people I vork by yet."

"Who are they?"

"Oh, I vork by many place--make garten--und vork wit' horses, und so.
Meesus Craikmile, I vork by her on garten. She iss dere no more."

The young man paused suddenly in his stride. "Gone? Where is she
gone?"

"Oh, she iss by ol' country gone. Her man iss gone mit." They walked
on.

"What! Is the Elder gone, too?"

"Yas. You know heem, yas?"

"Oh, yes. I know everybody here. I've been away for a good while."

"So? Yas, yust lak me. I was gone too goot wile, bot I coom back too,
yust lak you."

Here they came to a turn in the road, and the village lights began to
wink out through the darkness, and their ways parted.

"I'm going this way," said the young man. "You turn off here? Well,
good night."

"Vell, goot night." The Swede sauntered away down a by-path, and the
young man kept on the main road to the village and entered its one
hotel where he had engaged a room a few hours before.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE SWEDE'S TELEGRAM

As soon as the shadows hid the young man's retreating form from the
Swede's watchful eye, that individual quickened his pace and presently
broke into a run. Circling round a few blocks and regaining the main
street a little below the hotel, he entered the telegraph office.
There his haste seemed to leave him. He stood watching the clerk a few
minutes, but the latter paid no attention to him.

"Hullo!" he said at last.

"Hallo, yourself!" said the boy, without looking up or taking his hand
from the steadily clicking instrument.

"Say, I lak it you send me somet'ing by telegraph."

"All right. Hold on a minute," and the instrument clicked on.

After a little the Swede grew impatient. He scratched his pale gold
head and shuffled his feet.

"Say, I lak it you send me a little somet'ing yet." He reached out and
touched the boy on the shoulder.

"Keep out of here. I'll send your message when I'm through with this,"
and the instrument clicked on. Then the Swede resigned himself,
watching sullenly.

"Everybody has to take his turn," said the boy at last. "You can't cut
in like that." The boy was newly promoted and felt his importance. He
took the soiled scrap of paper held out to him. It was written over
in a clear, bold hand. "This isn't signed. Who sends this?"

"You make it yust lak it iss. I send dot."

"Well, sign it." He pushed a pen toward him, and the Swede took it in
clumsy fingers and wrote laboriously, "Nels Nelson."