hese down
here who don't know that you and I are alive. They are polite and decent
and civilized. Lord! somehow it makes me sick to think of living on
here, but I reckon I will. Say, did you ever notice the stunning little
cottage that Sam put up for Pete Carrol on the right-hand side of the
street as you go down? But never mind that. What would you think if I
was to tell you that before very long I might--" John was stalled. How
could he express by mere lip and tongue the transcendental thing which
so completely filled him?

"What are you trying to get through yourself?" It was another of the
child's picked-up expressions, and she leaned toward him with a slow
leer of wonder. "What is your great secret?"

"I was coming to it," he said, his words falling steadily now. "But you
mustn't tell it to a living soul. Kid, I'm thinking about getting
married."

"Married--you? Huh!" Dora laughed incredulously as she plucked a pin
from her lips. "Why, you are too young! I heard your ma say it would be
ten years before you ever thought of it, even if you did then, you old
goody-goody poke of a boy."

"I'm not too young." John flared up resentfully. "Sam says I'm not, and
he ought to know. It isn't settled yet, but it will be when I get back
up there. Sam says it is as good as settled now, and Sam is in a
position to know. Oh, she is all right, kid--believe me, she is a
wonder! I wish you could see her. She wouldn't turn up her nose at you
like some folks do around here. She is sweet and kind and gentle. They
are working her to death up there--her folks are, but all that will be
off when I bring her down here?"

"Are you in earnest--really dead in earnest?" Dora asked, her face still
blank.

"I am, and I don't want a word said about it. It is none of my mother's
business, you understand. She might try to pry into it and I want her to
keep out of it. This is my affair--mine and nobody's else. Sam knows it,
and you, but that's all."

"I won't tell it," Dora, now convinced, declared earnestly. "I'll never
tell it till you let me. Have you got a picture of her?"

"No, she's got some, but she never gave me one-- I never asked for it.
They are not good enough, nohow. They make her look too glum and pinched
about the eyes. To know what she is like, you have to see her and hear
her talk, or read the Bible out loud at prayer-time. She isn't big; her
hands and feet are nearly as little as yours are; but above all else in
the world,