Sam wondered. "I was always too much a coward to say a word to you,"
he began. And then an awful doubt sat on his soul.

"Nory," he resumed solemnly, "did ever any feller say anything to you
about my--I-I-I--well, my lovin' you?"

"I should say not!" said Nora. "I'd a' slapped his face, mighty quick!
What business--"

"Not never a single one?" said Sam, his face brightening.

"No, 'ndeed. Why, I'd like to know? Did you ever ask any one to!"

"I should say not!" said Sam, with the only lie he ever told, and one
most admirable. "I should say not!" he repeated with emphasis, and in
tones which carried conviction even to himself.

"You'd better not!" said Nora. "I wouldn't of had you if they had!"

Sam started. "What's that, Nory?" he said. "Say that ag'in! Did you
say you wouldn't of _had_ me--you wouldn't _of_?" His hand found hers
again.

"Yes," faltered Nora, seeing herself entrapped by her own speech.

"Then, Nory," said Sam firmly, casting a big arm about her waist, "if
you wouldn't _of_ had me then, I reckon now you _do_." And neither
from this subtlety nor from the sturdy arm did Nora seek evasion,
though she tugged faintly at the fingers which held fast her waist.

"I don't care," she murmured vaguely. "There ain't no coward would of
done it!" Whereat Sam, seeing himself a hero, wisely accepted fate and
ceased to argue. The big arm tightened manfully, and into his blue
eyes came the look of triumph.

"Nory," whispered he loyally, "I'll never work my airs ag'in for any
woman in the world but you!"

CHAPTER XXXV

THE HILL OF DREAMS

Franklin found himself swept along with a tide of affairs other than of
his own choosing. His grasp on the possibilities of the earliest days
of this new civilization had been so full and shrewd that he needed now
but to let others build the house whose foundation he had laid. This
in effect has been the history of most men who have become wealthy, the
sum of one man's efforts being in no great disparity actually superior
to those of his fellow-man.

Yet Franklin cared little for mere riches, his ambition ceasing at that
point where he might have independence, where he might be himself, and
where he might work out unfettered the problems of his own
individuality. Pursued by a prosperity which would not be denied, his
properties growing up about him, his lands trebling in value within a
year and his town property rising steadily in value, he somet