He noticed how
disdainfully the rains of the new year beat down the grasses of the
year that was gone. It opened to his mind a vision of the season's
possibilities. For a moment, even amid the smoke of the car, he seemed
to scent clover, and hear the stiff swishing of the corn and the dull
burring of the bees.

"I wish sometimes," he said, leaning forward to look at his bride, "that
I had been born something else than a farmer. But I can no more help
farming, Annie, than a bird can help singing, or a bee making honey. I
didn't take to farming. I was simply born with a hoe in my hand."

"I don't know a blessed thing about it," Annie confessed. "But I made up
my mind that a farm with you was better than a town without you. That's
all there is to it, as far as I am concerned."

Jim Lancy slid his arm softly about her waist, unseen by the other
passengers. Annie looked up apprehensively, to see if any one was
noticing. But they were eating their lunches. It was a common coach on
which they were riding. There was a Pullman attached to the train, and
Annie had secretly thought that, as it was their wedding journey, it
might be more becoming to take it. But Jim had made no suggestion about
it. What he said later explained the reason.

"I would have liked to have brought you a fine present," he said. "It
seemed shabby to come with nothing but that little ring. But I put
everything I had on our home, you know. And yet, I'm sure you'll think
it poor enough after what you've been used to. You'll forgive me for
only bringing the ring, my dear?"

"But you brought me something better," Annie whispered. She was a
foolish little girl. "You brought me love, you know." Then they rode
in silence for a long time. Both of them were new to the phraseology of
love. Their simple compliments to each other were almost ludicrous. But
any one who might have chanced to overhear them would have been charmed,
for they betrayed an innocence as beautiful as an unclouded dawn.

Annie tried hard not to be depressed by the treeless stretches of the
Nebraska plains.

"This is different from Illinois," she ventured once, gently; "it is
even different from Iowa."

"Yes, yes," cried Jim, enthusiastically, "it is different! It is the
finest country in the world! You never feel shut in. You can always see
off. I feel at home after I get in Nebraska. I'd choke back where you
live, with all those little gullies and the trees everywhere. It's a
mystery