g he would make an effort to
attain that end.

"Don't worry about that, Jimmie; and don't you fool yourself that books
are everything. They smooth knots, but they don't make timber. Oh, you
are smart enough--for a woman."

"I'm not an idiot," said the giant. "Sometimes I can talk without any
trouble, and then again I can't say a thing. It's different with you."

The old man's egotism awoke--it never more than dozed. "Jimmie," said
he, "it is violating no compact to tell you that I'm no common man.
Other men have a similar opinion of themselves and are afraid to spit it
out, but I'm bold as well as wise. I know that my opinion doesn't go for
much, for I'm too good-humored, too approachable. The blitheness of my
nature invites familiarity. You go to a house and make too much of the
children, and the first thing you know they'll want to wallow on you all
the time. Well, I have made too much of the children of the world, and
they wallow on me. But I pinch them sometimes and laugh to hear them
squeal. There's only one person that I'm afraid of--Mrs. Cranceford. She
chills me and keeps me on the frozen dodge. I always feel that she is
reading me, and that makes me more of a rascal--trying to give her
something that she can't read. Look here, if we expect to get any sleep
we'd better be at it."

"You go to bed, Uncle Gideon; I'm going to sit up."

"All right; sit there as long as you please." The old fellow got up, and
walking stiffly went to the window, drew aside the red calico curtain
and looked out. "Don't see much promise of a clear-up," he said. "Not a
star in sight. I always dread the rainy season; it makes people look
sad, and I want to see them bright--I am most agreeable to them when
they're bright. Still, I understand that nothing is more tiresome than
eternal sunshine. I wonder if I locked the smokehouse," he went on,
turning from the window. "But, come to think, I don't believe I've
locked it since about a week ago, when some rascal slipped in and stole
nearly all my hams and a bushel of meal. I gad, my old joints work like
rusty hinges. Well, I'll lie down now. Good night, Jimmie. Don't slip
off before breakfast."

The giant did not hear him. He sat leaning forward, gazing at the
cliffs, the mountains, the valleys in the fire. The rain had ceased, but
now and then came a dashing shower, like a scouting party, a guerrilla
band sweeping through the dark. To the muser there was no time; time had
dribbled out