Well, I jist saw it was no use argyin with him, but I thought I would have the last word, as I allers do, and says I: “Well, Jobe Gaskins, if you ignorant farmers haint fit to make the laws to fix the taxes you pay; if you farmers haint fit to make the laws to govern yourselves; if you farmers haint fit to transact the bizness in which you should be most interested, I think you ort to begin to prepare yourselves until you are fit, by readin what hasent been done for you that ort to have been done, and what has been done agin you that hadent ort to been done.” [Illustration: “‘Talkin like them blame Populists’.”] At that, bein ready, I skipped into the bed-room and in a twinkle was in bed with the kivers drawed up over my head. If Jobe said any more I heard it not. In a few minits I was asleep, where I must soon be agin. CHAPTER III. JOBE SLEEPS IN THE SPARE BED. THE DREAM. THAT nite arter I had got into bed and kivered up my head, I went to sleep and waked not until broad daylite. Imagine my surprise, when I waked, to find that durin all that long nite I had been the sole okepant of that bed. The piller on which Jobe, my dear husband, had slept for over thirty-four years had not been teched that nite, and, for the fust time in thirty-five years next corn-huskin, Betsy Gaskins had slept alone. I felt skeert. I felt as though some awful calamity had or would occur to me. With a heavy heart I ariz and put on my skirts, all the time feelin as if I was about to choke. Everything was silent and still about the house. Could it be possible that my dear Jobe had dide or been kidnapped, or what? I hurried into the room—no Jobe there. I went into the kitchen—no Jobe there. I hastened to the spare bed-room. The door was closed. I stopped. I rubbed my hands together, studyin what to do, all a trimblin. Certainly the dead and lifeless corpse of my dear husband was in there cold in death, drivin to it of course by the cruel words of his lovin wife. There I stood stock still, not knowin what to do. I must have stood there some three or four minits until I came to myself. All at onct I says, says I, out loud: “Betsy Gaskins, what are you about? Haint you allers been looked upon as a woman of good jedgement and feerless in the face of disaster?” At that I marched up to the door and flung it open. [Illustration: “I waked not until broad daylite.”] Now what do you suppose I found? Jobe was not there, but that spare bed had been okepied that very nite. Then it was that I realized that the two old parties, as it were, had been divided—divided for one nite on the money question. Yes, Jobe Gaskins and his wife Betsy, a Dimicrat and Republican, had slept beneath the same roof and in seperate beds. While I stood there, contemplatin what next to do and where Jobe might be, I heered him come onto the back porch. I met him with a smile as he come into the kitchen. Says I: “Why, Jobe, where have you been?”