han ever," Jane said when they had clasped hands.
"Will you ever grow old, O-liver?"

"The men say not." He seated himself opposite her. "Jane, Jane, it's
heavenly to see you. I've been--starved!"

She had hungered and thirsted for him. Her hand shook a little as she
poured him a cup of coffee.

"I told you not to come, O-liver."

He laid the telegram before her. Fluffy Hair was dead!

The yellow sheet lay between, defying them to speak so soon of
happiness.

"To-morrow," O-liver said, "I go to Washington. When will you come to
me, Jane?"

Her hand went out to him. Her breath was quick. "In time to hear your
first speech, O-liver. I'll sit in the gallery, and lean over and listen
and say to myself, 'He's mine, he's mine!'"

She heard many speeches in the months that followed, and sometimes Tommy
or Atwood or Henry, traveling across the continent, came and sat beside
her. And Atwood always clung to his prophecy: "He'll be governor next;
and then it'll be the White House. Why not?"

And Jane, dreaming, asked herself "Why?"

The East had had its share. Had the time not come for a nation to seek
its leader in the golden West?

LADY CRUSOE

Billy and I came down from the North and opened a grocery store at
Jefferson Corners. It is a little store and there aren't many houses
near it--just the railroad station and a big shed or two. Beyond the
sheds a few cabins straggle along the road, and then begin the great
plantations, which really aren't plantations any more, because nobody
around here raises much of anything in these days. They just sit and
sigh over the things that are different since the war.

That's what Billy says about them. Billy is up-to-date and he has a
motor-cycle. He made up his mind when he came that he was going to put
some ginger into the neighborhood. So he rides miles every morning on
his motor-cycle to get orders, and he delivers the things himself unless
it is barrels of flour or cans of kerosene or other heavy articles, and
then he hires somebody to help him. At first he had William Watters and
his mule. William is black and his mule is gray, and they are both old.
It took them hours to get anywhere, and I used to feel sorry for them.
But when I found out that compared to Billy and me they lived on flowery
beds of ease, I stopped sympathizing. They both have enough, to eat, and
they work only when they want to. Billy and I work all the time. We have
our way to make in the worl