. This was the first act of his
administration. Once again he looked out at the departing missionary.
"Well," he vindictively stated, "I cert'nly ain't goin' to run afteh
him." And he looked at me again.

"Do you suppose the Judge knows?" I inquired.

He shook his head. "The windo' shades is all down still oveh yondeh." He
paused. "I don't care," he stated, quite as if he had been ten years
old. Then he grinned guiltily. "I was mighty respectful to him all
night."

"Oh, yes, respectful! Especially when you invited him to turn his wolf
loose."

The Virginian gave a joyous gulp. He now came and sat down on the edge
of my bed. "I spoke awful good English to him most of the time," said
he. "I can, y'u know, when I cinch my attention tight on to it. Yes, I
cert'nly spoke a lot o' good English. I didn't understand some of it
myself!"

He was now growing frankly pleased with his exploit. He had builded so
much better than he knew. He got up and looked out across the crystal
world of light. "The Doctor is at one-mile crossing," he said. "He'll
get breakfast at the N-lazy-Y." Then he returned and sat again on my
bed, and began to give me his real heart. "I never set up for being
better than others. Not even to myself. My thoughts ain't apt to travel
around making comparisons. And I shouldn't wonder if my memory took as
much notice of the meannesses I have done as of--as of the other
actions. But to have to sit like a dumb lamb and let a stranger tell y'u
for an hour that yu're a hawg and a swine, just after you have acted in
a way which them that know the facts would call pretty near white--"

[Footnote 3: Reprinted from Mr. Owen Wister's "The Virginian."
Copyright, 1902-1904, by The Macmillan Company.]

AN APRIL ARIA

BY R.K. MUNKITTRICK

Now, in the shimmer and sheen that dance on the leaf of the lily,
Causing the bud to explode, and gilding the poodle's chinchilla,
Gladys cavorts with the rake, and hitches the string to the lattice,
While with the trowel she digs, and gladdens the heart of the shanghai.

Now, while the vine twists about the ribs of the cast-iron Pallas,
And, on the zephyr afloat, the halcyon soul of the borax
Blends with the scent of the soap, the brush of the white-washer's
flying
E'en as the chicken-hawk flies when ready to light on its quarry.

Out in the leaf-dappled wood the dainty hepatica's blowing,
While the fiend hammers the rug f