“You astonish me, Solomon,” exclaimed the judge. “Coming as you do from that section which invented the wooden nutmeg, and an eight-day clock that has been known to run as much as four or five hours at a stretch. I am aware the Yankees are an ingenious people; I wonder none of 'em ever thought of a jug with a glass bottom, so that when a body holds it up to the light he can see at a glance whether it is empty or not. Do you reckon Pegloe has sufficient confidence to fill the jug again for us?” But Mahaffy's expression indicated no great confidence in Mr. Pegloe's confidence. “Credit,” began the judge, “is proverbially shy; still it may sometimes be increased, like the muscles of the body and the mental faculties, by judicious use. I've always regarded Pegloe as a cheap mind. I hope I have done him an injustice.” He put on his hat, and tucking the jug under his arm, went from the house. Ten or fifteen minutes elapsed. Mahaffy considered this a good sign, it didn't take long to say no, he reflected. Another ten or fifteen elapsed. Mahaffy lost heart. Then there came a hasty step beyond the door, it was thrown violently open, and the judge precipitated himself into the room. A glance showed Mahaffy that he was laboring under intense excitement. “Solomon, I bring shocking news. God knows what the next few hours may reveal!” cried the judge, mopping his brow. “Miss Malroy has disappeared from Belle Plain, and Hannibal has gone with her!” “Where have they gone?” asked Mahaffy, and his long jaw dropped. “Would to God I had an answer ready for that question, Solomon!” answered the judge, with a melancholy shake of the head. He gazed down on his friend with an air of large tolerance. “I am going to Belle Plain, but you are too drunk. Sleep it off, Solomon, and join me when your brain is clear and your legs steady.” Mahaffy jerked out an oath, and lifting himself off his chair, stood erect. He snatched up his hat. “Stuff your pistols into your pockets, and come on, Price!” he said, and stalked toward the door. He flitted up the street, and the judge puffed and panted in his wake. They gained the edge of the village without speech. “There is mystery and rascality here!” said the judge. “What do you know, Price, and where did you hear this?” Mahaffy shot the question back over his shoulder. “At Pegloe's, the Belle Plain overseer had just fetched the news into town.” Again they were silent, all their energies being absorbed by the physical exertion they were making. The road danced before their burning eyes, it seemed to be uncoiling itself serpentwise with hideous undulations. Mr. Mahaffy was conscious that the judge, of whom he caught a blurred vision now at his right side, now at his left, was laboring painfully in the heat and dust, the breath whistling from between his parched lips. “You're just ripe for apoplexy, Price!” he snarled, moderating his pace. “Go on,” said the judge, with stolid resolution.