“The case air adjourned,” said Benaja Widdup, “till to-morrow, when you-all will present yo’selves and obey the order of the co’t.  Followin’ of which the decrees of divo’ce will be delivered.”  He sat down in the door and began to loosen a shoestring.

“We mout as well go down to Uncle Ziah’s,” decided Ransie, “and spend the night.”  He climbed into the cart on one side, and Ariela climbed in on the other.  Obeying the flap of his rope, the little red bull slowly came around on a tack, and the cart crawled away in the nimbus arising from its wheels.

Justice-of-the-peace Benaja Widdup smoked his elder-stem pipe.  Late in the afternoon he got his weekly paper, and read it until the twilight dimmed its lines.  Then he lit the tallow candle on his table, and read until the moon rose, marking the time for supper.  He lived in the double log cabin on the slope near the girdled poplar.  Going home to supper he crossed a little branch darkened by a laurel thicket.  The dark figure of a man stepped from the laurels and pointed a rifle at his breast.  His hat was pulled down low, and something covered most of his face.

“I want yo’ money,” said the figure, “‘thout any talk.  I’m gettin’ nervous, and my finger’s a-wabblin’ on this here trigger.”

“I’ve only got f-f-five dollars,” said the Justice, producing it from his vest pocket.

“Roll it up,” came the order, “and stick it in the end of this here gun-bar’l.”

The bill was crisp and new.  Even fingers that were clumsy and trembling found little difficulty in making a spill of it and inserting it (this with less ease) into the muzzle of the rifle.

“Now I reckon you kin be goin’ along,” said the robber.

The Justice lingered not on his way.

The next day came the little red bull, drawing the cart to the office door.  Justice Benaja Widdup had his shoes on, for he was expecting the visit.  In his presence Ransie Bilbro handed to his wife a five-dollar bill.  The official’s eye sharply viewed it.  It seemed to curl up as though it had been rolled and inserted into the end of a gun-barrel.  But the Justice refrained from comment.  It is true that other bills might be inclined to curl.  He handed each one a decree of divorce.  Each stood awkwardly silent, slowly folding the guarantee of freedom.  The woman cast a shy glance full of constraint at Ransie.

“I reckon you’ll be goin’ back up to the cabin,” she said, along ’ith the bull-cart.  There’s bread in the tin box settin’ on the shelf.  I put the bacon in the b’ilin’-pot to keep the hounds from gittin’ it.  Don’t forget to wind the clock to-night.”

“You air a-goin’ to your brother Ed’s?” asked Ransie, with fine unconcern.

“I was ‘lowin’ to get along up thar afore night.  I ain’t sayin’ as they’ll pester theyselves any to make me welcome, but I hain’t nowhar else fur to go.  It’s a right smart ways, and I reckon I better be goin’.  I’ll be a-sayin’ good-bye, Ranse—­that is, if you keer fur to say so.”