nd glide
round him on her way. Crosson would laugh aloud, bravely, but afterward
he would turn and stare at her solemnly enough when she resumed her
letter and strolled on in the rosy cloud of her communion with her
far-off "fellow."

One day Crosson had to run after her, because when she thought she was
turning into her own yard her absent mind led her to unlatch the gate to
a pasture where a muley cow with a scandalous temper was waiting for her
with swaying head.

Irene laughed at her escape, with an unusual mirth for her. She
explained it by seizing Crosson's sleeve and exclaiming:

"Oh, Eddie, such good news from Drury you never heard! He's got a
position with a jewelry-store, the biggest in Chicago. And they put him
in the designing department at ten dollars a week, and they say he's got
a future. Isn't it simply glorious?"

She held Crosson while she read the young man's hallelujahs. They
sounded to Crosson like a funeral address.

Irene's mother was even prouder of Drury's success than the daughter
was. She bragged now of the wedding she had dreaded before. Finally
Irene proclaimed the glorious truth that Drury's salary had been boosted
again and they would wait no longer for wealth. He was awful busy, and
so he'd just run down for a couple of days and marry her and run back
with her to Chicago and jewelry. This arrangement ended Irene's mother's
dreams of a fine wedding and relieved the townspeople of the expense of
wedding-presents.

The sudden announcement of the wedding shocked Crosson. He endured a
jealousy whose intensity surprised him in retrospect. He endured a good
deal of humor, too, from village cut-ups, who teased him because his
best girl was marrying the other fellow.

Crosson felt a need of solitude and a fierce desire to kill something.
He got his abandoned gun and went hunting to wear out his wrath. He wore
himself out, at least. He shot savagely at all sorts of life. He
followed one flitting, sarcastic blue-jay with a voice like a village
cut-up, all the way home without getting near enough to shoot.

He came down the long hill with the sunset, bragging to himself that he
was reconciled to Irene's marriage with anybody she'd a mind to.

He could see her from a distance, sitting on the porch alone. She was
all dressed up and rocking impatiently. Evidently the train was late
again, as always. From where he was, Crosson could see the track winding
around the hills like a little metal br