eat alone,
and let cold facts go hang; but, ah, Jim! magnificent as you are on
the grand occasions, they come but seldom, and in the meantime,
Jim--I'll leave that to your own honesty.

I'm plebeian, Jim, and you're a nobleman, with a beautiful but
embarrassing disregard for vulgar necessities.

However, I can say this for myself--for surely I may brag a little
to my lover--I can try to match your splendid physical bravery by
my own moral courage.

You may rest your soul in peace on one point. If I am not for you,
I'm for no man, no, not so much as a half-glance of the eye. I
wouldn't hold myself a bit more straitly if I were your wife.

You'll be angry at this letter. Well, I'll stand your anger. I have
caused it, and I'll bear the blame. I know that we could not be
happy without some visible means of support, yet I do not blame you
in the least for thinking otherwise.

Be as kind to me as you can, Jim, for I love you very much in my
commonplace way. I'll admit, too, that I had rather have your fire
than my refrigerator--oh, if you could only make some money--not a
great deal, but enough for a little house of our own, and enough in
the bank to buy groceries!

With my best love, and an aching lump in my throat,

Your mother, sister, and sweetheart,

Anne.

Jim dropped the letter, and his lips trembled a little. Parts of it
touched him deeply, and he was the more enraged and hurt at the rest
because of that.

He could not call her mercenary. He knew better. More than one very
comfortable income was at her disposal.

Poor fellow! He could only grind his teeth and curse Sweet Briar gulch
from the deepest pot-hole in the bed-rock to the top of its loftiest
pine. He drew out her photograph, and obtained much sweet consolation by
thinking how happy they two would be in Sweet Briar gulch together, even
if there wasn't a cent of pay in the gravel.

Sick of this ingenious torture, he lit his pipe and drew savagely upon
it. With a mocking gurgle, about a dram of "slumgullion" passed into his
mouth. It was the last touch. He spat out the biting, nauseating stuff,
hurled the pipe upon the rocks and danced on it.

And yet the colors frolicked in the gulch; the pines toned the air with
healthy breath.

From afar came the th-r-r-up! th-r-r-up! th-r-r-up of a galloping horse.
It was Bud, the mail-carrier, coming,