What credit and standing it would give him! His thoughts slipped along this fresh channel. What a prosecution he would conduct--what a whirlwind of eloquence he would loose! He began to breathe hard. His name should go from end to end of the state! No man could be great without opportunity--for years he had known this--but here was opportunity at last! Then he remembered what Mahaffy had told him of the man on the raft. This Slosson's tavern was probably on the upper waters of the Elk. Yancy had been thrown in the river and had been picked up in a dying condition. “Hannibal,” he said, “Solomon Mahaffy, who was here last night, told me he saw down at the river landing, a man who had been fished up out of the Elk--a man who had been roughly handled.” “Were it my Uncle Bob?” cried Hannibal, lifting a swollen face to his. “Dear lad, I don't know,” said the judge sympathetically. “Some people on a raft had picked him up out of the river. He was unconscious and no one knew him. He was apparently a stranger in these parts.” “It were Uncle Bob! It were Uncle Bob--I know it were my Uncle Bob! I must go find him!” and Hannibal slipped from the judge's lap and ran for his rifle and bundle. “Stop a bit!” cried the judge. “He was taken on past here, and he was badly injured. Now, if it was your Uncle Bob, he'll come back the moment he is able to travel. Meantime, you must remain under my protection while we investigate this man Slosson.” But alas--that thoroughfare which is supposed to be paved exclusively with good resolutions, had benefited greatly by Slocum Price's labors in the past, and he was destined to toil still in its up-keep. He borrowed the child's money and spent it, and if any sense of shame smote his torpid conscience, he hid it manfully. Not so Mr. Mahaffy; for while he profited by his friend's act, he told that gentleman just what he thought of him with insulting candor. On the eighth day there was sobriety for the pair. Deep gloom visited Mr. Mahaffy, and the judge was a prey to melancholy. It was Saturday, and in Pleasantville a jail-raising was in progress. During all the years of its corporate dignity the village had never boasted any building where the evil-doer could be placed under restraint; hence had arisen its peculiar habit of dealing with crime; but a leading citizen had donated half an acre of ground lying midway between the town and the river landing as a site for the proposed structure, and the scattered population of the region had assembled for the raising. Nor was Pleasantville unprepared to make immediate use of the jail, since the sheriff had in custody a free negro who had knifed another free negro and was awaiting trial at the next term of court. “We don't want to get there too early,” explained the judge, as they quitted the cabin. “We want to miss the work, but be on hand for the celebration.” “I suppose we may confidently look to you to favor us with a few eloquent words?” said Mr. Mahaffy.