“I ain’t no sp’tu’list or nothin’ of that sort,” broke out Uncle Buck. “And I don’t b’lieve in no sech things like you’re talkin’ about, nor that any Wharff that ever lived was anything except cracked--like that old one-legged her’n out there,” he added, directing an eye of disfavour on Aquarius. “I tell you if they could cast mists in the old times, then why can’t they do it now, when everything is so much improved---telefoams and telegraphts and ’lectric cars and all that? Any man that ever claimed to see a rooster haul off a log was a dum liar if he said so.” Dow Babb flipped his legs together indignantly. “’Tain’t any particular politeness to call my rel’tives names, is it?” he demanded. “Furdermore, uncle never said he see the rooster act’ly _haul_ a log; he said it _looked_ as if he had done it, ’cause the mist had been cast.” “Ain’t nothin’ in it no one way or t’other,” persisted Uncle Buck doggedly. “’Tain’t reasonable, ’tain’t Christian, and whatever ’tis it’s works of Satan, and I, as a church member, ain’t goin’ to stand by and let things like that be said without aye, yes or no to ’em!” He thudded his fist on his knee. “I’ll bet there is such things as magic and--aw--well, you can call it witchcraft,” cried Babb, rather hampered in argument by lack of terms. “Come now, I’ll bet you!” “What do you propose to do--call up your Uncle Ben from Turtle Knoll graveyard or--or leave it out to old Wind-cutter, there?” queried Buck, sarcastically, with a hook of his thumb toward the Palermo human weather vane. Babb was clearly nonplussed for a moment, but his face suddenly lighted up. He untangled his legs, crawled out of his chair and cried: “I’ll leave it out to the man that P’lermo is always ready to leave out all questions to--and that’s Squire Phin Look, by thunder!” He shook his skinny finger at the dingy windows over Brickett’s store. “If he don’t know there ain’t nobody does,” observed Brickett, clicking his yellow teeth with decision. “Why should he know? ’Tain’t law, nor nothin’ that goes with law,” persisted Buck. “You see if he don’t know,” retorted Babb. “It wa’n’t lo’din’ a jackass with books when Squire Look went through college. Now let’s go up and ask him, boys--what ye say?” “Oh, holler to him to come down here,” drawled Amazeen, loath to leave his seat. “There ain’t chairs enough in his office to go ’round amongst us--and I’ve been sick of the smell of law books ever since I lost my bound’ry line case.” Therefore Babb threw back his head and bawled huskily, “Squire Phin! Squire Phin Look!” From his mouth, as from the mouths of all Palermo, the title sounded like “Square.” At the second call they heard a chair’s legs pushed squeakingly on the floor and an answering bellow that was jovial though wordless. And those who had straightened up to listen lounged lazily down again to wait for him. A rickety outside stairway led up to the Squire’s office. On the old tin sign between the dusty front windows was: