night," he said, with some
disappointment. "I expected likely you'd have some you could say right
off. Fer a plain farmer, I don't s'pose there's anybody fonder'n I am of
verses," he said, musingly. "I b'lieve I told ye 'twas in our family. I
wish you could have met my uncle, Mis' Marriot, died on his
ninety-second birthday, and had writ a long piece on each birthday for a
matter of forty year. That ther man was talented, I tell ye. There
wasn't no occasion he couldn't write a piece onto. Why, the night Ma and
me was married (we was married in Ma's sister's parlor) we hadn't more'n
turned 'round from the minister, 'n before anybody had a chance t'
congratulate us, uncle, he steps right up in front of us, an' sez he:

'Now you are married, an' man an' wife
May you live happy this mortial life,
An' when your days on this earth is o'er
May you both meet together on the evergreen shore.'

"It come to him, jus' come to him that minute, like a flash," said the
old man, reflectively, the pathos of his sweet, tremulous voice lending
unspeakable melody to the preposterous stanza.

Mr. Hopper had evidently settled himself for the remainder of the
evening, and after a time Mr. Longworth bade us good-night, and went
across to the Bangs homestead.

All that night I tossed about on my uncomfortable feather-bed, or
rather, when I found I could not sleep, I rose after a time, and wrapped
in my dressing-gown, I sat by my tiny window, watching the shadows of
the wind-blown locust-boughs on the moonlit grass below, full of the
dreams which are the stuff that romances are made of, and which, though
I had often used them as "material," I had never known myself before;
shy and tender dreams they were, that glorified that summer night, and
kept me wakeful until dawn.

The next day and the next I was ill and feverish, so ill that I could
not rise. Mr. Longworth brought for me great bunches of choice flowers,
for which he must have sent Wilson to the next town of New Sidon, and a
dainty basket of fruit. The third day I rose and dressed toward noon,
and weak as I felt, I decided to walk down to the post-office, for I
thought perhaps the air would do me good, and beside, the mail was never
brought up until after dark, and I longed to find if Mr. ---- had
written me as I expected, about the manuscript. I knew he would be very
prompt with me.

I found several letters in the box for me, and eagerly scanning the
envelopes, I discovere