“What sort of an example are you setting him?”

“The world is full of examples I’d not recommend, Solomon.  One must learn to discriminate.  A body can no more follow all the examples than he can follow all the roads, and I submit that the ends of morality can as well be served in showing a child what he should not do as in showing him what he should.  Indeed, I don’t know but it’s the finer educational idea!”

Thereafter the judge went through the land with an eye out for wash-lines.

“I’m looking for a change of linen for the boy, Solomon,” he said.  “Let me bring you a garment or two.  Eh—­how few men you’ll find of my build; those last shirts I got were tight around the armholes and had no more tail than a rabbit!”

Two nights later Mr. Mahaffy accepted a complete change of under linen, but without visible sign of gratitude.

A night later the judge disappeared from camp, and after a prolonged absence returned puffing and panting with three watermelons, which proved to be green, since his activity had been much in advance of the season.

“I don’t suppose there is any greater tax on human ingenuity than to carry three watermelons!” he remarked.  “The human structure is ideally adapted to the transportation of two—­it can be done with comfort; but when a body tackles three he finds that nature herself is opposed to the proceeding!  Well, I am going back for a bee-gum I saw in a fence corner.  Hannibal will enjoy that—­a child is always wanting sweets!”

In this fashion they fared gaily across the state, but as they neared the Mississippi the judge began to consider the future.  His bright and illuminating intelligence dealt with this problem in all its many-sidedness.

“I wish you’d enter one of the learned professions, Solomon—­have you ever thought of medicine?” he inquired.  Mr. Mahaffy laughed.  “But why not, Solomon?  There is nothing like a degree or a title—­that always stamps a man, gives him standing—­”

“What do I know about the human system?”

“I should certainly hope you know as much as the average doctor knows.  We could locate in one of these new towns where they have the river on one side and the canal on the other, and where everybody has the ague—­”

“What do I know about medicine?” inquired Mahaffy.

“As much as Aesculapius, no doubt—­even he had to make a beginning.  The torch of science wasn’t lit in a day—­you must be willing to wait; but you’ve got a good sick-room manner.  Have you ever thought of opening an undertaker’s shop?  If you couldn’t cure them you might bury them.”

A certain hot afternoon brought them into the shaded main street of a straggling village.  Near the door of the principal building, a frame tavern, a man was seated, with his feet on the horse-rack.  There was no other sign of human occupancy.

“How do you do, sir?” said the judge, halting before this solitary individual whom he conjectured to be the ’landlord.  The man nodded, thrusting his thumbs into the armholes of his vest.  “What’s the name of this bustling metropolis?” continued the judge, cocking his head on one side.