to herself and him,
till at last the man's sober sense told him it must not be put off
longer.

One evening, after John had been gone two weeks, and Elizabeth explained
the fact of not having gone to see Mrs. Hunter because of the extreme
heat, Luther suggested that she go over to the "shanty" with him.

"I forgot my coat, and it looks as if it'd rain 'fore mornin'," he
remarked. "I kept th' harness on th' horses, so's t' drive over."

As Elizabeth expected, the visit to Mrs. Hunter was the first subject
broached after they started.

"You're goin' t' live in th' house with Mrs. Hunter, Lizzie"--Luther
always used the old-fashioned name--"an' you must be friends with 'er," he
cautioned.

"I know it, Luther. I'll go to-morrow, sure, no matter what happens," the
girl promised, her words coming so slowly that there was no mistaking her
reluctance. "I just can't bear to, but I will."

Luther considered at some length.

"She'll be lonesome, not knowin' anybody here," he said with almost equal
reluctance. "I--I want t' see you start in right. You've got t' live in
th' house with 'er."

The last clause of his argument was not exactly in line with the
impression he wished to produce; in fact, it was only a weak repetition of
what he had begun the argument with, but somehow, like Elizabeth, that was
the main fact in the case which absorbed his attention. He was
dissatisfied with it, but could think of no way to state it better; so to
turn the subject to something foreign to the hated topic, he remarked on a
hayfield they were passing.

"Them windrows ought t' 'a' been shocked up," he said, casting his eye up
at the northwest to measure the clouds. "Jimminy!" he exclaimed, slapping
the team with the lines. "I wonder if I've brought you out here t' get you
wet?"

He glanced apprehensively at Elizabeth's thin print dress as the startled
team jerked the old lumber wagon over the rough road, and half wished he
had not brought her with him, for the signs were ominous. The breeze,
which had been fitful when they had started, had died away altogether. Not
a breath of air was stirring; even the birds and crickets were silent.

The storm was gathering rapidly.

They rounded the corner, near his building place, on a full trot, and
plunged into the grove of cottonwoods which surrounded the "shanty," with
a consciousness that if they were to avoid a wetting, haste was
necessary.

The faded coat, which was the object of the j