rom wearin' an apron, and the gents what takes their
food there steady treats her like a perfect lady. New York is a big
place; but she's getting so she knows her way around quite well now,
and it would seem funny to go back to a little one-horse burg like
Colby.

And that's all. Nothin' about her bein' Wilbur's on demand, or
anything of that kind. Course, it's an antique old yarn; but it was
all fresh to Wilbur. Not bein' much of a letter writer, he keeps on
feedin' the hogs punctual, and hoein' the corn, and waitin' for more
news. But there's nothin' doin'.

"Then," says he, "I got to thinkin' and thinkin', and this fall, being
as how I was coming as far east as Chicago on a shipper's pass, I
reckons I'd better keep right on here, hunt Zylphina up, and take her
back with me."

The way he tells it was real earnest, and at some points them whey
coloured eyes of his moistens up good an' dewy; but he finishes strong
and smilin'. You wouldn't guess, though, that any corn fed romance
like that would stir up such a blood as Pinckney? A few months back he
wouldn't have listened farther'n the preamble; but now he couldn't have
been more interested if this was a case of Romeo Astor and Juliet
Dupeyster.

"Shorty," says he, "can't we do something to help Mr. Cobb find this
young lady?"

"Do you mean it," says I, "or are you battin' up a josh?"

He means it, all right. He spiels off a lot of gush about the joy of
unitin' two lovin' hearts that has got strayed; so I asks Wilbur if he
can furnish any description of Zylphina. Sure, he can. He digs up a
leather wallet from his inside pocket and hands out a tintype of Miss
Beck, one of these portraits framed in pale pink paper, taken by a
wagon artist that had wandered out to the junction.

Judgin' by the picture, Zylphina must have been a sure enough
prairie-rose. She's wearin' her hair loose over her shoulders, and a
genuine Shy Ann hat, one of those ten-inch brims with the front pinned
back. The pug nose and the big mouth wa'n't just after the Venus
model; but it's likely she looked good to Wilbur. I takes one squint
and hands it back.

"Nix, never!" says I. "I've seen lots of fairies on 42d-st., but none
like that. Put it back over your heart, Wilbur, and try an ad. in the
lost column."

But Pinckney ain't willin' to give up so easy. He says how Mr. Cobb
has come more'n a thousand miles on this tender mission, and it's up to
us to do our best towards h