"Your telegram took a great load offen my mind," he said, as they drove out to the farm. "Miss Rhody told me all along I need hev no fears fer you, that you weren't no dawdler." "Good for Miss Rhody!" laughed David. "She shall have her reward. I brought her silk enough for two dresses at least." "David," said M'ri suddenly at the dinner table, "do tell me for whose name those initials in the dedication to your book stand. Is it any one I know?" "I hardly know the person myself," was the smiling and evasive reply. "A woman, David?" "She figured largely in my fairy stories." "A nickname he had for Janey," she thought with a sigh. "Uncle Barnabas," said David the next day, "before we settle down to things political tell me if you regret my South American experience." "Now that you're back and gittin' into harness, I'll overlook anything. You'd earnt a breathing spell, and you look a hull lot older. Your book's kep' your name in the papers, tew, which helps." "I will show you something that proves the book did more than that," said David, drawing his bank book from his pocket and passing it to the old man, who read it unbelievingly. "Why, Dave, you're rich!" he exclaimed. "No; not rich. I shall always have to work for my living. So tell me the situation." This fully occupied the time it took to drive to town, for Cold Molasses, successor to Old Hundred, kept the pace his name indicated. The day was spent in meeting old friends, and then David settled down to business with his old-time energy. Once more he was nominated for the legislature and took up the work of campaigning for Stephen Hume, opponent to Wilksley. Hume was an ardent, honest, clean-handed politician without money, but he had for manager one Ethan Knowles, a cool-headed, tireless veteran of campaign battles, with David acting as assistant and speech maker. David was elected, went to the capital, and was honored with the office of speaker by unanimous vote. He had his plans carefully drawn for the election of Hume, who came down on the regular train and established headquarters at one of the hotels, surrounded by a quiet and determined body of men. Wilksley's supporters, a rollicking lot, had come by special train and were quartered at a club, dispensing champagne and greenbacks promiscuously and freely. There was also a third candidate, whose backers were non-committal, giving no intimation as to where their strength would go in case their candidate did not come in as a dark horse. When the night of the senatorial contest came the floor, galleries, and lobby of the House were crowded. The Judge, M'ri, and Joe were there, Janey remaining home with her father, who refused to join the party. "Thar'll be bigger doin's fer me to see Dave officiate at," he prophesied. The quietly humorous young man wielding the gavel found it difficult to maintain quiet in the midst of such excitement, but he finally evolved order from chaos.