nk of
that."

In Lyman's eyes there was the soft light of a sad victory as he opened
the package and displayed a dozen copies of his novel, fresh from the
publisher. He took a volume upon his knee, as if it were a child; he
opened the leaves, carefully separating them as if tenderly parting
curly hair. Warren snatched up a book with a cry of delight; he swore
that its fame was assured; he knew that it would sell as fast as it
came from the press; but Lyman sat in silence, his eyes growing
sadder. It was so small a thing to have cost so many anxious days and
nights. He had worked on it so intently that often when he had stepped
out, the real world seemed unreal; and now it appeared so simple as to
lie within the range of any man's ability. Here was a place where
there had been a kink, and he had worried with it day after day,
carrying the sentences about in his mind; and now at a glance he saw
where the wording might have been improved. He was afraid that he had
been too simple, too close to the soil; in seeking the natural he was
almost sure that he had found the tiresome. He got up.

"Where are you going?" Warren asked.

"Oh, out somewhere, to get away from this poor hunch-back." He smiled
sadly at the book.

"Hunch-back? Why, it's a giant. Look, here's a jolt like a wagon
running over a root. It's all right. And I want to take one out to
Nancy, and when she reflects that a friend of mine wrote it, her
position will be defined. She can't help it. It makes no difference
whether a woman can read or not, a book catches her. Ain't you going
to send one to Miss Eva?"

"Yes, I believe I will."

"Well, scribble in one and I'll send it right now, by the boy. It's
not right to let such things get cold. Is that all?" he asked when
Lyman had written his name on the fly leaf.

"Yes, that's enough."

"It may do for her, but I want you to spread out a whole page for
Nancy. Say, go and lie down. You look like a ghost--going up and down
the creek at night, pulling fellows out. But wait. Give Nancy's book a
whirl first."

Lyman covered the fly-leaf with a memory of Mt. Zion. With brightening
eyes Warren read the lines. "This will fetch her," he said. "She can't
hold out against it. Let me see. I don't know but the old man ought to
have one. It would stimulate him mightily. But never mind. The seeds
are enough for him. It won't do to stimulate him too much at once."

"Old boy," said Lyman, "I admire your enterprise, it is