--young once ouhselves."

"Lucky dog!" said the judge; "lucky dog! But he seems a gentleman, and
if he has propah fam'ly an' propah resources, it may be, yessah, it may
be she's lucky, too. Oh, Northehn, yessah, I admit it. But what would
you expeck, sah, in these times? I'm told theh are some vehy fine
people in the No'th."

"Deep through," said the doctor, communing with himself. "Carries his
trunk gran'ly. Splendid creatuah--splendid! Have him? O' co'se
she'll have him! What woman wouldn't? What a cadaver! What a
subjeck--"

"Good God! my dear sir!" said the judge. "Really!"

Meantime the dingy little car was trundling down the wide, sleepy
street, both driver and mules now fallen half asleep again. Here and
there a negro sat propped up in the sun, motionless and content. A
clerk stretched an awning over some perishable goods. A child or two
wandered along the walk. The town clock pointed to half past eleven.
The warm spring sun blazed down. A big fly buzzed upon the window
pane. No more passengers came to the car, and it trundled slowly and
contentedly on its course toward the other end of its route.

Franklin and Mary Ellen sat looking out before them, silent. At last
he turned and placed his hand over the two that lay knit loosely in her
lap. Mary Ellen stirred, her throat moved, but she could not speak.
Franklin leaned forward and looked into her face.

"I knew it must be so," he whispered quietly.

"What--what must you think ?" broke out Mary Ellen, angry that she
could not resist.

"There, there, dearest!" he said, "don't trouble. I knew it was to be.
I came straight to you." He tightened his grip upon her hands. Mary
Ellen straightened and looked him in the face.

"I'll admit it," she said. "I knew that you were coming. I must have
dreamed it."

There in the street car, upon the public highway, Franklin cast his arm
about her waist and drew her strongly to him. "Dear girl," he said,
"it was to be! We must work out our lives together. Will you be
happy--out there--with me?"

Again Mary Ellen turned and looked at him with a new frankness and
unreserve.

"That's the oddest of it," said she. "Out on the prairies I called the
South 'back home.' Now it's the other way."

They fell again into silence, but already, lover-like, began to read
each the other's thoughts and to find less need of speech.

"You and I, dearest," said Franklin finally, "you and I together,
fore