“Of course,” he said confidently, “there is strongly presumptive and corroborative evidence?  Perhaps you can give me—­er—­a brief outline of the affair?”

“Zaidee kin do that straight enough, I reckon,” said the woman; “what I want to know first is, kin you take the case?”

The Colonel did not hesitate; his curiosity was piqued.  “I certainly can.  I have no doubt your daughter will put me in possession of sufficient facts and details—­to constitute what we call—­er—­a brief.”

“She kin be brief enough—­or long enough—­for the matter of that,” said the woman, rising.  The Colonel accepted this implied witticism with a smile.

“And when may I have the pleasure of seeing her?” he asked politely.

“Well, I reckon as soon as I can trot out and call her.  She’s just outside, meanderin’ in the road—­kinder shy, ye know, at first.”

She walked to the door.  The astounded Colonel nevertheless gallantly accompanied her as she stepped out into the street and called shrilly, “You Zaidee!”

A young girl here apparently detached herself from a tree and the ostentatious perusal of an old election poster, and sauntered down towards the office door.  Like her mother, she was plainly dressed; unlike her, she had a pale, rather refined face, with a demure mouth and downcast eyes.  This was all the Colonel saw as he bowed profoundly and led the way into his office, for she accepted his salutations without lifting her head.  He helped her gallantly to a chair, on which she seated herself sideways, somewhat ceremoniously, with her eyes following the point of her parasol as she traced a pattern on the carpet.  A second chair offered to the mother that lady, however, declined.  “I reckon to leave you and Zaidee together to talk it out,” she said; turning to her daughter, she added, “Jest you tell him all, Zaidee,” and before the Colonel could rise again, disappeared from the room.  In spite of his professional experience, Starbottle was for a moment embarrassed.  The young girl, however, broke the silence without looking up.

“Adoniram K. Hotchkiss,” she began, in a monotonous voice, as if it were a recitation addressed to the public, “first began to take notice of me a year ago.  Arter that—­off and on”—­

“One moment,” interrupted the astounded Colonel; “do you mean Hotchkiss the President of the Ditch Company?” He had recognized the name of a prominent citizen—­a rigid, ascetic, taciturn, middle-aged man—­a deacon—­and more than that, the head of the company he had just defended.  It seemed inconceivable.

“That’s him,” she continued, with eyes still fixed on the parasol and without changing her monotonous tone—­“off and on ever since.  Most of the time at the Free-Will Baptist Church—­at morning service, prayer-meetings, and such.  And at home—­outside—­er—­in the road.”

“Is it this gentleman—­Mr. Adoniram K. Hotchkiss—­who—­er—­promised marriage?” stammered the Colonel.