“To be sure....  To be sure.  Jest itchin’ to kick the top bar off’n the pasture fence.  Most certain you got a right to live, and nobody hain’t goin’ to hender you ... least of all me.  But there’s jest one observation I’d sort of like to let loose of, and that’s this:  Your life’s a whole lot like one of your arms and legs—­easy busted.  To be sure, it kin be put in splints and mended up ag’in, but maybe you’ll go limpy or knit crooked so’s nothin’ kin keep the busted place from showin’.  Bearin’ that in mind, if I was you, I wouldn’t be too careless about scramblin’ up into places where you was apt to git a fall....  I calc’late, Sairy, that it’s better to miss the view than to fall out of the tree....”

“I’m going to see the view if I fall out of every tree I climb,” Sarah said, hotly.

“Don’t object if I find you a boardin’ house?”

“I’m going to board with Grandma Penny that was—­Mrs. Spackles.”

Scattergood nodded.  “G’-by, Sairy....  G’-by, Nahum.”  He watched father and daughter leave the store with a twinkle in his eyes, not a twinkle of humor, but the twinkle that always came when his interest in life, always keen, was aroused to a point where it tingled.  “Calc’late to be kep’ busy—­more ’n ordinary busy,” he offered as an opinion to be digested by the Round Oak stove.  Presently he added:  “She’s perty ... and bein’ perty is kind of a remarkable thing ... bein’ perty and young....  Don’t seem like God ought to hold folks accountable fer bein’ young, nor yet fer bein’ good to look at ... but they’s times when it seems like He does....”  On his way back to the store after dinner, Scattergood stopped at the bank corner, hesitated a moment, and then mounted the stairs to the offices above.  A door bearing the legend, “Robert Allen, Attorney at Law,” admitted him to a large, bare office, such as one finds in such towns as Coldriver.

“Howdy, Bob?” said Scattergood.

“Good day, Mr. Baines,” said the young man behind the desk, who had suddenly pretended to be very much occupied with important matters as his door opened.

“Um!...  Busy time, eh?  Better come back later.”

“No.  No, indeed.  Take this chair right here, Mr. Baines.  What can I do for you?”

“Depends.  Uh-huh!  Depends....  Calc’late to make a perty good livin’, Bob?”

“No complaints.”

“Studied it yourself, didn’t you—­out of books?  No college?”

“Yes.”

“Hard work, wasn’t it?  Mighty hard work?”

“It might have been easier,” said Bob, wondering what Scattergood was getting at.

“Like to be prosecutin’ attorney for this county, Bob?”

Prosecuting attorney!  With a salary of twenty-five hundred dollars a year—­and the prestige!  Bob strove valiantly to maintain a look of dignified interest, but with ill success.

“I—­I might consider it.  Yes, I would consider it.”

“Um!...  Figgered you would,” said Scattergood, dryly.  “Hain’t got no help in the office,” he observed.  “Need some, don’t you?  Somebody to write letters and sort of look after things, eh?”