s of
things differ. Instead of the churned-up ridged and rugged timber-decked
lands of Pennsylvania and York State, the Creator of scenery chose to
pour out this land mainly a smooth and level and treeless prairie--like
chocolate on the top of a layer cake."

"Chocolate is good, with sand instead of sugar," Jerry interrupted.

"But as to the people--the real heart of the real folks of the Sage
Brush--there's no difference. They all have 'eyes, hands, organs,
senses, affections, passions.' They are all 'fed with the same food,
hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed with
the same means, warmed and cooled with the same summer and winter' as
the cultured and uncultured folk of the Winnowoc Valley and the city of
Philadelphia. The trouble with us is we don't take time to read
them--nor even first of all to read ourselves. Of course I might except
old Fishing Teddy, that fellow you see away down there where the shade
is deepest," York added, to relieve the preachment he didn't want to
seem to be giving, yet really wanted this girl to understand. "He's a
hermit-crab and seldom comes among us. Every community has its
characters, you know."

"He was among us last night, and went home with Joe Thomson," Jerry
replied, looking with curious interest at the motionless brown figure
up-stream in the shadow of a tall earth bank.

York gave a start and stared at the girl in surprise. "How do you know?
Did the Big Dipper come calling on you? That sort of information is in
the Great Bear's line."

Jerry flushed hotly as she remembered her promise not to tell of Mrs.
Bahrr's call. In a dim sort of way she felt herself entangled for the
moment. Then she looked full at York, with deep, honest eyes, saying,
simply:

"Joe Thomson was calling on me last night, and I saw this old fellow,
Hans Theodore, Joe named him, waiting on the driveway, and the two went
away together, a pair of aces."

"How do you know, fair lady, that this is the same creature? And how do
you happen to know Joe Thomson?" York inquired, blandly, veiling his
curious interest with indifference.

"I happened to meet both of these country gentlemen on a certain day. In
fact, I dined _al fresco_ with one when I was riding in my chariot,
incognito, alone, unattended by gallant outriders, about my blank blank
rural estate in the heart of the Sage Brush country of Kansas. The
'blank blank' stands for a term not profane at all, but one I never wan