ckoned my chances
would be better to see him along with a cheerful, chipper fellow
like you. I didn't, of course, kalkilate on this," he added, pointing
dejectedly to the ruins.

The editor gasped; then a sudden conception of the unrivaled absurdity
of the situation flashed upon him,--of his passively following the
amiable idiot at his side in order to contemplate, by the falling rain
and lonely night, a heap of sodden ruins, while the coach was speeding
to Summit Springs and shelter, and, above all, the reason WHY he was
invited,--until, putting down his bag, he leaned upon his stick, and
laughed until the tears came to his eyes.

At which his companion visibly brightened. "I told you so," he said
cheerfully; "I knew you'd be able to take it--and the old man--in THAT
WAY, and that would have fetched him round."

"For Heaven's sake! don't talk any more," said the editor, wiping his
eyes, "but try to remember if you ever had any neighbors about here
where we can stay tonight. We can't walk to Summit Springs, and we can't
camp out on these ruins."

"There didn't use to be anybody nearer than the Springs."

"But that was five years ago, you say," said the editor impatiently;
"and although your father probably moved away after the house burned
down, the country's been thickly settled since then. That field has been
lately planted. There must be another house beyond. Let's follow the
trail a little farther."

They tramped along in silence, this time the editor leading. Presently
he stopped. "There's a house--in there--among the trees," he said,
pointing. "Whose is it?"

The stranger shook his head dubiously. Although apparently unaffected by
any sentimental consideration of his father's misfortune, the spectacle
of the blackened ruins of the homestead had evidently shaken his
preconceived plans. "It wasn't there in MY time," he said musingly.

"But it IS there in OUR time," responded the editor briskly, "and I
propose to go there. From what you have told me of your father--even if
his house were still standing--our chances of getting supper and a bed
from him would be doubtful! I suppose," he continued as they moved on
together, "you left him in anger--five years ago?"

"Ye-es."

"Did he say anything as you left?"

"I don't remember anything particular that he SAID."

"Well, what did he DO?"

"Shot at me from the window!"

"Ah!" said the young editor softly. Nevertheless they walked on for some
time in sil