n guy down there, a Major or
something. They're watching the head engineer for the Company, I
believe. No one knows who's who. A heap of things has happened that
oughtn't to happen, but looks like Washington was getting on the game.

"Well, I got to go over home and look around," he concluded. "We've
got to do some building before long--you got to get up another house
and barn, and so have I."

"I don't see why," said Sim Gage bitterly. "I ain't got nothing to put
into a barn, ner I ain't got no cows to feed no hay to neither. I
could of sold the Government plenty hay this fall if I'd had any, but
now how could I, without no horses and no money to get none? I'm run
down mighty low, Wid, and that's the truth. Mrs. Jensen can't stay
along here always, though Lord knows what we would a-done if she hadn't
come now. One thing's sure--_She_ ain't a-goin' to stay here lessen
things straightens out. You know who I mean."

Wid nodded, his face grave under its grizzled stubble. "Yes," said he.

"Say," he added, suddenly. "You know that letter we got fer her? Now,
if that girl that wrote it, that Annie Squires, could come out here and
get into this here game, why, how would that be? You reckon she would?"

"Naw, she wouldn't come," said Sim Gage. "But, say, that reminds me--I
never did tell _her_ about that letter."

"Better take it in to her," said Wid, turning away.

He walked towards the gate. After Sim had seen him safely in the
distance he went with laggard step toward the door of his own home.

Mary Warren was not asleep. It was her voice, not loud, which greeted
his timid tapping at the half-burned door frame.

"Come in. Who is it?"

"It's me, ma'am," said he; and entered a little at a time.

He might have seen the faint color rise to her cheek as she drew
herself up in bed, to talk with him. Her face, turned full toward him,
was a thing upon which he could not gaze direct. It terrified him with
its high born beauty, even as he now resolved to "look right into her
eyes."

"You've not been in to see me, Mr. Gage," said she at length, bravely.
"Why didn't you come? I get awfully lonesome."

"Is that so?" said he. "That's just the way I do."

"It's too bad, all this awful trouble," said she. "I've been what they
call a Jonah, don't you think, Mr. Gage?"

"Oh, no, ma'am!"

"It was very noble of you--up there," she began, on another tack. "You
saved my life. Not worth much."

She was