"What sort of a newspaper did you fetch, Gabe?" Margaret inquired, and he handed her "The Fire-Side Companion."
"Full of news from beginnin' to end," he said. "None of yo' tame stuff about Uncle Billy a comin' to town with a load of wood or Aunt Sally a renewin' of her per-scription."
"Any discussion a goin' on down at town?" Jasper asked, and Gabe began to rack his memory.
"Wall, no, I b'lieve not. Hearn one feller call one man a liar."
"Whut come of it?"
"Oh, nuthin' much. Hauled him home in a wagin. Say, it was the puttiest wagin I ever seen—yaller stripes on the wheels, an' it clucked like a hen with her fust drove of chickens. But I tell you I come mighty nigh a gittin' some money down thar. A feller had three shells an' bet me I couldn't guess which one of 'em he put a pea under. I seed him put it under one—seed him jest as cl'ar as I see you, an' I would have bet him five dollars, but—"
"But what?"
"Didn't have the money. Allus my luck. Ever' time I've come across a chance fur a good speckerlation I ain't got no money. But I must be goin'—I don't know, howsomedever, fur wife must have fed the stock by this time. Lemme see. I reckon I better go."
That night when the romantic woman from the city was asleep, she did not dream that the preacher was on his knees, with clasped hands, gazing up at her window.