Father Orin now came straight toward him, merely nodding and smiling at those whom he passed, and reaching Joe Daviess’ side, he coolly ran his hand deep down in his friend’s pocket, precisely as if it had been his own.  The attorney-general made believe to strike out backward with his left hand—­his right being full of papers.  But he laughed, and he did not turn his head to see how much money the priest had taken and was calmly transferring to his own pocket.  And then, chuckling and nodding his gray head, Father Orin quietly made his way round the court room, keeping close to the wall, and taking care to pass behind the jury which sat on a bench of boards laid across two logs.  He was now making his way to the little platform of logs on which the judge was sitting.  The judge saw him coming and hastily shook his head, knowing from long experience what he was coming for.  But Father Orin only chuckled more merrily and drew nearer.  When he put out his hand the judge surrendered, knowing how useless it would be to resist while a few Spanish dollars or even a few bits of cut money were left in his wallet, or there was want in the wilderness which the priest’s persistence could relieve.  But his left eyebrow went up very high in a very acute angle, as he leant far over to one side and ran his hand into the depths of his breeches pocket.

“There!” he said, handing over what he had.  “I am glad I haven’t got any more.  Hereafter, when I see you coming, I’m going to take to the woods.  Much or little, you always get all there is,” he said, ostentatiously buttoning the flap over his empty pocket.  “Oh, by the way, Father, somebody wants you over yonder in that corner.  Those men, standing there, asked me just now if I knew where you were.  They have got into some sort of a snarl, and they want you to straighten it out.”

“Very well, I will go and see,” said the priest, simply, being used to all sorts of calls, temporal as well as spiritual.

The two men had already seen him, and were standing to receive him when he came up.  One of them was a member of his own church and known to him as a man of large affairs.  The other, a lawyer and a Protestant, he had a much slighter acquaintance with.  It was the lawyer who spoke after both had greeted him warmly, as if they felt his appearance to be a relief.

“We have been hoping you might come.  We are in trouble and think you are the man to help us set matters right,” said the lawyer.

“What is it?” laughed Father Orin.  “I don’t know anything about law.”

The lawyer laughed too.  “Well, you see, Father, it isn’t law exactly.  That is, not the kind of law that I know.  That’s just where you come in.  It’s this way.  My client here has won a suit.  He was bound to win it and I told him so before it came to trial.  The law was clear enough.  But you see, Father, law isn’t always justice.  You can keep within the law and do mighty mean things.  And my client