no more. That's hard for you to understand, ain't it? And yet that
sort of feelin' catches almost any man out here, sooner or later, if
he's any good. It's the country, ma'am."

A strange spell seemed now to fall upon Constance herself, as she sat
gazing out in the sunlight. She felt the fatalism, the unconcern of a
child, of a young creature. She understood perfectly all that she had
heard, and was ready to listen further.

"Of course," continued Tom, "this, bein' South, and bein' West, it
ain't really a part of the United States; so I can't save the whole
country. But, such as this part of the country is, I reckon I'll have
to save it. You'll see my name wrote on tablets in marble halls some
day; because I've got a hard job. I've got to reconcile these folks to
your dad! And yet I'm going to make 'em say, 'Now is the winter of our
discontent made glorious summer by this son-of-a-gun from New York.'
You didn't know I read Shakespeare? Why, I read him constant, even if
I do have to wear specs now for fine print."

Constance, in spite of herself, laughed outright with so merry a peal
that she wakened her father from his slumber. "What's that? What's
that?" broke in Mr. Ellsworth, suddenly sitting up on his blankets.

"Never mind, friend," said Tom Osby, "you go back to sleep again; me
and Miss Constance is savin' things. I was just talkin' to her about
her railroad."

Ellsworth rubbed his eyes. "By Jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, "that's a
good idea. It shall be hers if she says so. I'll give her every share
I own if that road ever runs into the valley."

"Now you are beginnin' to _talk_," said Tom Osby, calmly. "Not that
you'd be givin' her much; for you and your lawyer wouldn't be able to
get the railroad in there in a thousand years. The girl can play a
heap stronger game than both of you."

"Well, if she can," responded Ellsworth, "she's going to have a good
chance to do it. We're going to build the railroad on north, and we
don't feel like hauling coal down that canon by wagon."

Tom Osby seemed to have pursued his game as far as he cared to do at
this time. "S'pose we stop along somewhere in here," he suggested,
"and eat a little lunch? My horses gets hungry, and thirsty, the same
as you, Mr. Ellsworth. Whoa, boys!"

Descending from his high seat, he now unhitched his team and strapped
on their heads the nose-bags with the precious oats, after a pail of
not less precious water from the