onded the boy, leisurely.

"I suppose so. Are there two Edens around here?"

"Nope; just Eden Village."

"Well, where is that, how far is it, and how do I get there?"

"About eight miles," answered the boy. "I kin take you there."

Wade viewed the discouraged-looking, flea-bitten gray horse dubiously.
"Are you sure?" he asked. "Have you ever driven that horse eight miles
in one day?"

"Well, I guess! There ain't a better horse in town than he is."

"How long will it take?"

"Oh, about an hour; hour an' a half; two hours--"

"Hold on! That's enough. This isn't exactly a sight-seeing expedition,
son. We'll compromise on an hour and a half; what do you say?"

The boy examined the prospective passenger silently. Then he looked at
the horse. Then he cocked an eye at the sun. Finally he nodded his head.

"All right," he said. Wade deposited his satchel in the carriage and
referred to an address written on the back of a letter.

"Now, where does Mr. Rufus Lightener do business?"

"Over there at the bank."

"Good. And where can I get something to eat?"

"Stand up or sit down?"

"Well, preferably 'sit down.'"

"Railroad Hotel. Back there about a block. Dinner, fifty cents."

"I certainly am glad I found you," said Wade. "I don't know what I'd
have done in this great city without your assistance. Now you take me
over to the bank. After that we'll pay a visit to the hotel. You'd
better get something to eat yourself while I'm partaking of that
half-dollar banquet."

An hour later the journey began. Wade, fairly comfortable on the back
seat of the carryall, smoked his after-dinner pipe. The month was June,
there had been recent rains and the winding, dipping country road
presented new beauties to the eyes at every stage. Wade, fresh from the
mountains of Colorado, revelled in the softer and gentler loveliness
about him. The lush, level meadow, the soft contour of the distant
hills, the ever-present murmur and sparkle of running water delighted
him even while they brought homesick memories of his own native
Virginia. It was a relief to get away from the towering mountains, the
eternal blue of unclouded skies, the parched, arid miles of unclothed
mesa, the clang and rattle of ore cars and the incessant grinding of
quartz mills. Yes, it was decidedly pleasant to have a whole summer--if
he wanted it--in which to go where he liked, do what he liked. One might
do much worse, he reflected, than find some such spot as