“Feedin—feedin, of course,” says he; “where do you suppose Ive been?” lookin at the floor and walkin apast me. Arter reflection thinks I, “’Tis best to say nothin to him about the split in the two old parties until a future date.” So I jist went about it and prepared the mornin meal, thinkin all the time of a dream I had that nite, some time between bed-time and daylite, while I lay there all alone, while the pardner of my life okepied the spare bed. [Illustration: “FEEDIN,—FEEDIN, OF COURSE,” SAYS HE.] Well, while Jobe was partakin of his mornin repast, I saw all the time that he wanted to say something. I never said a word durin the whole meal, neither did Jobe. We jist set and eat—eat in silence. [Illustration: “‘Do you promis?’ says I, girlish like.”] When Jobe was done he pushed back and tipped his cheer agin the wall. I knode he was a goin to speak. He cleared his throat like, and says, says he: “Betsy, I dont want you to say any more to me about what you read in the newspapers. I am willin to listen to anything else under the sun, but dont let me hear any more about them Populist ideas. I want to talk sense to you, and you to talk sense to me. Now what I want to know, Betsy, is, how are we to raise the money to pay the interest by the fust of Aprile?” Says I: “Land a goodness, Jobe, how do I know? Goodness knows I am willin to do all I kin to help you raise it. I had a dream last nite; if that dream was true I might tell you how to raise it.” I stopped. “Well,” says he, arter studyin a minit, “what was your dream?” Lookin at him kind a girlish like, says I: “Jobe, I wont tell you what it was unless you make me two promises.” Jobe actually smiled. Says he: “Go ahead; what are your promises?” [Illustration: “I sot down, ... lookin him square in the face.”] “Well,” says I, smilin, “the fust promis is that you sleep in the same bed I do to-nite.” At that I laffed out loud. Jobe he did, too. Then says I: “The second promis is that you will listen without commentin until I tell it all.” Jobe he studied. “Do you promis?” says I, girlish like. “Yes, I promis,” says he; “go ahead.” “You promis to sleep in the same bed you have for these nigh onto thirty-five years?” “Yes, yes,” says he, lookin half guilty. “And you will listen?” says I. “Yes, yes, Ile listen,” says he. So, arter clearin away the dishes and scrapin off the crumbs for the chickens, and puttin some dish water to bile, I sot down on the other side of the table from Jobe, lookin him square in the face. Says I: “Well, Jobe, we was talkin of the mortgage and the interest last nite when I went to bed, and I suppose that had something to do with me havin the dream, and for that reason I dont suppose there is anything in the dream.” “Spose not,” says he, lookin oneasy like. [Illustration: Bill Bowers.]