"Yes, and look at that for a nice attractive headline," responded the Senator with sarcasm. "'Movements of Cereals!' Gives you a great idea of pace, doesn't it? Why couldn't they have called it 'Grain on the Go'?" "Did Mr. McConnell get in for Mayor, or Jimmy Fagan?" I inquired, looking down the column. "They don't seem to have asked anybody." "And who got the Post Office?" "Not there, not there, my child!" "Oh!" said momma at the window, "these little gray-stone villages are too sweet for words. Why talk of Chicago? Mr. McConnell and Mr. Fagan are all very well at home, but now that the ocean heaves between us, and your political campaign is over, may we not forget them?" "Forget Mike McConnell and Jimmy Fagan!" replied the Senator, regarding a passing church spire with an absent smile. "Well, no, Augusta; as far as I'm concerned I'm afraid it couldn't be done--at all permanently. There's too much involved. But I see what you mean about turning the mind out to pasture when the grazing is interesting--getting in a cud, so to speak, for reflection afterwards. I see your idea." The Senator is always business-like. He immediately addressed himself through the other window to the appreciation of the scenery, and I felt, as I took out my note-book to record one or two impressions, that he would do it justice. "No, momma," I was immediately compelled to exclaim, "you mustn't look over my shoulder. It is paralysing to the imagination." "Then I won't, dear. But oh, if you could only describe it as it is! The ruined chateaux, tree-embosomed----" Momma paused. "The gray church spires, from which at eventide the Angelus comes pealing--or stealing," she continued. "Perhaps 'stealing' is better." "Above all the poplars--the poplars are very characteristic, dear. And the women toilers in the sunset fields garnering up the golden grain. You might exclaim, 'Why are they always in blue?' Have you got that down?" "They were making hay," poppa corrected. "But I suppose the public won't know the difference, any more than you did." Momma leaned forward, clasping her smelling-bottle, and looked out of the window with a smile of exaltation. "The cows," she went on, "the proud-legged Norman cows standing knee-deep in the quiet pools. Have you got the cows down, dear?" The Senator, at the other window, looked across disparagingly, hard at work on his beard. He said nothing, but after a time abruptly thrust his hands in his pockets, and his feet out in front of him in a manner which expressed absolute dissent. When momma said she thought she would try to get a little sleep he looked round observantly, and as soon as her slumber was sound and comfortable he beckoned to me.