hankering for a drive back to town to-night? I'll see that"--a swift
nod toward the departing group--"he gets back home, if you wish."

Ross looked up in pleased surprise. He was tired and sleepy and only
too glad to accept the suggestion.

"Thank you, Guy," he answered gratefully. "I'll do as much for you
some time."

Landers waited silently until the last eulogist had lingeringly
departed, leaving the bewildered speaker gazing about for the
chairman.

"I'm to take you to town," said Landers, simply, as he led the way
toward his wagon. He then added, as an afterthought: "If you're tired
and prefer, you may stay with me to-night."

The collegian, looking up to decline, met the countryman's eye, and
for the first time the two studied each other steadily.

"I will stay with you, if you please," he said in sudden change of
mind.

They drove out, slowly, into the frosty night, the sound of the other
wagons rattling over frozen roads coming pleasantly to their ears.
Overhead countless stars lit up the earth and sky, almost as brightly
as moonlight.

"I suppose you are husking corn these days," initiated the collegian,
perfunctorily.

"Yes," was the short answer.

They rode on again in silence, the other wagons rumbling slowly away
into the distance until their sound came only as a low humming from
the frozen earth.

"Prices pretty good this season?" questioned the college man,
tentatively.

Landers flashed around on him almost fiercely.

"In Heaven's name, man," he protested, "give me credit for a thought
outside my work--" He paused, and his voice became natural: "--a
thought such as other people have," he finished, sadly.

The two men looked steadily at each other, a multitude of conflicting
emotions on the face of the collegian. He could not have been more
surprised had a clothing dummy raised its voice and spoken. Landers
turned away and looked out over the frosty prairie.

"I beg your pardon,"--wearily. "You're not to blame for thinking--as
everybody else thinks." His companion started to interrupt but Landers
raised his hand in silencing motion. "Let us be honest--with
ourselves, at least," he anticipated.

"I know we of the farm are dull, and crude, and vulgar, and our
thoughts are of common things. You of the other world patronize us;
you practise on us as you did to-night, thinking we do not know. But
some of us do, and it hurts."

The other man impulsively held out his hand; a swift apology