"Mebbe your sight’s failin’ account age, for there’s three of ’em peerin’ from under them bags yonder," Blott answered, looking furtively in the direction indicated. "Three of them? Well, well, you have got it bad. What do you generally take for these attacks?" the lawyer answered, grimly, as if enjoying the other’s fright. "What do I take? Can’t a man see cats without bein’ thought queer? Any one can see ’em," he answered, turning to Uncle Job to confirm his statement. "It is a clear case of jimjams," the lawyer went on; "and if you will take my advice, you will sleep more and booze less, my friend." "Don’t git gay now, grandpa, nor expect a fee for your advice. A little liquor wouldn’t hurt you, or meat, either, if I’m any judge of its effect on skeletons," Blott replied, Without taking his eyes off the hiding-place of his enemies. "Here, take a pull at this," the lawyer answered at length, handing him a flask filled with liquor. "The hair of the dog is good for the bite, they say; anyway, it will quiet your nerves till we get through with this trial, when I would advise you to go and drown yourself." To this Blott made no reply, but taking the flask, emptied it without stopping to breathe. "It’s the drops that woman give me as has brought this on, an’ nothin’ else," he exclaimed, as he wiped his mouth with the flat of his hand. What more he would have said or done I do not know, for all further conversation was here cut short by the entrance of the magistrate. *CHAPTER XVI* *BEFORE THE LITTLE JUSTICE* The justice of the peace, a smiling, amiable man, given to trade and knowing nothing of the law, nor professing to, except as it was filtered to him through the hints of lawyers, bowed politely as he entered, and taking his seat, said: "I am ready to hear your case now, officer." Upon this Blott, who had in some measure regained his composure, stepped forward and raised his hand to be sworn, but remembering that such formality was unnecessary, dropped it, with a gesture of disgust, and answered: "Please, your honor, this is the lad the summons was for," nodding down on me as he concluded. Motioning me to come forward, the justice spoke up, with a reassuring smile: "Don’t be frightened, my son, for no one here intends you harm." This as if in answer to my distressed look, or perhaps because he too had a child somewhere more happily placed than I. Then, assuming the air of his office, he went on, but mildly and as if to give me courage: "What is your name, young man?" "Gilbert Holmes, sir?" "How old are you?" "Twelve, if you please.’ "You look older. Are your parents alive?" "No, sir." "Have you a guardian?" "No, sir." "What near relatives?" "My uncle, Job Throckmorton, and my aunt, Miss Jane Holmes." "Where does your aunt live?" "On her farm, near Little Sandy." "Does she seek to become your guardian?" "Yes, sir." "Does any one else?"