity, dashed with pride. “He is a most worthy young man, deserving of your confidence,” a commendation usually agreed to, with the unspoken thought sometimes, “and a very conceited one.” Why does the world look with such disapproval on self confidence? When a person is endowed with a vigorous brain, there is no better way for him to face the world than to start out with a full respect for his own talents, and unbounded faith in the possibilities that lie within him. Elliott Harding’s belief in himself was not small, and the consciousness of his ability led him to work diligently for both honor and profit. He expected labor and did not shrink from it. Very soon he riveted the attention of a few, then of the many, and it was not long before he rose to a position of considerable importance in the community and began to feel financial ground more solid beneath his feet. CHAPTER V. It was a glorious morning in August, when summer’s wide-set doors let in a torrent of later bloom. As early as ten o’clock the Riverside road was thronged with all manner of conveyances, moving toward the country, bound for an out-of-door fête of the character known in that region as a “bran-dance and barbecue.” This country road, prodigally overhung with the foliage of trees in the very heyday of their southern vigor is bounded on one side by goodly acres of farmland, and on the other by the Elkhorn, a historic river. The neighboring farms were still to-day. The light wind rustling the silken tassels of the corn was all the sound that would be heard until the morrow, unless, maybe, the neighing of the young horses left behind. From the topic of stock and farming, called forth by what they saw in passing, Elliott Harding and his uncle, as they rode along, fell to discussing the grim details of a murder and lynching that had but recently taken place just over the boundary, in Tennessee. “What a tremendous problem is this lynching evil,” said Elliott, looking keenly at his uncle, who shook his head seriously as he answered: