He propped his head between his hands and stared at the desk. But presently he looked up at her again, confident and smiling. “Alicia,” he said, “if there was a law in Manzanita agin gossip, half the town would bust it so often they’d have to move, bag an’ baggage, an’ live in yonder.” He gave a sidewise nod of the head. The rear door of the courtroom was standing partly ajar. Through it could be seen several small barred openings--the windows of the neighbouring jail. “Now you know, an’ I know, that Homer Scott don’t gamble,” he said. “Of course, there always is a lot of talk going around,” she admitted. “But this worried me, Gid, because----” She hesitated. “Because w’y?” She faced him once more. “I wouldn’t say this to anybody else. But--Mr. Carpenter left some money with Homer to pay for peaches. He left eight hundred dollars. I’ve been afraid--you know what I mean, Gid. And--and it would be so hard for Homer to pay Carpenter back.” The Judge stood up impatiently. “If a man takes a glass of lemonade at the Occidental, all the old hens in town think he’s a-goin’ to have the d. t’s. If he plays a game of casino he’s gone to the bad.” The colour left Alicia’s face. “I--I suppose you’ll think I’m a gossip,” she said, and turned away. “No,” he answered gently. He came around to her. “Alicia, I couldn’t think nothin’ that was agin--you. Do you believe me?” Then, seeing that fresh tears were welling to her eyes, “Don’t cry. Homer ain’t guilty. I can tell you that. An’ what’s more, I’ll look out for him, little woman. You depend on it.” There was silence between them again. He watched her, his grey eyes full of anxiety--even pain. She was brushing at her wet lashes, and looking out through the front door. “I--I must go now,” she said presently. “Must y’? Wal, will you come again soon?” He followed her to the door. “You come and see us, Gid. Good-bye.” “Good-bye.” He closed the door behind her, and as far as he could see her watched her go. She crossed the street, picking her way through the brick-red dust, ankle deep, to the railroad track that halved the town. The bobbing parasol now hid, now disclosed, her small, dark head and the girlish bow of wide ribbon at the nape of her neck. She passed the town hall opposite, entered a street that ran at right angles to the track, and disappeared from his sight beneath some low-branched pepper-trees. He did not leave the door at once, but looked out to where he had last seen her. After a while, with a deep sigh, he returned slowly to his desk, stumbled over a pile of books at his armchair, and sat down. “She’s like a posy,” he half-whispered, “--like a posy, an’ him gamblin’!”