er." And he looked thoughtfully at Anna Barly. He saw her in the
form of acres of land, live stock, farm buildings, and money in the
bank. "Molasses," he thought; "yes, sir, molasses. Maple sugar." But
when he looked at his son Thomas, he frowned. "Go on," he wanted to
say, "go on, you slowpoke."

Farmer Barly also frowned at Thomas Frye. He felt that he was being
hurried. "She's well enough where she is," he thought. "She's young
yet. A year or two more . . ."

"Well," said Mr. Crabbe, "I look forward to the day." And he waved his
hand kindly in the air. "It's your move, Mr. F."

Mr. Frye arose, and walked toward the door, where Thomas was bidding
Anna good-by. "See you to-night," Thomas whispered; "heh, Anna?"

"Please yourself," said Anna. And off she went, without looking at Mr.
Frye, who had come to speak to her. When she was gone, Mr. Frye gave
his son a keen glance. In it was both curiosity and malice. But
Thomas turned away. It seemed to him that women must have been easier
to understand when his father was young. For no one could understand
them now.

While the storekeeper's back was turned, Mr. Crabbe rearranged the
checkerboard. He took up two of Mr. Frye's men and put them in his
pocket. Then he winked at Mr. Barly, as though to say: "I'm just a
leetle too smart for him."

Farmer Barly winked back. It amused him to have Mr. Frye beaten
unfairly. Mr. Frye wanted to get his daughter away from him. "Well,"
he said in his mind, to Mr. Frye, "just go easy. Just go easy, Mr.
Frye." And he winked again at Mr. Crabbe. "That's right," he said,
"give it to him."

When Mr. Jeminy left Anna, at the edge of the village, he went to call
on Grandmother Ploughman. He found her in the company of old Mrs.
Crabbe, who had brought her knitting over, for society's sake. Mrs.
Ploughman received him with quiet dignity, due to a sense of the wrong
she had suffered, for which she blamed Mrs. Wicket, and the Democratic
Party. Mr. Ploughman, she often said, had been a good Republican all
his life. Unfortunately, he was dead; otherwise, things would have
been different.

It seemed to her that the country was being run by a set of villains.
"The world is in a bad way," she declared. "I don't know what we're
coming to." And an expression of bleak satisfaction illuminated her
face, wrinkled with age.

"Yes," said Mr. Jeminy, "these are unhappy times. I am afraid we are
leaving behind us a diff