amn shame, Wid, and you know it. I say I'm up against it right now."

"The real question, Sim, is what are folks going to say? There's
people in this valley that ain't a-going to stand it for you and that
girl to live there unless you're married. You know that."

"Of course I know that. But do you suppose I'd marry that girl even if
she was willing? No, sir, I wouldn't--not a-tall. It wouldn't be
right."

"Now listen, Sim. Leave it to me. I'd say that if you ever do want to
get married, Sim--and you got to if she stays here--why, here's the one
and only chancet of your whole life. Of course, if the girl wasn't
blind, she wouldn't never marry you. I don't believe any woman would,
real. The way she is, and can't see, maybe she will, after a while,
like, when she's gentled down, as you say. It looks like a act of
Providence to me."

"Well," said Sim, pondering, "I hadn't just thought of it that way. Do
you believe in them things--acts of Providence?"

"I don't believe in nothing much except we're going to get into camp
mighty late to-night. It's getting sundown, and I ain't keen to cut
wood in the dark."

"I'll tell you what, Wid," said Sim suddenly relenting. "You come on
down to our house to-night. I'll introduce you to her after all--Miss
Warren. It ain't no more'n fair, after all."

Wid only nodded. They pushed along up the road until finally they
arrived, within a few miles of their own homesteads, at the little
roadside store and postoffice kept by old Pop Bentley. They would have
pulled up here, but as they approached the dusty figure of the mail
carrier of that route came out, and held up a hand.

"Hold on, Sim," said he. "I heard at Nels Jensen's place that you had
gone down the river. Well, it's time you was gettin' back."

Sim Gage smiled with a sense of his own importance as he took the
letter, turning it over in his hand. "What's it say, Wid?" said he.

His neighbor looked at the inscription. "It's for her," said he.
"Miss Mary Warren, in care of Sim Gage, Two Forks, Montany."

"Who's it from?" said Sim. "Here's some writing on the back."

"From Annie B. Squires, 9527 Oakford Avenue, Cleveland, Ohio. But
listen----"

"That's the girl that Miss Warren told me about!" said Sim. "That's a
letter from her. I'd better be getting back."

"I just told you you had," said the mail driver, something of pity in
his tone. "I'm trying to tell you _why_ you had. Why I brought thi