“‘My dear doctor,’ said the mayor, as he scrambled up from his seat, ‘let me consult with you a moment privately.’
“The doctor followed him into a private room, when the mayor said: ‘Doctor, what do you know about those three children?’
“‘I know enough to convince me that the boys are heroes, and that the girl is a lovely little heroine. I know that they are friendless orphans, which should entitle them to the sympathies of all good men. I know that any one who would oppress or wrong them ought to go to the ——’
“‘Yes, yes, I know, doctor; I’ll discharge them at once.’
“‘You should never have molested them at first. What business had that Bowles boy at their camp, I should like to know? You knew that he was the meanest, most unprincipled boy in this county, and I am surprised that you should so far have forgotten yourself as to have those poor helpless children dragged into court as if they were thieves. Now that’s what I think of the whole business. You go in there and discharge those children immediately, else we are enemies for life.’
“‘Oh, my dear doctor, I beseech you, don’t for a moment imagine that I would oppress the orphans, or deal harshly with the helpless. I was going to discharge them anyway. I was merely investigating the case for form’s sake. You know one has to appear stern and unbending sometimes, while his heart is melting with pity.’
“‘Yes, I know how it is. I have long been acquainted with the secret goodness of your heart; I wonder how you could keep it smothered so well.’
“‘Ah! doc, one in my position has much to contend with. It’s a difficult thing to hold the scales of justice so as to be impartial. I am not fit to be in office—my heart is too tender; I can’t keep from sympathizing with the weak and helpless, even when they have violated the law. I think I shall resign.’
“‘I would if I were you; your heart is too tender for the place; but let us go in and have the children discharged.’
“The mayor resumed his seat, adjusted his spectacles, and deliberately surveyed the crowd.