fferent. You listen to me, and never go hunting gold mines with
epilecs, even if they are high-grade.

I never had such an awful night. When Joe and Charley weren't throwing
fits they were making believe, and in the darkness the shivers from the
cold which I couldn't see seemed like fits, too. And I shivered so hard
I thought I was getting fits myself. And little Albert, with nothing to
eat, just drooled and drooled. I never seen him as bad as that before.
Why, he twisted that left eye of his until it ought to have dropped out.
I couldn't see it, but I could tell from the movements he made. And Joe
just lay and cussed and cussed, and Charley cried and wished he was
back in the Home.

We didn't die, and next morning we went right back the way we'd come.
And little Albert got awful heavy. Doctor Wilson was mad as could be,
and said I was the worst feeb in the institution, along with Joe and
Charley. But Miss Striker, who was a nurse in the drooling ward then,
just put her arms around me and cried, she was that happy I'd got back.
I thought right there that mebbe I'd marry her. But only a month
afterward she got married to the plumber that came up from the city to
fix the gutter-pipes of the new hospital. And little Albert never
twisted his eye for two days, it was that tired.

Next time I run away I'm going right over that mountain. But I ain't
going to take epilecs along. They ain't never cured, and when they get
scared or excited they throw fits to beat the band. But I'll take little
Albert. Somehow I can't get along without him. And anyway, I ain't going
to run away. The drooling ward's a better snap than gold mines, and I
hear there's a new nurse coming. Besides, little Albert's bigger than I
am now, and I could never carry him over a mountain. And he's growing
bigger every day. It's astonishing.

THE HOBO AND THE FAIRY

He lay on his back. So heavy was his sleep that the stamp of hoofs and
cries of the drivers from the bridge that crossed the creek did not
rouse him. Wagon after wagon, loaded high with grapes, passed the bridge
on the way up the valley to the winery, and the coming of each wagon was
like an explosion of sound and commotion in the lazy quiet of the
afternoon.

But the man was undisturbed. His head had slipped from the folded
newspaper, and the straggling unkempt hair was matted with the foxtails
and burrs of the dry grass on which it lay. He was not a pretty sight.
His mouth was open, d