When he was alone once more the Judge got up to pace the courtroom, his hands clasped behind him, his chin on his breast. As he walked his lips moved in silent debate, and he shook his head emphatically from time to time. Presently, a distant gong clanged, announcing the noon hour. He went to the rear door and stood on its threshold, looking away to the north. Near at hand, bordering the town, were orchards heavy with their fruitage. Beyond these showed brown foothills, round and oak-dotted; still farther, a higher range, all misty blue. Its summit was Shasta, rising against a serene sky, and wearing, despite the heat, an ermine stole over her dark shoulders. He watched the mountain, his hands at his temples to shield his eyes, until a procession of low fruit-wagons passed through the back street on its way to the near-by orchards. Then he clapped on his hat resolutely, went out of the front door, slamming it behind him, and strode away across the creaking, teetering sidewalk toward the long shipping-shed down the street. As he entered the building there were no wagons at the side door, but six hatless, perspiring men in blue overalls were carrying boxes out of the shed and into the refrigerator car on the siding, and the air was sweet and heavy with the perfume of peaches. At the gangboard leading into the car stood a young man, busily checking off the boxes as they passed him. His coat was off, showing a freshly-laundered shirt with a dainty figure, and a spotless vest of white duck. His trousers were as carefully pressed as his vest, and he wore an imitation Panama hat with a bright silk band, and tan half-shoes upon each of which flashed a brass buckle. “Hello, Gid!” he called out gaily as he caught sight of the Judge. The Judge’s face broke into a slow, pleased smile. “Hello, Homer,” he returned. “Say! give the boys a breathin’ spell, won’t y’? I want to see you a minute.” The perspiring half-dozen promptly collapsed upon empty boxes, blowing in discomfort and wiping at their faces with sleeve or handkerchief. The Judge nodded to them and followed Homer to one end of the shed, where rough boards, nailed upright, formed a small office-room. “Well?” said Homer inquiringly, when the door shut them in. His eyes were blue and frank, and now they regarded the Judge with eager confidence. The elder man put a hand on the shoulder of the younger. “Boy,” he began, “we been such pardners, you an’ me, that I know you’ll take what I’m a-goin’ to say just the way I mean it.” The confident look quickly faded. Homer fell back a step. “What’s doing?” he asked. “A kick of some kind?” “No-o-o,” answered the Judge; “advice.” The other gave a short laugh. “That’s worse.” “I been Justice of the Peace for so long, Homer, that the advice business has come to be a habit.” “Fire ahead.” The blue eyes were resentful.