thinking and thinking, until
finally her thoughts became the substance of youth's sweetest dreams.

IV.

BUT why should the tender dreams of this pure heart be transcribed
here? Indeed, why should these vague outlines be spun out to the
vanishing-point, like the gossamer threads that float and glance and
disappear in the September skies? Some of the grandchildren of George
Denham and Kitty Kendrick will read these pages, and wonder, romantic
youngsters that they are, why all the love passages have been
suppressed; other readers, more practical, and perhaps severer, will
ask themselves what possible interest there can be in the narrative of
a simple episode in the life of a humble fugitive. What reply can be
made, what explanation can be offered? Fortunately, what remains to be
told may mostly be put in the sententious language of Brother Johnny
Roach.

One day, shortly after the events which have been described, Brother
Branuum rode up to Brother Roach's mill, dismounted, and hitched his
horse to the rack.

"You're mighty welcome, Brother Brannum," said Brother Roach from the
door, as cheerful under his covering of meal dust as the clown in the
pantomime; "you're mighty welcome. I had as lief talk to my hopper as
to most folks; but the hopper knows me by heart, and I dassent take too
many liberties wi' it. Come in, Brother Brannum; there's no great head
of water on, and the gear is running soberly. Sat'days, when all the
rocks are moving, my mill is a female woman; the clatter is turrible.
I'll not deny it. I hope you're well, Brother Brannum. And Sister
Brannum. I'll never forgit the savour of her Sunday dumplings, not if I
live a thousand year."

"We're well as common, Brother Roach, well as common. Yit a twitch here
and a twinge there tells us we're moving along to'rds eternity. It's
age that's a-feeling of us, Brother Roach; and when we're ripe it'll
pluck us."

"It's age rutherthan the dumplings, that I'll take the stand on,"
exclaimed Brother Roach. "Yit, when it comes to that, look at Mizzers
Denham; that woman kin look age out of countenance any day. Then
there's Giner'l Bledser; who more nimble at a muster than the Giner'l?
I see 'era both this last gone Sat'day, and though I was in-about up to
my eyes in the toll-bin, I relished the seeing and the hearing of 'em.
But I reckon you've heard the news, Brother Brannum," said Brother
Roach, modestly deprecating his own sources of information.

"Bless you