thinking done this day if I don't make the barn 'fore she spies me."
And with furtive steps and eyes he left the store and veered in a
round-about way toward the barn.

And over in the milk-house Rose Mary stood in the long shaft of
golden light that came across the valley and fell through the door, it
would seem, just to throw a glow over the wide sheets of closely
written paper. Rose Mary had been pale as she worked, and her deep
eyes had been filled with a very gentle sadness which lighted with a
flash as she opened the envelope and began to read.

"Just a line, Rose girl, before I put out the light and go on a dream
hunt for you," Everett wrote in his square black letters. "The day has
been long and I feel as if I had been drawn out still longer. I'm
tired, I'm hungry, and there's no balm of Gilead in New York. I can't
eat because there are no cornmeal muffins in this howling wilderness
of houses, streets, people and noise. I can't drink because something
awful rises in my throat when I see cream or buttermilk, and sassarcak
doesn't interest me any more. I would be glad to lap out of one of
your crocks with Sniffie and the wee dogs.

"And most of all I'm tired to see you. I want to tell you how hard I
am working, and that I don't seem to be able to make some of these
stupid old gold backs see things my way, even if I do show it to them
covered with a haze of yellow pay dust. But they shall--and that's my
vow to--

"I wish I could kneel down by your rocking-chair with Stonie and hear
Uncle Tucker chant that stunt about '_the hollow of His hand_.' Is any
of that true, Rose Mamie, and are you true and is Aunt Viney as well