cation, I think, that led her to lie so still under the
hay.

She wanted to remount the cart and have the hay pitched up to her; but
as it was getting late in the afternoon, and as there was no ladder at
hand, Jim and Asa hoisted Addison up, and he succeeded in rebuilding the
load so that we were able to take it into the barn without further
incident.

We could hardly believe that the fall had not injured grandmother Ruth,
and as a matter of fact Theodora afterwards told us that she had several
large black-and-blue spots as a result of her adventure. The old lady
herself, however, scouted the idea that she had been in the least
injured and did not like to have us show any solicitude about her.

The following year, as haying drew to a close, we young folks waited
curiously to see whether she would speak of going out to lay the last
load. Not a word came from her; but I think it was less because she felt
unable to go than it was that she feared we would refer to her mishap of
the previous summer.

CHAPTER XX

WHEN UNCLE HANNIBAL SPOKE AT THE CHAPEL

For a month or more the old Squire had looked perplexed. Two of his
lifelong friends were rival candidates for the senatorship from Maine,
and each had expressed the hope that the old Squire would aid him in his
canvass. Both candidates knew that many of the old Squire's friends and
neighbors looked to him for guidance in political matters. Without
seeming to express personal preference, the old Squire could not choose
between them, for both were statesmen of wide experience and in every
way good men for the office.

The first was Hannibal Hamlin, who had been Vice-President with Abraham
Lincoln in 1861-1865: "Uncle Hannibal," as we young people at the farm
always called him after that memorable visit of his, when we ate "fried
pies" together. He had been Senator before the Civil War, and also
Governor of Maine; now, after the war, in 1868, he had again been
nominated for the senatorship under the auspices of the Republican
party.

The other candidate, the Hon. Lot M. Morrill, had been Governor of Maine
in 1858, and had also been United States Senator. I cherished a warm
feeling for him, for he was the man who had so opportunely helped me to
capture the runaway calf, Little Dagon.

Politically, we young folks were much divided in our sympathies that
fall. My cousins Addison and Theodora were ardent supporters of Uncle
Hannibal, whereas I, thinking of that c