"Any place is nice, if you don't have to stay there," the old man grumbled, following Augusta out to the wagon. He took a sharp look up at Jimmie, and seemed to like him instantly.
"If you folks," he remarked pleasantly as Augusta climbed lightly into the wagon, "didn't look so much like a pair of runaway children, I'd say you was looking for a place to make a nest."
Augusta and Jimmie looked quickly at each other and then they both laughed in sudden mutual understanding. They had each been thinking the same thought all day, but neither had said anything of it. Jimmie laughed.
"Do you do a little mind reading on the side?" he inquired, "besides holding up a wing of the United States government and supplying the countryside with dry goods and groceries."
"Well, you know," the old man winked genially, "or you soon will know, married men has to make a good many shifts in order to scrape 'round."
"You are profoundly right," said Jimmie solemnly, "Mr.—Gamblin? Is that the name I see on the window?"
"Jethniah Gamblin, that's me. Just like a post in the mud. Been here for forty year and sorry for it every minute."
"But you stay."
"It's a habit."
"Yes," said Jimmie thoughtfully, "it's an old habit that people have of staying in places. The fact is my wife and I are just now both tired of wandering, though we hadn't thought to tell each other about it until you mentioned it."