“Well, look here, Mrs. Gaskins,” says he, short like, “we dont want any ‘ifs’ about it. I notify you now, in the presence of this gentleman, that if you are not out by March the fust, I will see that the law puts you out. Now, take warnin.” And at that he turned on his heel and walked off. [Illustration: “‘O, LORD, IS THERE NO OTHER WAY TO DO?’”] I am an old woman, and have had many hardships, but, Mistur Editure, in all my life I never had anything to strike my heart like them words did. It jist seemed like everything turned black before me, and I sunk down in the doorway and must a fell to sleep, for arter a while I woke up, or come to, as it were. I had a dream while I lay there that I will never forgit. I thought that a great, large man stood before me, and jist behind him stood two other good-sized fellers. The big man said to me, in a cruel, coarse voice: “Ive come to turn you out.” I thought I bursted out a cryin, and turned my eyes up toward the sky, as I had done before, and right there, a flyin through the air, come my dear little Jane, lookin jist as she did years ago before she died. I thought she throwed her little arms around my neck, and laid her little soft face agin my cheek, and says: “Dont cry, mamma. If no one else cares for you, I do,” jist as plain as I ever heerd her little voice in life. I clasped my arms around her, and begin to feel a thrill of happiness as I once did, when the big sheriff stepped up and grabbed her by the neckband of her little dress, and, with a mighty jerk, threw her behind him, sayin: “Stop this sentimentalism. The law must have its way.” I paid no attention to his cruel words, but jumped toward my little Jane, who laid there with the blood a runnin out of her little head jist above the left eye. Her eyes were open and starin, and, with a scream of agony, I cried: “Oh, my child! My child is dead!” I was so shocked that it woke me up, and I found myself a layin there in the door, and, bein cold, I got up and went in, all a shakin. From that day to this I can hardly think of anything but my little girl a comin through the air and throwin her baby arms around my neck. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE PARTING. JOBE is gone. Last Monday morning bright and airly he started for Lorain to find work. He had hunted and hunted far and near, high and low, around here for work, but couldent find any. Some one told him there was lots of work at Lorain, and poor Jobe decided he would go there. He only had $2.95. He said he would take the railroad to Medina and walk the rest of the way. Ile never forgit the mornin he left. We sot up late the nite before, talkin. We talked over our whole lives—about when we were fust married; about how different times were then and now; about the happiness we had then, and the plans we laid. Jobe was strong and healthy, and so was I. Money was plenty, and people were always lookin for somebody to work for them.