ling by, covering him with dust and making him sneeze. When one of
the farmers pulled up and offered to give him a lift, he clambered in
willingly. The driver was a thin, grizzled old man with a long lean
neck and a foolish sort of beard, like a goat's. "How fur ye goin'?" he
asked, as he clucked to his horses and started off.

"Do you go by the Ericson place?"

"Which Ericson?" The old man drew in his reins as if he expected to stop
again.

"Preacher Ericson's."

"Oh, the Old Lady Ericson's!" He turned and looked at Nils. "La, me! If
you're goin' out there you might a' rid out in the automobile. That's a
pity, now. The Old Lady Ericson was in town with her auto. You might 'a'
heard it snortin' anywhere about the post-office er the butcher shop."

"Has she a motor?" asked the stranger absently.

"'Deed an' she has! She runs into town every night about this time for
her mail and meat for supper. Some folks say she's afraid her auto won't
get exercise enough, but I say that's jealousy."

"Aren't there any other motors about here?"

"Oh, yes! we have fourteen in all. But nobody else gets around like
the Old Lady Ericson. She's out, rain er shine, over the whole county,
chargin' into town and out amongst her farms, an' up to her sons'
places. Sure you ain't goin' to the wrong place?" He craned his neck and
looked at Nils' flute case with eager curiosity. "The old woman ain't
got any piany that I knows on. Olaf, he has a grand. His wife's musical:
took lessons in Chicago."

"I'm going up there tomorrow," said Nils imperturbably. He saw that the
driver took him for a piano tuner.

"Oh, I see!" The old man screwed up his eyes mysteriously. He was a
little dashed by the stranger's noncommunicativeness, but he soon broke
out again.

"I'm one o' Miss Ericson's tenants. Look after one of her places. I did
own the place myself once, but I lost it a while back, in the bad years
just after the World's Fair. Just as well, too, I say. Lets you out o'
payin' taxes. The Ericsons do own most of the county now. I remember
the old preacher's favorite text used to be, 'To them that hath shall be
given.' They've spread something wonderful--run over this here country
like bindweed. But I ain't one that begretches it to 'em. Folks is
entitled to what they kin git; and they're hustlers. Olaf, he's in the
Legislature now, and a likely man fur Congress. Listen, if that ain't
the old woman comin' now. Want I should stop her?"

Nils s