Nevins still lingered amongst the group about the door of the forge, chewing a straw the while, and seeking to maintain the air of genial acceptance of defeat, and a certain indifference, which all candidates, who have come to grief, more or less successfully attempt to achieve. His face, however, betokened the relaxation of suspense, for the nervous strain that he had undergone was telling upon him now. There were vague blue circles and a flabby fullness under his eyes, which looked hot and were restless, but they held a distinct expression of resentment, and his face was covertly cynical, albeit his replies to the bluff and not altogether good-natured banter were couched in a conciliatory and still politic spirit. “Plenty o’ comp’ny, Nevins,” suggested one. “Candidates fur jedge, ’torney-gineral, sher’ff, an’ mo’ besides mus’ hev got the go-by, too, this day.” For to-day was held the general midsummer election of civil officers throughout the judicial circuit. Another strolled up, and observed, “Hain’t seen ye, Nevins, sence the woods war burnt.” “It mus’ seem powerful hard,” commented a Job’s comforter, “ez ye couldn’t hev the office, sence Eli can’t hold it now he hev got it.” “Leastwise, Josh,” said another, with a grin, “yer hide be whole yit.” “Josh wouldn’t keer how his hide war chipped or tore, ef it hed a constable inside o’ it,” chimed in an adverse elector. The defeated candidate, thus rallied, made shift to smile, although somewhat grimly. He was evidently bent on keeping up his reputation for pluck, but he might have found it far more difficult if Eli Strobe, robust, and florid, and hilarious, had been lingering too at the voting-place, shaking hands with his supporters, receiving the congratulations of his friends, and crowing over his enemies. The aspects of defeat were sufficiently abashing and depressing, and he knew that much was spared him in that the Gorgon face of his competitor’s success was withheld. Although the physician, who resided some fourteen miles distant, had not yet arrived, and no professional opinion had been pronounced, there was no doubt expressed that Eli Strobe would not live to enjoy the honors and discharge the duties of the office he had so hardly won, for by reason of the rigors of his previous incumbency the race had been extremely close. More than one of the gossips, full of gloomy forebodings, animadverted upon the lack of “spunk” in the Settlement that it had permitted Teck Jepson to ride by unmolested, and take his way up to the impenetrable fastnesses of the mountain, to issue thence when it should suit his pleasure.