Glenville supported one newspaper--a weekly. Its editor and publisher and general reporter was a big man in the community. He was a much bigger man than his paper. Few people in Clay township did not know the indefatigable and ubiquitous Roscoe Boswell, either personally or by reputation. His _Weekly Tomahawk_, made up largely of "boiler-plate matter" and advertisements in wonderful typography, adorned the pantry-shelves of almost every house in the township. Jim Hardesty once ironically remarked that he believed more housewives read the paper in the pantry than they did in the parlor. For his own part, he frequently caught himself spelling out the news as he "wrapped up bacon and side-meat" with sections of the _Tomahawk_. But Mr. Boswell was a big man politically and socially. His "local and personal" column and his "country correspondence" column were alive with the gossip of the district. If 'Squire Higgins painted his barn, the "news" came out in the _Tomahawk_; if Miss Phoebe Baker crossed the street to visit Mrs. Matlock the fact was published to the world--or, at least, to that part of it bounded by the Clay township lines; if our old friend and subscriber George Baughnacht drove out into the country with his new "side-bar" buggy the whole community was given to understand that it "looked suspicious" and that a "black-haired girl was fond of buggy-riding." Mrs. Harbaugh's party would not have been complete without the presence of Roscoe Boswell. He came with his paper-pad, his pencil and his jokes. Incidentally, Mrs. Boswell came. She described the dresses of the ladies. Every one was nice to Roscoe. The next issue of the _Tomahawk_ was carefully read and preserved by the guests at the "sociable," for it contained a glowing account of the "swell affair," and it also had a complete list of names, including those of the children. Now, Mr. Boswell, besides being a big man, was an observing person. He had seen a Chicago paper containing the news of the Wood-Sherrod wedding, but, like others, he was convinced that the groom was not the old Clay township boy. Nevertheless, he made up his mind to question Justine, when he saw her at the "sociable." "How do you do, Mrs. Sherrod?" he greeted, just before the oysters were served. She was passing through the parlor in search of Mrs. Harbaugh. "Why, Mr. Boswell," she said gaily. "It is quite an honor to have you with us. Is Mrs. Boswell here?" "Yes--she'll be getting a description of your dress pretty soon," he said, glancing at the plain black. "My, but you look fine to-night," he added, observing the embarrassed look in her eyes. "Black's my favorite color. Always sets a woman off so. What do you hear from Jud?" "He has been in Paris, Mr. Boswell, studying art, and he is very well. I heard from him a day or so ago." Roscoe Boswell breathed a sigh of relief. "How long will he be over there?" he asked.