hs and sheets and pillow-slips to his little Ann Eliza
when she gets a husband what's a good provider, is fixed jest as it hed
ought to be. What I want now is a postscript."

"Another codicil? Very well."

He made note of her wishes concerning a cherished feather bed which it
had struck her was too good for that "shiftless coot," Cousin Phoebe's
husband, to lie upon, and, bidding her bring her witnesses on the
morrow, bustled the will into his safe and fell upon his papers after
the manner of all lawyer kind since Chaucer's sergeant of the law who
"semed besier than he was."

The widow eyed his movements placidly.

"In a stew to hev me go?" she asked.

"Of course not," Shelby protested. "What put that in your head?"

"Your squirmin' round. Seein' I'm entirely welcome, I'll set a piece."

Shelby restrained the delight he said he felt and returned to his
papers under her relentless scrutiny.

"Telegraphs of congratulashun, I s'pose," the visitor presently
observed.

"Yes; my friends are rejoicing with me."

"Everybody tickled?"

"All but the common enemy, I trust."

"I ain't hed a chance to go about much and ask," said the widow, with a
preliminary sniff; "but I've met some as wa'n't tickled or enemies
neither."

"No? Well, after all, this isn't paradise, but New York politics."

"At Tompkins's--I alluz go to him for my Oolong--I heard that Doc
Crandall won't vote for you after your dead set at the place. He's one
of your party, isn't he?"

"Yes. The doctor is one of us. Good fellow, too."

"And at Brady's, where I get my corn meal, I heard somebody say you've
got the Irish down on you."

"Oh, I hope not," returned the candidate, cheerfully. "They're a most
respectable and industrious factor in our town's life. I like the
Irish."

"I s'pose."

He searched her face and concluded that her irony was unconscious; she
undeceived him.

"Butter wouldn't melt in your mouth now you're runnin' for office," she
said, laboring to her feet. "I'm s'prised you hevn't wings."

Shelby affected to relish the hoary jest, and escorted her gayly to the
door. "I'll look for you to-morrow," he assured her.

"Don't strain your eyes," said the widow.

The Hon. Seneca Bowers passed her on the stairs. Greeting the lawyer,
he seated himself behind the clerk's back, with a meaning slant of his
Grant-like head.

Shelby understood. "Leave those notices of trial for the present,
William," he ordered, "and g