"I know all about that. She reproaches herself for having neglected Fisbee

while a stranger took care of him, and saved him from starving--and worse.

She's unreasonable about it; she didn't know he was in want till long

after. That's just like Fisbee, to tell her, afterwards. He didn't tell

her how low he got; but he hinted at it to her, and I guess she

understood; I gathered that much from him. Of course she's grateful, but

gratefulness don't account for everything."

"Yes it does."

"Well, I never expected to have the last word with a woman."

"Well, you needn't," said Minnie.

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"I don't. I never do," he retorted. She did not answer, but hummed a

little tune and looked up at the tree-tops.

Warren Smith appeared in the doorway. "Judge," he said, "will you step

inside? We need you."

Briscoe nodded and rose at once. As he reached the door, Minnie said in a

piercing whisper: "It's hard to be sure about her, but I'm right; it's gratitude."

"There," he replied, chuckling, "I thought I shouldn't have the last

word." Minnie began to sing, and the judge, after standing in the doorway

till he was again summoned from within, slowly retired.

Briscoe had persisted in his own explanation of Helen's gaiety;

nevertheless he did not question his daughter's assumption that the young

lady was enjoying her career in Carlow. She was free as a bird to go and

come, and her duties and pleasures ran together in a happy excitement. Her

hands were full of work, but she sought and increased new tasks, and

performed them also. She came to Carlow as unused to the soil as was

Harkless on his arrival, and her educational equipment for the work was

far less than his; her experience, nothing. But both were native to the

State; and the genius of the American is adaptability, and both were

sprung from pioneers whose means of life depended on that quality.

There are, here and there, excrescent individuals who, through stock

decadence, or their inability to comprehend republican conditions, are not

assimilated by the body of the country; but many of these are imports,

while some are exports. Our foreign-born agitators now and then find

themselves removed by the police to institutions of routine, while the

romantic innocents who set up crests in the face of an unimpressionable

democracy are apt to be lured by their own curious ambitions, or those of

their women-folk, to spend a great part of their time in or about the

villas of Albion, thus paid for its perfidy; and, although the anarchists

and the bubble-hunters make a noise, it is enormously out of proportion to

their number, which is relatively very small, and neither the imported nor

the exported article can be taken as characteristic of our country. For

the American is one who soon fits any place, or into any shaped hole in

America, where you can set him down. It may be that without going so far

as to suggest the halls of the great and good and rich, one might mention

a number of houses of entertainment for man and beast in this country, in

which Mr. Martin of the Plattville Dry Goods Emporium would find himself

little at ease. But even in the extreme case, if Mr. Martin were given his

choice of being burned to death, or drowned, or of spending a month at the

most stupendously embellished tavern located in our possessions, and

supposing him to have chosen the third alternate, it is probable that he

would have grown almost accustomed to his surroundings before he died; and

if he survived the month, we may even fancy him really enjoying moments of

conversation with the night-clerks.




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