“It’s a fact.”  Bill, the bar-keeper, actually smiled.

“What’s to pay?” said the man.

“Don’t know, and don’t care much.”  “Did he serve a summons or an execution?”

“Can’t tell.”

“Judge Lyman’s suit went against him.”

“Did it?”

“Yes; and I heard Judge Lyman swear, that if he got him on the hip, he’d sell him out, bag and basket.  And he’s the man to keep his word.”

“I never could just make out,” said the bar-keeper, “how he ever came to owe Judge Lyman so much.  I’ve never known of any business transactions between them.”

“It’s been dog eat dog, I rather guess,” said the man.

“What do you mean by that?” inquired the bar-keeper.

“You’ve heard of dogs hunting in pairs?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Well, since Harvey Green got his deserts, the business of fleecing our silly young fellows, who happened to have more money than wit or discretion, has been in the hands of Judge Lyman and Slade.  They hunted together, Slade holding the game, while the judge acted as blood-sucker.  But that business was interrupted about a year ago; and game got so scarce that, as I suggested, dog began to eat dog.  And here comes the end of the matter, if I’m not mistaken.  So mix us a stiff toddy.  I want one more good drink at the ‘Sickle and Sheaf,’ before the colors are struck.”

And the man chuckled at his witty effort.

During the day, I learned that affairs stood pretty much as this man had conjectured.  Lyman’s suits had been on sundry notes payable on demand; but nobody knew of any property transactions between him and Slade.  On the part of Slade, no defense had been made—­the suit going by default.  The visit of the sheriff’s officer was for the purpose of serving an execution.

As I walked through Cedarville on that day, the whole aspect of the place seemed changed.  I questioned with myself, often, whether this were really so, or only the effect of imagination.  The change was from cheerfulness and thrift, to gloom and neglect.  There was, to me, a brooding silence in the air; a pause in the life-movement; a folding of the hands, so to speak, because hope had failed from the heart.  The residence of Mr. Harrison, who, some two years before, had suddenly awakened to a lively sense of the evil of rum-selling, because his own sons were discovered to be in danger, had been one of the most tasteful in Cedarville.  I had often stopped to admire the beautiful shrubbery and flowers with which it was surrounded; the walks so clear—­the borders so fresh and even—­the arbors so cool and inviting.  There was not a spot upon which the eye could rest, that did not show the hand of taste.  When I now came opposite to this house, I was not longer in doubt as to the actuality of a change.  There were no marked evidences of neglect; but the high cultivation and nice regard for the small details were lacking.  The walks were cleanly swept; but the box-borders were not so carefully trimmed.  The vines and bushes that in former times were cut and tied so evenly, could hardly have felt the keen touch of the pruning-knife for months.