"How do I know when a dog itches? I see him scratch. You have been sitting there in an itching silence and now you begin to scratch. You are more patient than a dog, for you don't scratch until you have itched for some time. Let the fur fly, Jimmie." Jim laughed, raised his leg and clasped his hands over his knee. "Uncle Gideon, I reckon I'm the happiest man in Cranceford County." The old man sat leaning back against the wall. His coat was off and under his suspenders he had hooked his thumbs. "Go on, Jimmie; I'm listening." "She has written another letter--Did Tom tell you anything?" he broke off. "Did Tom ever tell me anything? Did Tom ever tell anybody anything? Did he ever know anything to tell?" "She has written another letter and in it she confesses--I don't know how to say it, Uncle Gideon." "Well, tell me and I'll say it for you. Confesses that she can be happy with no one but you. Go on." "Who told you? Did Mrs. Cranceford?" "My dear boy, did Mrs. Cranceford ever tell me anything except to keep off the grass? Nobody has told me anything. Confesses that you are the only man that can make her happy. Now shoot your dye-stuff." "But that's all there is. She says that her heart will never have a home until my love builds a mansion for it." "Jimmie, if the highest market price for a fool was one hundred dollars, you'd fetch two hundred." "Why? Because I believe her when she talks that way--when she gives me to understand that she loves me?" "No; but because you didn't believe all along that she loved you." "How could I when she refused to marry me and married another man?" "That marriage is explained. You've seen the letter she wrote the night before she went away, haven't you?" "Yes, her mother showed it to me." "I didn't read it," said Gid, "but the Major gave me the points, and I know that she married that fellow believing that she was saving his soul." "Yes, I read that," said Jim, "but I didn't know whether she meant it or not. I reckon I was afraid to believe it." "Well, I know it to be a fact--know it because I know her nature. She's just crank enough----" "Don't say that," Jim protested, unclasping his hands from his knee and straightening up. "Don't call her a crank when she's an angel." "That's all right, my dear boy, but heaven is full of the right sort of cranks. Who serves God deeper than the religious crank, and if he's not to be rewarded, who is? By crank I don't mean a weak-minded person; I come nearer meaning a genius." "I reckon you mean all right," the giant agreed; and after pondering in silence he asked: "Do you reckon she would marry me?" "I know it. And why not? You are a gentleman and a devilish good-looking fellow. Why, any woman interested in a fine stock show would be proud of you."