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Avoiding the direct, questioning gaze that his companion turned on him at this, the judge reached forward and touched a ripe balsam apple that dangled in front of him. Instantly it split, showing the gummed red seeds clinging to the inner walls of the sensitive pod.

“I’m listening to you, judge,” said the deaf man.

For a moment the old judge waited. There was about him almost an air of embarrassment. Still considering the ruin of the balsam apple, he spoke, and it was with a sort of hurried anxiety, as though he feared he might be checked before he could say what he had to say.

“Ed,” he said, “I was settin’ on my porch a while ago waitin’ for breakfast, and your brother came by.” He shot a quick, apprehensive glance at his silent auditor. Except for a tautened flickering of the muscles about the mouth, there was no sign that the other had heard him. “Your brother Abner came by,” repeated the judge, “and I set over there on my porch and watched him pass. Ed, Abner’s gittin’ mighty feeble! He jest about kin drag himself along–he’s had another stroke lately, they tell me. He had to hold on to that there treebox down yonder, steadyin’ himself after he crossed back over to this side. Lord knows what he was doin’ draggin’ down-town on a Sunday mornin’–force of habit, I reckin. Anyway he certainly did look older and more poorly than ever I saw him before. He’s a failin’ man if I’m any judge. Do you hear me plain?” he asked.

“I hear you,” said his neighbor in a curiously flat voice. It was Tilghman’s turn to avoid the glances of his friend. He stared straight ahead of him through a rift in the vines.

“Well, then,” went on Judge Priest, “here’s what I’ve got to say to you, Ed Tilghman. You know as well as I do that I’ve never pried into your private affairs, and it goes mightily against the grain for me to be doin’ so now; but, Ed, when I think of how old we’re all gittin’ to be, and when the Camp meets and I see you settin’ there side by side almost, and yet never seemin’ to see each other–and this mornin’ when I saw Abner pass, lookin’ so gaunt and sick–and it sech a sweet, ca’m mornin’ too, and everything so quiet and peaceful—-” He broke off and started anew. “I don’t seem to know exactly how to put my thoughts into words–and puttin’ things into words is supposed to be my trade too. Anyway I couldn’t go to Abner. He’s not my neighbor and you are; and besides, you’re the youngest of the two. So–so I came over here to you. Ed, I’d like mightily to take some word from you to your brother Abner. I’d like to do it the best in the world! Can’t I go to him with a message from you–today? Tomorrow might be too late!”

He laid one of his pudgy hands on the bony knee of the deaf man; but the hand slipped away as Tilghman stood up.

“Judge Priest,” said Tilghman, looking down at him, “I’ve listened to what you’ve had to say; and I didn’t stop you, because you are my friend and I know you mean well by it. Besides, you’re my guest, under my own roof.” He stumped back and forth in the narrow confines of the porch. Otherwise he gave no sign of any emotion that might be astir within him, his face being still set and his voice flat. “What’s between me and my–what’s between me and that man you just named always will be between us. He’s satisfied to let things go on as they are. I’m satisfied to let them go on. It’s in our breed, I guess. Words–just words–wouldn’t help mend this thing. The reason for it would be there just the same, and neither one of us is going to be able to forget that so long as we both live. I’d just as soon you never brought this–this subject up again. If you went to him I presume he’d tell you the same thing. Let it be, Judge Priest–it’s past mending. We two have gone on this way for fifty years nearly. We’ll keep on going on so. I appreciate your kindness, Judge Priest; but let it be–let it be!”