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NE hot day, as we were finishing dinner, a sheriff's bailiff rode up to the door. Norak saw him first. She was dressed up ready to go over to Mrs. Anderson's to tea. Sometimes young Harrison had tea at Anderson's—Thursdays, usually. This was Thursday; and Norah was starting early, because it was "a good step of a way." She reported the visitor. Dad left the table, munching some bread, and went out to him. Mother looked out of the door; Sal went to the window; little Bill and Tom peeped through a crack; Dave remained at his dinner; and Joe knavishly seized the opportunity of exploring the table for leavings, finally seating himself in Dad's place, and commencing where Dad had left off.

"Jury-summons," said the meek bailiff, extracting a paper from his breast-pocket, and reading, "Murtagh Joseph Rudd, selector, Shingle Hut. . . . Correct?"