rhaps he was glad to have the Western
sense of humor come to the rescue of his compassion. "Well, it was a
cold day for you to come all this way for nothing," said he. "You go
home and tell Lieders to report to-morrow."

Kurt's manner of receiving the news was characteristic. He snorted
in disgust: "Well, I did think he had more sand than to give in to a
woman!" But after he heard the whole story he chuckled: "Yes, it was
that way he said, and he must do like he said; but that was a funny way
you done, Thekla. Say, mamma, yesterday, was you look out for the cat or
to find how cold it been?"

"Never you mind, papa," said Thekla, "you remember what you promised if
I git you back?"

Lieders's eyes grew dull; he flung his arms out, with a long sigh. "No,
I don't forget, I will keep my promise, but--it is like the handcuffs,
Thekla, it is like the handcuffs!" In a second, however, he added, in a
changed tone, "But thou art a kind jailer, mamma, more like a comrade.
And no, it was not fair to thee--I know that now, Thekla."

THE FACE OF FAILURE

AFTER the week's shower the low Iowa hills looked vividly green. At the
base of the first range of hills the Blackhawk road winds from the city
to the prairie. From its starting-point, just outside the city limits,
the wayfarer may catch bird's-eye glimpses of the city, the vast river
that the Iowans love, and the three bridges tying three towns to the
island arsenal. But at one's elbow spreads Cavendish's melon farm.
Cavendish's melon farm it still is, in current phrase, although
Cavendish, whose memory is honored by lovers of the cantaloupe melon,
long ago departed to raise melons for larger markets; and still a
weather-beaten sign creaks from a post announcing to the world that "the
celebrated Cavendish Melons are for Sale here!" To-day the melon-vines
were softly shaded by rain-drops. A pleasant sight they made, spreading
for acres in front of the green-houses where mushrooms and early
vegetables strove to outwit the seasons, and before the brown cottage
in which Cavendish had begun a successful career. The black roof-tree
of the cottage sagged in the middle, and the weather-boarding was dingy
with the streaky dinginess of old paint that has never had enough oil.
The fences, too, were unpainted and rudely patched. Nevertheless a
second glance told one that there were no gaps in them, that the farm
machines kept their bright colors well under cover, and that the garden