"Please, sir, how is Ishmael?" entreated Reuben, anxiety getting the upper hand for the moment.
"He is badly hurt, Gray; but doing very well, the doctor says."
"Please, sir, can I see him?"
"Not upon any account for the present; he must be left in perfect quiet. But why haven't you been up to inquire after him before this?"
"Ah, sir, the state of my wife."
"Oh, yes, I heard she was ill; but did not know that she was so ill as to prevent your coming to see after your poor boy. I hope she is better now?"
"Yes, sir, thank Heaven, she is well over it!" said Reuben, satisfaction now expressed in every lineament of his honest face.
"What was the matter with her? Was it the cholera morbus, that is so prevalent at this season?"
Reuben grinned from ear to ear; but did not immediately reply.
The judge looked as if he still expected an answer. Reuben scratched his gray head, and looked up from the corner of his eye, as he at length replied: