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railroad will give an outlet for our products; bring trade and travel our way. Old Lane’s comin’ to the front shore!”

He knew the man back of this big heartsome new enterprise; a particular friend of his; in fact, more than a friend, a kind of political guide and philosopher who had engineered Mr. Sandage into the office of poor-farm overseer, and now Mr. Sandage hoped and believed that his friend Railroad Jones would engineer him out of his present predicament into another and a higher office. . . .

At this point the change had been made. Mr. Sandage’s antiphonal theme now filled him with anxiety. He glanced around dubiously at the boy who jounced in the seat beside him. This boy, in a way, was a kind of son of his … raised him from a shaver until he was now blamed near as big as he was … now to get into trouble over a kind act, a charitable act. . . .

“Abner,” inquired Mr. Sandage out of these anxieties, “jest exactly what did that fool Professor Overall say to you and B’atrice Belle, anyway?”

The youth, Abner, a large black-haired, brown-eyed boy, came out of some reverie of his own, and stated the situation lucidly enough but in drawling hill accent,

“Soon as he found out you was a-runnin’ for county trustee, too, he said he’d shore bill you for not sendin’ me to school none.”

Mr. Sandage shook his head, “I—be—derned”—he spaced his ejaculation with renewed scorn of such baseness. “Makin’ political capital out of a thing like that! You know, Abner, if he wasn’t running for the same office, he never would have mentioned my breakin’ the compulsory edjercation law!”

“Why, of course not!”

“But that won’t be no excuse now that he’s mentioned it.”'

“Ort to be.”

“'Twon’t be, though. What ort to be an’ what will be ain’t on speakin’ terms before a court of law, Abner.”

The two hillmen sat silent, filled with the chronic hill dis-