"Look out--she's got the bits in her teeth!" he shouted. "She's bolted!" There came a scream, a sharp report, and a grinding crash--then silence. * * * * * From away off in the dim distance Phineas heard a voice. "Phineas! Phineas!" Something snapped, and he seemed to be floating up, up, up, out of the black oblivion of nothingness. He tried to speak, but he knew that he made no sound. "Phineas! Phineas!" The voice was nearer now, so near that it seemed just above him. It sounded like--With a mighty effort he opened his eyes; then full consciousness came. He was on the ground, his head in Diantha's lap. Diantha, bonnet crushed, neck-bow askew, and coat torn, was bending over him, calling him frantically by name. Ten feet away the wrecked automobile, tip-tilted against a large maple tree, completed the picture. With a groan Phineas closed his eyes and turned away his head. "She's all stove up--an' now you won't ever say yes," he moaned. "You wanted ter ride on an' on furever!" "But I will--I don't--I didn't mean it," sobbed Diantha incoherently. "I'd rather have Dolly twice over. I _like_ ter crawl. Oh, Phineas, I hate that thing--I've always hated it! I'll say yes next week--to-morrow--to-day if you'll only open your eyes and tell me you ain't a-dyin'!" Phineas was not dying, and he proved it promptly and effectually, even to the doubting Diantha's blushing content. And there their rescuers found them a long half-hour later--a blissful old man and a happy old woman sitting hand in hand by the wrecked automobile. "I cal'lated somebody'd be along purty soon," said Phineas, rising stiffly. "Ye see, we've each got a foot that don't go, so we couldn't git help; but we hain't minded the wait--not a mite!" The Most Wonderful Woman And a Great Man who proves himself truly great It was Old Home Week in the little village, and this was to be the biggest day. From a distant city was to come the town's one really Great Man, to speak in the huge tent erected on the Common for just that purpose. From end to end the village was aflame with bunting and astir with excitement, so that even I, merely a weary sojourner in the place, felt the thrill and tingled pleasantly. When the Honorable Jonas Whitermore entered the tent at two o'clock that afternoon I had a good view of him, for my seat was next the broad aisle. Behind him on the arm of an usher came a small, frightened-looking little woman in a plain brown suit and a plainer brown bonnet set askew above thin gray hair. The materials of both suit and bonnet were manifestly good, but all distinction of line and cut was hopelessly lost in the wearing. Who she was I did not know; but I soon learned, for one of the two young women in front of me said a low something to which the other gave back a swift retort, woefully audible: "_His wife_? That little dowdy thing in brown? Oh, what a pity! Such an ordinary woman!"