on of a program as to Nancy; I
was all took up with gettin' ahead of dad. But when I found myself in
front of old McRae, more down at the heel and raggeder in the seat than
ever, I was a whole lot set back. What was I to say to him and to her? I
didn't know. He was gappin' at me with the eyes of an owl, and so I
opened up.

"'I see you have no lightnin'-rods?' I says. 'In this day and age of the
world you can't afford to go without lightnin'-rods.'

"He wa'n't no fool, if he did wear rats in his hair, and he says:

"'I thought you was a cream-separator man. Are lightnin'-rods comin'
into style again?'

"'My kind is,' I says.

"'Well, the trade must be lookin' up,' he says, walkin' round and round
my machine and eyin' it. 'I'm thinkin' of havin' one of them wagons for
haulin' milk to town. Won't you light out?'

"'Don't care if I do,' I says, and out I rolled, feelin' a little shaky.

"I was mighty anxious to see Nance by this time, but felt shy of askin'
about her.

"'What _is_ the latest kink in rods?' asked the old cuss.

"'These kind I sell,' I says, 'are the kind that catch and store the
electricity in a tank down cellar. Durin' a thunder-storm you can save
up enough to rock the baby and run the churn for a week or two.'

"'I want 'o know,' he says. 'Well, we 'ain't got a baby and no
churn--but mebbe it would run a cream-separator?'

"'Sure it would.'

"All the time we was a-joshin' this way he was a-studyin' me--and
finally he said:

"'You can't fool me, Ed. How are ye?'

"And we shook hands. I always liked the old cuss. He was a great
reader--always talkin' about Napoleon--he'd been a great man if he'd
ever got off the farm and into something that required just his kind o'
brain-work.

"'Come in,' he says. 'Nance will want to see you.'

"The minute he said that I had a queer feelin' at the pit o' my
stummick--I did, sure thing. 'It's a little early for a call,' I says,
'and I ain't in Sunday clothes.'

"'That don't matter,' he says; 'she'll be glad to see you any time.'

"You'd 'a' thought I'd been gone eleven weeks instead of eleven years.

"Nance wasn't a bit like her dad. She always looked shipshape, no matter
what she was a-doin'. She was in the kitchen, busy as a gasoline-motor,
when we busted through the door.

"'Nance!' the old man called out, 'here's Ed Hatch.'

"She didn't do any fancy stunts. She just straightened up and looked at
me kind o' steady for a minute, and then came o