for
their own man. The bar could not be opened until after five o'clock,
when the voting was over, but after that there was nothing to prevent
good-fellowship abounding.

It did abound all night. There was a bonfire in front of the hotel
when the returns began to come in, for Sandy was winning easily, and
Sandy certainly showed his gratitude for the way the boys had stood
by him.

Mrs. Cavers and Libby Anne waited all that long night. They tried to
keep up each other's courage, making all sorts of excuses for Mr.
Cavers's absence. Mrs. Cavers knew, but she did not tell Libby Anne,
that he was going to cash the wheat-tickets that he had saved for the
trip, for the train went so early in the morning he was afraid he
might not have time then.

Libby Anne went again and again into the little bedroom to look at
the trunk already strapped. Surely people always went if the trunk
was strapped, and she tried and tried to feel what it was like
yesterday.

Just as the sun was rising on the first day of December ushering in
the first day of the winter excursions, they heard him coming. He was
coming with the Thomas boys, who were often his companions on similar
occasions. Some one had loaded them up and started them for home,
trusting to a drunken man's luck not to get killed.

Round the turn of the road they came singing, and Libby Anne and her
mother listened with sinking hearts as the sound came nearer and
nearer:

"Who's the best man in this town?
Sandy Braden, Sandy Braden."

they sang, putting the words to that good old rollicking Scotch tune
of "Highland Laddie."

Bill fell out of the waggon at the door. He was covered with dirt,
his clothes were torn, and one eye was blackened, but he was in a
genial mood, and tried to dance on the door-step. They got him in at
last and put him to bed, where he slept profoundly until the next
afternoon. He brought home out of his wheat-tickets thirty-five cents
and the half of a dollar bill--the other half was torn away!

Libby Anne did not shed a tear until she saw her mother unstrap the
trunk to get out something, and then suddenly all the strength went
out of the lithe little arms that had carried the sheaves so bravely,
and she fell in a little heap on the floor, sobbing out strangely.

Her mother gathered her up in her arms and rocked her for a long time
in the rocking-chair, crooning over her queer little rambling tunes
without meaning; only once she spoke, and then