The boy could no more explain it than he could prove why his eyes were brown and his hair a dark chestnut, or why he always walked with his toes very much turned out, or made gestures with his hands when he talked.

Had any of the jury been alive--and some of them were--or the prosecuting-attorney, or even any one of the old settlers who attended court, they could have told in a minute which one of the two young men was Judge Breen's son.

Not that Jack looked like his father.

No young man of twenty-two looks like an old fellow of sixty, but he certainly moved and talked like him--and had the same way of looking at things.
"The written law may uphold you, sir, and the jury may so consider, but I shall instruct them to disregard your plea.

There is a higher law, sir, than justice--a law of mercy--That I myself shall exercise." The old Judge had sat straight up on his bench when he said it, his face cast-iron, his eyes burning.