her. He left her a
few minutes to go out and look up the matter of the team. When he
returned he found Ida leaning back wearily in a big chair, her face
very grave and pale. He told her that a team would be ready soon.

"You can come right out to supper," announced the landlady; and they
went out into the kitchen, where the table sat. It was lighted with a
kerosene lamp that threw dull-blue shadows among the dishes, and
dazzled the eyes of the eaters with its horizontal rays of light. The
table had a large quantity of boiled beef and potatoes and butter,
which each person was evidently expected to hew off for himself. The
dessert was pumpkin-pie, which they both greeted with smiles.

"Ah, that looks like the pie mother used to make," Ida said, as the
landlady put it down.

"Waal, I'd know. Seems to me the crust is a leetle too short. I've ben
havin' pretty good luck lately; but this pumpkin weren't just the very
best. It was one of them thin-rinded ones, you know. Pumpkins weren't
extry good; weren't thunder enough, I reckon, this summer."

After supper Bradley went out, leaving Ida with the landlady, who was
delighted with her listener.

"Here's our team," called Bradley, coming to Ida's relief a few minutes
later. "It ain't a very gay rig; but it's the best I could do," he
explained, as he helped her in and tucked the quilts about her. "I had
to skirmish in two or three houses to get these quilts, for the wind is
sharp; you'll need them."

"Thank you; I'm afraid you've given me more than my share."

There was only one seat, and Bradley took his place beside Ida, while
the driver crouched on the bottom of the clattering old democrat wagon.
Ida was concerned for him.

"Haven't you another seat?" she inquired.

"No m'm. I don't need any," he replied, in a slow drawl. "I tried to
borrow one from Sam Smalley, but they're all usin' theirs. I'd jest as
soon set here."

There was something singularly attractive in his voice--a simplicity
and candor like a child's, and a suggestion of weakness that went
straight to Ida's tender heart.

"But you'll get cold."

"Oh, no m'm; I'm used to it. Half the time I don't wear no gloves in
winter 'less I'm handlin' things with snow on 'em," he said, to
reassure her.

They moved off down the ravine to the north, the keen wind in their
faces. There was no moon, and it was very dark, notwithstanding the
light of the stars.

"How beautiful the sky is to-night!" said Ida, in