eak her bones, and I would if I was strong enough," the
old man declared. "She kindled a fire with my spiritualist books. Are
you a spiritualist?"

"No, I'm merely an ordinary crank."

"Fool, you mean," said the old fellow. "A man that shuts his eyes to the
truth is a fool. See this?" He took from his pocket a pale photograph,
and handed it to Milford. "That's a picture of my wife, taken ten years
after the change. She came to see me not long ago, and I cut off a piece
of her dress. Here it is." From a pocketbook he took a piece of white
silk.

"They dress pretty well over there," said Milford, examining it.

"Yes. She wove it herself."

"Looks as if it might have been done by a fine machine."

"It was; it was woven in the loom of her mind. Over there, whatever the
mind wills is done. But you can't make fools understand it."

"I suppose not. What will become of the Dutch girl when she goes over?"

"They'll make a dray-horse of her. Here comes the old woman. She
pretends she don't believe in it. But she does. She can't help herself."

The old fellow hid his eggs. She looked at him sharply. "He'd rather
hear the cackle of a hen than a church organ," she said to Milford.

"Yes, it means more," the old man replied.

"Well, you won't rob my hens much longer. Your days are numbered."

"So are yours, ma'am."

"Now, don't you fret. I'll plant flowers on your grave."

"See that you don't plant hog-weeds."

"What difference will it make to you? Your soul will be gone. But what
will you do over there? You'd be out of place makin' silk dresses. If
you do make any send me one. I'll want it when I marry again."

"Why do you want to dress up to meet a fool?"

"Shut your rattle-trap. It will be a wise man that marries me. If Bill
here was a little older, I'd set my cap for him. Wouldn't I, Bill?"

"I don't doubt it. We can all set a trap for a fox, but it takes a
shrewd trapper to catch him."

The old man chuckled. She looked at him and said that he would have
been hauled off long ago, but that the devil didn't care to hitch up for
one--Yankee-like, wanting a load whenever he drove forth. "But before
you go, Lewson, I want you to promise me one thing,--that you will come
back. You've got me half-way into the notion that you can."

"I will come back the third night, ma'am," he replied, his voice
earnest. "When my body has been in the grave three days I will come back
to my room and meet you there."

Milford turn