He did not chance to fall into the kindly hands of the good Duke of Burgundy, but he did fall into the pastoral court of Old Waban, the famous Indian judge. This did not bring him the fortune that he expected; and it is of Tommy Trembly’s ill-luck and misfortune as a witness in court that I have a somewhat curious provincial story to tell. Old Waban’s name meant the wind. To the Indians of Natick he was the wind. His mind, it was believed, swept the sky, wandered free over the forests and streams, and comprehended all things. When the wind uttered his voice the truth was thought to have been spoken, and nothing more needed saying. The Wind was the oracle. Waban’s name still lives. The beautifully shaded lake under the green hills about Wellesley College, over which the girl students often row in good weather, will always recall the name of the famous chief which it bears; and a pretty suburban village near Boston is also called Waban. The name is worth perpetuating, for Waban was a noble chief and an upright judge. He was a judge more than a chief; and Natick, and other old towns on the winding Charles River, used to be full of anecdotes of his odd but wise edicts. One of his writs against an evil-doer who bore the name of Jeremiah Offscow was long preserved. It ran: “You, you big constable guide, you catch um Jeremiah Offscow, strong you hold um, safe you bring um afore me. Waban, justice of the peace.” He had a love of fine-sounding and rhythmic language, as the writ shows. Waban’s principal residence was at Natick, but that name once comprehended the whole region along the Charles River occupied by the Natick Indians. The great tree at Brighton, under which he used to pray and preach, was for public safety recently cut down. It was the largest tree ever known in the New England Colonies. Old Waban’s judgments at court were often severe. A young Indian justice of the peace came to him one day, and said:— “What would you do in case where a whole company of Indians were found to have become drunk and quarrelsome?” “I first tie them all up.” “And then?” “I would whip um plaintiff.” “Yes?” “And then I whip um ’fendant!” The young Indian looked surprised. “What I do with the witnesses in such a case? Listen.” But I will not tell here what old Judge Waban would have done with a witness in such a situation, for it would anticipate my story. Tommy Trembly, the tinker, roamed up and down the provincial towns, with a soldering iron and pail of solder in a loose bag on his back, crying lustily, as he passed a house, “Old brass to mend? Old brass to mend?” by which he meant: “Have you any kitchen utensils that need repairing?” Much of the cooking and laundrying was done at this period in immense brass kettles, which after long use became thin and leaky, and the leaks were commonly mended by the wandering tinker during his visits.