"Oh, yes," returned Abner, "that is precisely what you came to do."
He indicated the open secretary with his hand.
"And the grantor, as it happens, has got everything ready for you. Here are foolscap and quill pens and ink. And here, exhibited for your convenience, is a map of the lands with all the metes and bounds. And here," he pointed to the wall, "in a frame, as though it were a work of art with charm, is the court's deed. Sit down, Randolph, and write." And such virtue is there in a dominant command, that the Justice sat down before the secretary and began to select a goose quill.
Then he realized the absurdity of the direction and turned about.
"What do you mean, Abner?" he cried.
"I mean precisely what I say," replied my uncle. "I want you to write a deed."
"But what sort of deed," cried the astonished Justice, "and by what grantor, and to whom, and for what lands?"
"You will draw a conveyance," replied Abner, "in form, with covenants of general warranty for the manor and lands set out in the deed before you and given in the plat. The grantor will be Benton Wolf, esquire, and the grantee Julia Clayborne, infant, and mark you, Randolph, the consideration will be love and affection, with a dollar added for the form."
The old man was amazed. His head, bedded
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