Ezekiel Price, justice of the peace, generally known as Squire Price, was just rising from his supper table when the one maid of all work, Bridget, entered and said: "Mr. Price, old Tarbox is at the door and wishes to see you."

"Old Tarbox!" repeated the squire in a tone of reproof. "Really, you should speak more respectfully of Mr. Nathan Tarbox."

"Everybody calls him old Tarbox," said Bridget, "and he's the meanest man in town."

"Let that pass," said the justice, using a pet phrase. "Tell him to come in."

Mr. Tarbox immediately afterwards was ushered into the room.

"Good evening, Mr. Tarbox," said the squire, in a dignified tone.

"Good evenin', squire."

"All well at home, I trust, Mr. Tarbox."

"Oh yes," answered Tarbox, impatient to come to business. "I've come on law business."

"Indeed!"

"I want justice!" continued the farmer, slapping the table energetically, to the imminent hazard of a cup and saucer standing beside.

"If I can be of any service to you in my—ahem! judicial capacity, I of course should consider it my duty to help you."

"I want a warrant for the arrest of a brute."

"Ahem! my powers do not extend to the arrest of brutes. They are limited to human beings."

"You know what I mean—a brute on two legs, and mighty long ones, too."

"I cannot say I apprehend your meaning, Mr. Tarbox. Whom do you wish to arrest, let me ask?"

"The Norwegian giant."

"The Norwegian giant!" repeated the squire in astonishment.

"Yes; the giant they've got at the show."

"What has he been doing?"

"What hasn't he been doing?" shouted Tarbox. "He came into my lot this afternoon, seized me by the collar, nearly shook me to pieces, and kicked my dog Bruiser to death."

Squire Price listened in undisguised amazement.

"Really," he said, "this was a high-handed outrage. Was he drunk?"

"No; he can't get off on no such plea as that. He was as sober as you or I."

"Did he assign any reason for his extraordinary attack?"

"He was meddling in affairs that he had nothing to do with."

"What affairs?"

This was rather an embarrassing question to answer.

"The fact is, I caught Jimmy Graham and his brother cutting across my lot—a clear case of trespass—and I was about to give Jimmy a lesson when that brute interfered—"

"What sort of a lesson were you going to give him?" asked the squire, shrewdly.

"Why, you see I had tied the boy to a tree, and was going to touch him gently with a horsewhip, when in jumped this overgrown bully and attacked me."

"Ahem! I begin to see. I hear that the Graham boys' mother was taken sick this afternoon, and the boys were probably going for the doctor."

"So they said, but they had no right to go across my lot."

"It strikes me, Mr. Tarbox, they were excusable under the circumstances."

"No, they were not; I have forbidden 'em time and again from goin' across my field."

"There's a path, isn't there?"

"Yes, but it's my path."

"Did the boy attract the giant's attention by screaming?"

"Yes."

"Well, Mr. Tarbox, to be frank with you, I think it was very natural for him to interfere in defence of a boy about to receive brutal treatment."

"I hope you ain't goin' to take the side of lawbreakin', squire?"

"You say he seized you by the collar and shook you up, Mr. Tarbox?"

"Yes; he made the teeth chatter in my head till I thought they would drop out."

"And he frightened you, did he?"

"Yes; I thought he was goin' to take my life," said Mr. Tarbox, desiring to make the assault seem as aggravated as possible.

A mild smile played over the placid face of the squire, who was evidently not impressed as he should have been by the recital of Mr. Tarbox's wrongs.

"And then you called Bruiser, did you, Mr. Tarbox?"

"Yes."

"What did you expect Bruiser to do?"

"I wanted him to tear the giant to pieces. He was just makin' for his legs when the brute drew back his foot and kicked him to death."

In his excitement Mr. Tarbox rose and paced the room.

Squire Price smiled again. It is to be feared he did not deplore, as he should have done, the sad and untimely fate of the amiable bull-dog.

"Now, what do you want me to do, Mr. Tarbox?"

"I want a warrant for the arrest of this big scoundrel."

"For killing Bruiser? That appears to have been in self-defence."

"No; for assault and battery on me, Nathan Tarbox, a free-born American citizen. It's come to a pretty pass if I am to be attacked and nearly killed by a foreign Norwegian, who has come over to America to take the bread from our own citizens."

"Well, I suppose I must give you what you desire, Mr. Tarbox, if you insist upon it," said the squire.

"Of course I insist upon it. I'm not goin' to be trampled under foot by a minion of a foreign power."

"Do you happen to know the giant's name?" asked the squire.

Mr. Tarbox scratched his head.

"I can't say I rightly remember his name. I think it's Enoch."

"Enoch! Very likely. That's a good Bible name. Just wait here a moment, Mr. Tarbox, and I will make out an order of arrest."

The squire left the room and returned in five minutes with a paper duly drawn up, directing any constable or police officer to apprehend the giant known as Enoch, and produce before him to answer to a charge of assault and battery on Nathan Tarbox, a citizen of Crampton. There was more legal phraseology, but this was the purport of it.

"Thank you, squire," said Mr. Tarbox, in evident gratification, as he deposited the valuable document which was to secure his revenge in the right inside pocket of his coat.

"Who are you going to get to serve the warrant?" asked the squire.

"Sam Spriggins; he's the nearest constable."

"Very well," said the squire, with a peculiar smile.

"I'm going to have him arrested just as the evening performance is to commence," said Mr. Tarbox, triumphantly; "that'll trouble him, and probably they'll cut off his pay, but it'll serve him right."

After Mr. Tarbox left the squire had a quiet laugh, but as he did not mention to any one what had aroused his mirth we are left to conjecture what it was all about.

Nathan Tarbox proceeded at once to the house of Constable Spriggins, and was lucky enough to find him at home. In fact, Mr. Spriggins was out in his back yard, splitting some kindlings for use the next morning.

Sam Spriggins, who filled the high office of constable, was not a man of imposing appearance, he was about five feet eight inches in height, and had hair of a flaming red, and probably weighed about one hundred and forty pounds. It was somehow suspected that Mr. Spriggins was not a man of reckless bravery. He had never been employed to arrest desperate criminals, and lawbreakers were not accustomed to quail before his glance. In fact, Sam was more likely to be the one to quail. Why he had been appointed constable was not very clear, but probably it came about because no one else wanted the office.

"Good evening, Mr. Tarbox," said the constable, desisting from his employment.

"Good evenin'. I've got some work for you to do."

"What is it?"

"I want you to make an arrest."

"Who's the party?" asked Sam, in a tone which betrayed some apprehension.

"It's the Norwegian giant at the circus."

"Come now, Mr. Tarbox, you're joking," said Spriggins.

"Joking!" shouted Tarbox. "Do I look like joking? Why, this Enoch came into my lot this afternoon and nearly killed me. It's an outrageous case of assault and battery, and here's the warrant for his arrest duly made out by Squire Price."

"Is he very large?" faltered the poor constable.

"Very large! He's eight or nine feet high," said Tarbox.

"Couldn't you call on some other constable?" pleaded Spriggins, nervously. "You see, it's very inconvenient for me to leave my work."

"No; you're the man, and it's your legal duty to serve the warrant. Besides, the other constable's out of town."

"When do you want the man arrested?" faltered Spriggins.

"I want you to go right over to the show with me now."

"Do—do you think he'll be violent?" asked the constable.

"I can't say," answered Tarbox. "Anyhow, the law is on your side, and I'll go with you, and stand by you."

Sam Spriggins never in his life so deeply regretted that he had accepted the office of constable.