The sun, a ball of fire, slipped back of the tree-tops.

Thick shadows stole across the stretch of dusty road.

Off in the distance there was the sound of cowbell.

Slowly these came nearer and nearer--as the golden light slanted, sifting deeper and deeper into the woods.
They could see the crowd that came and went about the tavern, they caught the distant echo of its mirth.
"Common--quite common," said the judge with somber melancholy.
"I didn't see anything common," said Mahaffy sourly.

"The drinks weren't common by a long sight." "I referred to the gathering in its social aspect, Solomon," explained the judge; "the illiberal spirit that prevailed, which, I observe, did not escape you." "Skunks!" said Mahaffy.
"Not a man present had the public spirit to set 'em up," lamented the judge.