son out."

"It won't be smoke that will keep me out."

"I should hope not, or anything else. I must tell you how I DID have
to smoke Mrs. Mumpson out at last," and he did so with so much drollery
that she again yielded to irrepressible laughter.

"Poor thing! I'm sorry for her," she said.

"I'm sorry for Jane--poor little stray cat of a child! I hope we can
do something for her some day," and having lighted his pipe, he took up
the county paper, left weekly in a hollow tree by the stage driver, and
went into the parlor.

After freshening up the fire he sat down to read, but by the time she
joined him the tired man was nodding. He tried to brighten up, but his
eyes were heavy.

"You've worked hard today," she said sympathetically.

"Well, I have," he answered. "I've not done such a good day's work in a
year."

"Then why don't you go to sleep at once?"

"It don't seem polite--"

"Please don't talk that way," she interrupted. "I don't mind being
alone at all. I shall feel a great deal more at home if you forget all
about ceremony."

"Well, Alida, I guess we had both better begin on that basis. If I
give up when I'm tired, you must. You mustn't think I'm always such a
sleepyhead. The fact is I've been more tired out with worry of late
than with work. I can laugh about it now, but I've been so desperate
over it that I've felt more like swearing. You'll find out I've become
a good deal of a heathen."

"Very well; I'll wait till I find out."

"I think we are getting acquainted famously, don't you?"

"Yes," she nodded, with a smile that meant more than a long speech.
"Good night."

Chapter XXIII.

Between the Past and Future

Human nature, in common with Mother Nature, has its immutable laws.
The people who existed before the flood were, in their primal motives,
like those of today. The conventionality of highly civilized society
does not change the heart, but it puts so much restraint upon it that
not a few appear heartless. They march through life and fight its
battles like uniformed men, trained in a certain school of tactics.
The monotony of character and action is superficial, in most cases,
rather than real, and he who fathoms the eyes of others, who catches
the subtle quality of tones and interprets the flexible mouth that
utters them, will discover that the whole gamut of human nature exists
in those that appear only like certain musical instruments, made by
machinery to play a few