ot say that the woman in the
case was hardly worth troubling over, and, for the life of him, he
could think of nothing else in the way of consolation. He discreetly
cleared his throat a second time, and maintained a masterly silence.
But the garrulous old man at his side needed no encouragement. He
quickly resumed his discourse, with a certain unctuous enjoyment,
distinctly inconsistent with his love-lorn pose.

"Seth Jones," he announced solemnly, "if you-all an' me was young
ag'in, an' fired by the passion o' youth, thar wouldn't be no
love-feast hyar jest now like this un. No, sirree! Hit'd shore be war
a-twixt we-uns--with hell a-poppin' at the end on't fer one, mebby
both. But my blood don't git het up now the way hit use' to did. I'm
thinkin' fer the widder's sake hit's good ye're younger ner me, an'
got more years to give 'er. So, Mr. Jones, when all's said an' done,
I'm glad ye come to Guarding Creek."

Then, Uncle Dick, in his turn, displayed some slight symptoms of
embarrassment, and cleared his throat in a manner to shock a
drawing-room.

"An' now I got jest one leetle favor to ax o' ye, Seth Jones. You-all
knows as how the gals in this-hyar kentry air partic'lar proud to have
a weddin' ring made from the gold washed out o' the soil in Pleasant
Valley by their sweetheart. Wall, I talked a heap 'bout hit to Fanny,
an', when she showed signs like she'd give in to me, I went an' panned
the gold fer the ring. Fanny'd be right-smart disapp'inted not to have
a lover-made ring, I reckon. So, bein' as you-all only got one arm, I
wants ye to take this-hyar ring, an' wed her proper with the blessin'
an' best wishes o' Uncle Dick Siddon."

He offered the ring, which was gratefully accepted, and the two old
men parted on excellent terms.

* * * * *

At eleven o'clock the next morning, Uncle Dick was sitting on the
porch, when he saw a horse passing over the trail toward the south. In
the saddle was the erect, spruce figure of the one-armed veteran, Seth
Jones. And, on a blanket strapped behind the saddle to serve as
pillion, rode a woman, with her arms clasped around the man's waist.
It was the Widow Brown, dressed all in gala white.

It was, indeed, heigh-ho for the parson!

Uncle Dick stared fixedly until the two had vanished beyond the brow
of the hill. Then, at last, he stirred, and his eyes roved over his
home and its surroundings wistfully. He sighed heavily. But