“Judge! your plunder’s come—landed from the ‘Sachem’ this morning!” were the words with which the landlord greeted Mark Sutherland, as the latter, with Rosalie, descended to breakfast.
“Judge!” echoed Rosalie, looking inquiringly from one to the other.
Mark Sutherland laughed, and pinched her arm; and when their host had moved off in another direction, said:
“Nonsense, Rose. Yes, it was I whom he addressed as Judge—of course it was. Every one gets an honorary title of distinction here. I don’t know what it is given for; certainly not to confer honour, but rather, I suppose, for the sake of civil brevity, as it is easier to say ‘Judge’ than ‘Mr. Thompson.’ Now, if I had ever belonged to any military company—if only as private in militia, they’d dub me here ‘Cap’n,’ if not ‘Major,’ or ‘Gen’l:’ and if I were county constable, instead of law student, they must still call me ‘Judge.’”
And just then, as if in illustration of Mr. Sutherland’s words, several men entered, eagerly inquiring for “the Colonel,” meaning the landlord. And when the host came forward to know their will, several speaking equally together, exclaimed:
“Colonel, we want your guns, and your dogs, and your company, this morning, to hunt a pack of wolves that chased Jones’s boy almost into the village!”
“A pack of wolves!” exclaimed the boarders, gathering around.
“Jones’s boy!” ejaculated the landlord, in amazement.
“Riding from McPherson’s mill;”
“So close, they caught at the boy’s boots;”