“Most through the Legislature?” inquired the judge.

“’Bout as common,” said Jethro.

There was a long silence, and, forgetful for the moment of his own predicament, Wetherell found a fearful fascination in watching the contortions of the victim whose punishment was to precede his.  It had been one of the delights of Louis XI to contemplate the movements of a certain churchman whom he had had put in a cage, and some inkling of the pleasure to be derived from this pastime of tyrants dawned on Wetherell.  Perhaps the judge, too, thought of this as he looked at “Quentin Durward” on the table.

“I was just sayin’ to Lem Hallowell,” began the judge, at last, “that I thought he was a little mite hasty—­”

“Er—­indicted us, Judge?” said Jethro.

The judge and Wetherell heard the question with different emotions.  Mr. Parkinson did not seem astonished at the miracle which had put Jethro in possession of this information, but heaved a long sigh of relief, as a man will when the worst has at length arrived.

“I had to, Jethro—­couldn’t help it.  I tried to get Hallowell to wait till you come back and talk it over friendly, but he wouldn’t listen; said the road was dangerous, and that he’d spoken about it too often.  He said he hadn’t anything against you.”

“Didn’t come in to complain,” said Jethro, “didn’t come in to complain.  Road is out of repair.  W-what’s the next move?”

“I’m sorry, Jethro—­I swan I’m sorry.”  He cleared his throat.  “Well,” he continued in his judicial manner, “the court has got to appoint an agent to repair that road, the agent will present the bill, and the town will have to pay the bill—­whatever it is.  It’s too bad, Jethro, that you have allowed this to be done.”

“You say you’ve got to app’int an agent?”

“Yes—­I’m sorry—­”

“Have you app’inted one?”

“No.”

“G-got any candidates?”

The judge scratched his head.

“Well, I don’t know as I have.”

“Well, have you?”

“No,” said the judge.

“A-any legal objection to my bein’ app’inted?” asked Jethro.

The judge looked at him and gasped.  But the look was an involuntary tribute of admiration.

“Well,” he said hesitatingly, “I don’t know as there is, Jethro.  No, there’s no legal objection to it.”

“A-any other kind of objection?” said Jethro.

The judge appeared to reflect.

“Well, no,” he said at last, “I don’t know as there is.”

“Well, is there?” said Jethro, again.

“No,” said the judge, with the finality of a decision.  A smile seemed to be pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Well, I’m a candidate,” said Jethro.

“Do you tell me, Jethro, that you want me to appoint you agent to fix that road?”

“I-I’m a candidate.”

“Well,” said the judge, rising, “I’ll do it.”