stay at the station being short, the attention of the
loungers near by and those resting themselves on boxes and barrels in
front of the stores across the road was turned determinatedly to us.
I looked at Selwyn. In his face was relief. In mine was anxiety
and, I'm afraid, disappointment. The situation was flat.

I had read various accounts of runaway marriages which had taken
place at Claxon, several of which had only succeeded after eluding
the sheriff, waiting under orders from irate parents to arrest them;
and feeling confident Mrs. Swink would wire the proper person to
prevent the marriage of her daughter, I looked around for the one
most likely to do the work. No one appeared. What if my plan had
failed and Madeleine, in my un-wedding garments, was to be taken into
custody in Shelby? I turned to Selwyn.

"Do you suppose--" My voice was low. A man close to me, with hands
in his pockets, hat on the back of his head, and his left cheek
lumpy, was looking at us appraisingly. "Do you suppose anything will
happen at Shelby? Nothing is happening here."

Selwyn's sigh of relief was long. "If nothing happens here I'll
thank God. To keep it out of the papers would have been impossible.
Stay here while I see if there is a decent hotel." He looked around
speculatively. In the distance a man could be seen on horseback
coming down the road which wound from the top of a mountain to the
valley below, while at our left a covered ox-cart, a farm wagon, and
a Ford car were waiting for their owners. Nothing in which we could
ride, however, was seemingly in sight. A sudden desire to go
somewhere, do something, possessed me. The day was mild, and the air
clean and clear and calling, and the sunshine brilliant. It was a
beautiful day. We must go somewhere.

For weeks I had been face to face with cruel conditions of life, had
seen hardships and denials and injustices, and dreary monotony of
days, and I wanted for a while to get away from it all, to breathe
deep of that which would renew and reinforce and revitalize; wanted
to be a child again, and, with Selwyn as my playmate, wander along
the winding road with faces to the sun, and hearts of hope, and faith
that God would not forget, and the world would yet be well. If
nobody was going to do anything to us, if we were not needed to play
a part, the hours ahead could be ours. The train on which we were to
return did not leave until three-thirty. I looked at my wa