you wouldn't step along over to our place and have supper and stay the night. The missis has the beds ready, and Sairey knows how to fix things comfortable." There was a moment's awkward pause, for we were dumb with excess of emotion. "You don't know my name, and I don't know yourn," he proceeded. "Mine's Andy Taylor, and my place is next south, over there where you see that light." I clutched his hand. "Mr. Taylor," I gasped, "come in. I was afraid you were an angel—perhaps you are, but we—we're awfully glad to see you." [Pg 55] [Pg 55] "It's so good"—began Marion, then she collapsed. "Why, where's your load?" he asked, looking around the vacant room. I showed him, while Marion held the candle aloft. I related my wrongs with passionate fervor; I exhibited the Bliggs epistle, translating the rude characters as I traced them with a trembling forefinger and called down vengeance on the head of the perpetrator. A spasm shot across my visitor's face and his wide-open mouth closed with a snap; he leaned forward helplessly as if a sneeze had seized him, then a wild outburst of hilarity smote our astonished ears. "Oh, Lordy, Lordy!" he groaned. "The upliftin' power"—he pointed upward to the stove—"of—of strong drink!" Andy Taylor's lantern shed its cheering rays over us as he led the way across the fields to the distant beacon-light of his house. Forlorn, homesick, discouraged, as we had been, his friendly hospitality filled us with gratitude too deep for words. His unquestioning acceptance of us as guests[Pg 56] was staggering, accustomed as we were to the artificial restrictions of social intercourse in the city. As Marion said afterward, I might have been a temporarily retired burglar who had eloped with another man's wife and kidnapped a child, or we might have been dangerous lunatics, or worse,—we might have been vulgar people! But yet, with the all-embracing charity that thinketh no evil, Andy's sprightly step led us from the chaotic discomfort of our new home to the warmth and cheer that awaited us in his. No wonder, then, that Marion wept like a tired child on the shoulder of the motherly old lady who welcomed us, or that Andy, after one glance at my expressive face, backed away with a hurried remark about having to attend to the fire. Later, when Paul had been put to sleep in an old-fashioned billowy feather bed, we settled ourselves in
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