s one
thing, and the need's another. I'm like Joel Knowles--he said when he
couldn't get whisky he worried along best he could with bay rum. I
need a blacksmith, and if I can't get a real one I'll put up with an
imitation. Will you shoe this horse for me?"

"Course I'll shoe him. But I can't do it this minute. I've got this
consarned machine," waving a hand toward the automobile, "out of door
here and all to pieces. And it's goin' to rain. Just let me put enough
of it together so's I can shove it into the shop out of the wet, and
then I'll tackle your job. You leave your horse and team here and go do
your other errands. He'll be ready when you come back."

So on this basis the deal was finally made. Seth was reluctant to trust
the precious Joshua out of his sight, but, after some parley, he agreed
to do so. The traces were unfastened, and the animal was led into the
shop, the carriage was backed under a shed, and the lightkeeper went
away promising to be back in an hour. As soon as he had gone, Ellis
dived again into the vitals of the auto.

The argument with the blacksmith had one satisfactory result so far as
Seth was concerned. In a measure it afforded a temporary vent for his
feelings. He was moderately agreeable during his brief stay at the
grocery store, and when his orders were given and he found the hour not
half over, he strolled out to walk about the village. And then, alone
once more, all his misery and heartache returned. He strode along, his
head down, scarcely speaking to acquaintances whom he met, until he
reached the railway station, where he sat down on the baggage truck to
mentally review, over and over again, the scene with Emeline and the
dreadful collapse of his newborn hopes and plans.

As he sat there, the door of the station opened and a man emerged, a man
evidently not a native of Eastboro. He was dressed in a rather loud, but
somewhat shabby, suit of summer plaid, his straw hat was set a trifle
over one ear, and he was smoking the stump of a not too fragrant
cigar. Altogether he looked like a sporting character under a temporary
financial cloud, but the cloud did not dim his self-satisfaction nor
shadow his magnificent complaisance. He regarded the section of Eastboro
before him with condescending scorn, and then, catching sight of the
doleful figure on the baggage truck, strolled over and addressed it.

"I say, my friend," he observed briskly, "have you a match concealed
about your person