claimed Justus, his laughing voice full
of reminiscent enthusiasm. "Thar war a big crowd at the Cross-Roads
ter hear the speakin', an' a toler'ble gatherin' at Sycamore Gap.
Everybody inquired partic'lar arter ye, an' whenst I tole 'em ye war
tuk sick, an' couldn't be thar, an' I war 'lectioneerin' in yer place,
they shuck han's, an' shuck han's. One ole man--ole Sam Coggins, up
ter Sims's Mill--says ter me, he says, 'I dunno yer brother, Justus
Hoxon; but blister my boots, ef I don't vote fur anybody ez air kin
ter you-uns, an' ez ye hev set yer heart on 'lectin' ter office.' An'
the way folks inquired arter ye, an'"--

"I ain't talkin' 'bout the 'lection," Wat broke in brusquely. "I war
axin' 'bout 'Dosia. She war"--he hesitated--"liable ter be glad ter
see ye, I reckon."

There was a note of surprise in his brother's voice from which Wat
shrank in sudden alarm. "Oh, _'Dosia_! Course she war glad. I seen her
jes' now, an' she told me ez ye hed kem down ter the lick ter git a
shot at the deer, bein' ez she hed 'lowed the venison war powerful
good 'bout now. I never stayed but a minute. I says, ''Dosia, ye an'
me hev got the rest o' our lives ter do our courtin' in, but this
'lection hev got ter be tended ter _now_, kase ef Wat ain't 'lected
it'll set him back all his life. Some folks 'low ez 't ain't perlite
an' respec'ful, nohow, fur pore folks like we-uns ter run fur office,
like ez ef we war good ez anybody.' An' 'Dosia she jes' hustled me
out'n the house. 'G'long! G'long! Do _everything_ 'bout'n the
'lection! Turn every stone! Time enough fur courtin' arterward! Time
enough!'"

Once more Justus laughed contentedly.

The man beside him stirred uneasily, then broke out irritably: "Waal,
_I'm_ powerful tired o' this 'lection foolishness, fur one. I wisht I
hed never let ye push an' boost me inter it. I reckon them war right
ez 'lowed pore folks like we-uns ain't fit ter run fur office, an'
ain't goin' ter git 'lected. I'd never hev dreamt o' sech ef it
hedn't been fur you-uns--never in this worl'." Walter's voice sunk
moodily, and he had a flouting gesture as he turned aside.

A vicarious ambition is the most ungrateful of passions. There was
something more than anger, than eager affection, than urgent reproach,
than prescient alarm, albeit all rang sharply forth, in his brother's
voice raised to reply; it was a keen note of helplessness, from which
Walter's nerves recoiled with a sense of pain, so insistently