n the first place, she knew that if Mrs. Hastings
had made any plan she would gain nothing by objecting, and in addition
to this she was conscious of a certain desire to go. She felt that if
Wyllard had let the men understand that he would not dismiss them, the
promise, implied or explicit, must be redeemed. Wyllard would not have
attempted to release himself from it--she was sure of that--and it
appeared intolerable to her that another man should be permitted to do
anything that would unfavorably reflect on him. Somewhat to her relief,
Hastings started another topic.

"You have sold quite a few binders and harrows one way or another,
haven't you, Jim?" he asked.

Sproatly laughed. "I have," he answered. "As I told the Company's
Western representative some time ago, a man who could sell patent
medicine to the folks round here could do a good trade in anything. He
admitted that my contention sounded reasonable, but I didn't wear store
clothes then, and he seemed very far from sure of me. Anyway, he gave me
a show, and now I've got two or three complimentary letters from the
Company. They've added a few dollars to my salary, and hint that it's
possible they may put me in charge of an implement store."

"And you're satisfied?"

"Well," said Sproatly, with an air of reflection, "in some respects, I
suppose I am. In others, the thing's galling. You have to report who
you've called upon, and, if you couldn't do business, why they bought
somebody else's machines. If you can't get a farmer to take you in you
have to put up at a hotel. There's no more camping in a birch bluff
under your wagon. Besides, you have to wear store clothes."

Hastings glanced at Winifred, and Agatha fancied that she understood
what was in his mind.

"Some folks would sooner sleep in a hotel," he remarked, with a twinkle
in his eyes.

"Then," declared Sproatly, "they don't know very much. They're the kind
of men who'd spend an hour every morning putting their clothes on, and
they haven't found out that there's no comfort in any garment until
you've had to sew two or three flour bag patches on to it. Then think of
the splendid freeness of the other way of living. You get your supper
when you want it and just as you like it. No tea tastes as good as the
kind with the wood smoke in it that you drink out of a blackened can.
You can hear the little birch leaves and the grasses whispering about
you when you lie down at night, and you drive on in the g