here doesn’t want to do anything that isn’t right.  He, as you know, is a clean, straight man.  He has scruples about the rights that this decision gives him.  It’s a knotty question.  The other man thinks that he is being cheated, and my client isn’t quite sure himself.  I didn’t know what to advise in such a case.  I could tell him what the law of the land and the court—­of this court—­was, and I have told him.  But I couldn’t tell him anything about the law of that other land or that Higher Court.  I don’t know any more about those than you know about my laws and my court.  And so we have decided to ask you, to leave the whole dispute to you, and the other man has agreed to let you decide it.  He is a Protestant, as I am, but that has nothing to do with this business.  We are all perfectly willing to leave it to you; we will all abide by your decision without another word.”

Father Orin hesitated.  “I don’t know that I can see any more clearly than the rest of you.  Well, call the other man,” he then said.  “We can try to find out what is right, anyway.  We can’t go far wrong if we do our best to treat the other man as we should like him to treat us.  Come over here where we will be more to ourselves, and fetch the other man.”

The judge was too busy to notice the consultation, but after a while he saw the four men leaving the court room together, with quiet, smiling faces.  They all stopped for a moment in the doorway to allow Father Orin to shake hands with Peter Cartwright.  The young preacher had been delayed on his way, and was just now entering the court-house.  He did not smile when the priest said something which made the others laugh.  His square jaw was grimly set, and his fiery black eyes looked over the heads of the crowd at the tall figure of General Jackson which towered above every one else in the court room, with the exception of the attorney-general.  These two great lawyers still stood absorbed in low-toned conversation.  But the young preacher had no eyes for Joe Daviess nor for any one except Andrew Jackson.  As soon as he could free his hand from Father Orin’s clasp he entered the court room and went straight up to General Jackson and stood still in front of him, looking at him.  Both the gentlemen turned in surprise at the young backwoodsman’s abrupt approach.  Both were much older and taller than he, and very different altogether from this square-built, rough-mannered youth.  But they may have felt the power that was his as well as theirs, for neither gave a sign of the impatience that both were quick to feel and almost as quick to show.  Peter Cartwright was gazing steadily up into General Jackson’s eagle eyes—­which few could face, which turned many a stout heart from a firm purpose—­without swerving for an instant from what he meant to do.

[Illustration:  “‘I wanted to shake the hand of a man like you.’”]

“This is General Jackson, I believe,” he said.

Andrew Jackson bent his haughty head.  His gaze was now enough to make the bravest flinch.  But the young preacher went on without the slightest flinching.