man's
an' who the old man was wuckin' fur--whether the two wouldn't
over-persuade her whilst I was gone. For I'd made up my mind I'd go
befo' daylight--that there wasn't anything else for me to do.

"I was layin' in the hay, an' boylike, the tears was rollin' down. If
I c'ud only kiss her han' befo' I left--if I c'ud only see her face
at the winder!

"I must have sobbed out loud, for jus' then I heard a gentle,
sympathetic whinny an' a cold, inquisitive little muzzle was thrust
into my face, as I lay on my back with my heart nearly busted. It was
Kathleena, an' I rubbed my hot face against her cool cheek--for it
seemed so human of her to come an' try to console me, an' I put my
arms around her neck an' kissed her silky mane an' imagined it was
Kathleen's hair.

"Oh, I was heart-broke an' silly.

"Then all at onct a thought came to me, an' I slipped the bridle an'
saddle on her an' led her out at the back door, an' I scratched this
on a slip of paper an' stuck it on the barn do':

"'_To old man Galloway:_

"'_You wouldn't let me 'lope with yo' dorter, so I've 'loped with yo'
filly, an' you'll never see hair nor hide of her till you send me
word to come back to this house an' fetch a preacher._'

"'(Signed) _Hillard Watts._'"

The old man smiled, and Bud slapped his leg gleefully.

"Great--great! Oh my, but who'd a thought of it?" he grunted.

"They say it 'ud done you good to have been there the nex' mornin'
an' heurd the cussin' recurd busted--but me an' the filly was forty
miles away. He got out a warrant for me for hoss-stealin', but the
sheriff was for me, an' though he hunted high an' low he never could
find me."

"Well, it went on for a month, an' I got the old man's note, sent by
the sheriff:

"_'To Hillard Watts, Wher-Ever Found._

"_'Come on home an' fetch yo' preacher. Can't afford to loose the
filly, an' the gal has been off her feed ever since you left._

"'_Jobe Galloway._'

"Oh, Bud, I'll never forgit that home-comin' when she met me at the
gate an' kissed me an' laughed a little an' cried a heap, an' we
walked in the little parlor an' the preacher made us one.

"Nor of that happy, happy year, when all life seemed a sweet dream
now as I look back, an' even the memory of it keeps me happy. Memory
is a land that never changes in a world of changes, an' that should
show us our soul is immortal, for memory is only the reflection of
our soul."

His voice grew more