With something like curiosity and doubt the judge went up to the table and opened and read three or four of the letters written for him by his young amanuensis.  And as he read, surprise and pleasure lighted up his countenance.

“The boy is a born diplomatist!  I should not wonder if the world should hear of him some day, after all!” he said, as he read letter after letter that had been left unsealed for his optional perusal.  In these letters he found his own hard “No’s” expressed with a courtesy that softened them even to the most bitterly disappointed; his arrogant “Yes’s,” with a delicacy that could not wound the self-love of the most sensitive petitioner; and his intermediate, doubtful answers rendered with a clearness of which by their very nature they seemed incapable.

“The boy is a born diplomatist,” repeated the judge in an accession of astonishment.

But he was wrong in his judgment of Ishmael.  If the youth’s style of writing was gracious, courteous, delicate, it was because his inmost nature was pure, refined, and benignant.  If his letters denying favors soothed rather than offended the applicant, and of those granting favors flattered rather than humiliated the petitioner, it was because of that angelic attribute of Ishmael’s soul that made it so painful to him to give pain, so delightful to impart delight.  There was no thought of diplomatic dealing in all Ishmael’s truthful soul.

The judge was excessively pleased with his young assistant.  Judge Merlin was an excellent lawyer, but no orator, and never had been, nor could be one.  He had not himself the gift of eloquence either in speaking or writing; and, therefore, perhaps he was the more astonished and pleased to find it in the possession of his letter-writer.  He was pleased to have his correspondence well written, for it reflected credit upon himself.

Under the influence of his surprise and pleasure he took up his hand full of letters and went directly to Ishmael’s room.  He found the youth seated in his arm-chair engaged in reading.

“What have you there?” inquired Judge Merlin.

Ishmael smiled and turned the title-page to his questioner.

“Humph!  ‘Coke upon Lyttleton.’  Lay it down, Ishmael, and attend to me,” said the judge, drawing a chair and seating himself beside the youth.

Ishmael immediately closed the book and gave the most respectful attention.

“I am very much pleased with the manner in which you have accomplished your task, Ishmael.  You have done your work remarkably well!  So well that I should like to give you longer employment,” he said.

Ishmael’s heart leaped in his bosom.

“Thank you, sir; I am very glad you are satisfied with me,” he replied.

“Let us see now, this is the fifteenth of October; I shall remain here until the first of December, when we go to town; a matter of six weeks; and I shall be glad, Ishmael, during the interval of my stay here, to retain you as my assistant.  What say you?”