woman.

"Of course,--when--" I began.

"We've got to do something in the next six months," she warned. And now
she made the six months seem six minutes.

I had at my tongue's end something about the danger of dragging her down
into misfortune; but before speaking I looked at her, and, looking,
refrained. To say it to _her_ would have been too absurd,--to her who
had been left a widow with nothing at all, who had educated me for
college, and who had helped me through my first year there,--helped me
with money, I mean. But for what she gave besides, more, immeasurably
more,--but for her courage in me and round me and under me,--I'd never
have got my degree or anything else, I fear. To call that courage help
would be like saying the mainspring helps the watch to go. I looked at
her. "They can't kill me, can they?" said I, with a laugh which sounded
so brave that it straightway made me brave.

So it was settled.

But that was the first step in a fight I can't remember even now without
a sinking at the heart. The farmers of Jackson County, of which Pulaski
was the county seat, found in litigation their chief distraction from
the stupefying dullness of farm life in those days of pause, after the
Indian and nature had been conquered and before the big world's arteries
of thought and action had penetrated. The farmers took eagerly to
litigation to save themselves from stagnation. Still, a new lawyer,
especially if he was young, had an agonizing time of it convincing their
slow, stiff, suspicious natures that he could be trusted in such a
crisis as "going to law."

To make matters worse I fell in love.

* * * * *

Once--it was years afterward, though not many years ago--Burbank, at the
time governor, was with me, and we were going over the main points for
his annual message. One of my suggestions--my orders to all my agents,
high and low, have always been sugar-coated as "suggestions"--started a
new train of thought in him, and he took pen and paper to fix it before
it had a chance to escape. As he wrote, my glance wandered along the
shelves of the book-cases. It paused on the farthest and lowest shelf. I
rose and went there, and found my old school-books, those I used when I
was in Public School Number Three, too near thirty years ago!

In the shelf one book stood higher than the others--tall and thin and
ragged, its covers torn, its pages scribbled, stained and dog-eared.
Looking throu