“No, sir, Marse Jedge, you needn’t worry ’bout dis nigger no mo’, ’cause he ain’t gwine to come back here ef he live a hund’d years.” “That is very fine talk but you don’t mean it,” declared the court. “Nothing short of the chain-gang will cure you. I will sentence you--” “Hold on, boss, ain’t you gwine to let Marse Henry say a word fur de ole nigger?” “He’s already said that you were all right except about fighting negroes. The court must protect all classes of citizens. I will give you nine months.” “Amen!” whispered Parson Small. ’Squire Brown dropped his head to keep from meeting Jim’s tearful eyes, as the boy marched out to the jail, handcuffed to two other culprits. “That was about as I anticipated,” said Harry to his father, as they left the courthouse. “Jim’s reputation hurt him with the judge. If you had been in Judge Shaler’s place you would have done the same thing.” “Yes, I think you are right, but I don’t like to see the boy go that way. It would cost close to seventy dollars to get him out; he owes me something now; I have not the money to spare, and cannot afford to pay him more than ten dollars a month if I have him. “He will have to go this time.” This was the sorrowful admission of ’Squire Brown. “I think you are right; let him try the road awhile,” added the less sentimental son. “Now, good-bye; if I run upon a respectable-looking negro that I think would suit you and mother, I will send him to you.” ’Squire Brown collected his packages and set out for home, a long, lonesome ride through the country, over seventeen miles of macadam road, that hot, dusty night. He needed Jim, and did not like to see him go to prison, but could not prevent it. The old place would not seem the same without the little black negro, with his merry laugh and shining face. “I don’t understand why the little rascal cannot behave,” said the ’Squire to himself, as his horse jogged along. That evening, when he drove up to the lot gate, Mrs. Brown, who had been looking for him for hours, called out in a strident voice: “Well, did you bring Jim?” “No, I am sorry to say, he went to jail in spite of all I could do; the judge was prejudiced against him. He will have to serve nine months on the chain-gang.” “That is too bad,” said Mrs. Brown. “Jim is a good darkey.” “Yes,” put in the ’Squire, “but he will break up camp meetings. “I did all I could, employed a lawyer, spoke to the solicitor, and swore a half-lie about Jim’s character.” Bright and early Monday, ’Squire Brown and his son, Harry, met on the Square in Charlotte, just as they had met two mornings before. “I am surprised, Dad, to see you here again?” said the boy, frowning. “Why, your mother and I, after thinking the matter over yesterday, decided to take Jim out; it will cost $65, but I am going to do it. I have borrowed the money, and will take the negro home with me.”