ce the only possible boarding place lay
almost a mile below Sim Gage's ranch. She had been the only applicant
for this school, and perhaps was the only living being who could have
contented herself in that capacity in this valley. Wid Gardner pulled
at the edge of his broken hat as he stepped down the narrow road to
meet her.

"'Morning, Mis' Davidson," said he.

"Good morning, Mr. Gar-r-r-dner," boomed out the great voice of Mrs.
Davidson. "It is apparently promising us fair weather, sir-r-r."

Mrs. Davidson spoke with a certain singular rotund exactness, and hence
was held much in awe in all these parts.

"Yes, ma'am," said Wid, "it looks like it would rain, but it won't."

"Your hay in that case would not flourish so well, Mr. Gar-r-r-dner?"
said she.

"Without rain, not worth a damn, ma'am, so to speak. But I'll get by
if any one can. This is one of the best locations in the valley. Me
and Sim Gage; and Sim, he says----"

"Sim Gage!" The lady snorted her contempt of the very name. "That man!
Altogether impossible!"

"He shore is. He certainly is," assented Wid Gardner. "He seems to be
getting impossible-er almost every year, now, don't he?"

"I do not care to discuss Mr. Gage," replied the apostle of learning.
"I was in his abode once. I should never care to go there again."

Already she was leaning partially forward, ponderously, as about to
resume her journey toward the school house.

"Well, now, Sim Gage," began Wid, raising a restraining hand, "he ain't
so bad as you might think, ma'am. He's just kind of fell into this way
of living."

"Mr. Gar-r-r-dner," said the lady positively, "I doubt if he has made a
bed or washed a dish in twenty years. His place is worse than an
Indian camp. I have taught schools among the savages myself, in
Government service, and therefore I may speak with authority."

"Well, now, ma'am, I reckon that's all true. But you see, if more
women come out in here, now, things'd be different. I been thinking of
Sim Gage, ma'am. I wanted you to do something fer me, or him, ma'am."

"Indeed?" demanded she. "And what may that be?"

"I don't mean nothing in the world that ain't perfectly all right,"
began Wid, hesitatingly. "I only wanted you to write something fer me.
I'm this kind of a man, that when he wants anything to be fixed up, he
wants it to be fixed up right. I kind of got out of practice writing.
I want you to write a ad fer me."

"A what?" she dem