"He's always on our side, brother Councill," smiled Jennings. "Wal, I'd know about that. Sometimes I'm a leettle in doubt." "Got something good to eat?" inquired Jennings of Mrs. Councill. "Land sakes, no! We never have anything fit to eat since Jane's gone to havin' beaux; my cookin' aint fit for a hawg to eat." "I aint a-goin' to eat it, then," roared Councill in vast delight at his joke on himself. "I'll go over and eat with Marm Jennings." They all laughed at this. "Tell us so't we c'n laff," called Mrs. Smith, coming over to see what they did have. "Where's Brad?" said Mrs. Councill, looking about her. "Aint he comin' to dinner?" "I don't see him around anywheres. Mebbe he's out feed'n the horses," replied Councill, without concern. "Say! that was a great speech that girl made," put in Brother Smith, coming over with a chicken leg in one hand and a buttered biscuit in the other. "But what we want is free trade"-- "What we want is a home market," said Milton, some distance away. "Oh, go to--Texas with y'r home market!" "Tut, tut, tut, no politics, brethren," interrupted Jennings. Bradley, ignored by everybody, was standing over by the trunk of a large oak tree, watching from afar the young girl who had so stirred him. She was eating dinner with Deering, his wife, and daughter, and Milton, who was there, looking very bright and handsome, or at least he appeared so to Eileen Deering, a graceful little girl, his classmate at the seminary. Miss Wilbur sat beside Deering, who was a large man with a type of face somewhat resembling Lincoln's. She was smiling brightly, but her smile had something thoughtful in it, and her eyes had unknown deeps like a leaf-bottomed woodland pool across which the sun fell. She was feeling yet the stress of emotion she had felt in speaking, and was a little conscious of the admiring glances of the people. She saw once or twice a tall, roughly dressed young farmer, who seemed to be looking at her steadily, and there was something in his glance, a timid worshipful expression, that touched her and made her observe him more closely. He was very farmer-like, she noticed; his cheap coat fitted him badly, and his hat was old and shapeless. Yet there was something natively fine and chivalrous in his admiration. She felt that. "You're a farmer's daughter yourself," said Deering, as if they had been speaking of somebody else who was. "Yes, my father was a farmer. I'm a teacher. I only began a little while ago to speak in the interest of the farmer. It seems to me that everybody is looking out for himself except the farmer, and I want to help him to help himself. I expect to speak in every county in the State this winter."