'He wouldn't take no for an answer,' she answered. 'He was alwuss a gritty cuss,' said Uncle Eb, wiping his eyes with a big red handkerchief as he rose to go. 'Ye'd oughter be mighty happy an' ye will, too--their am'no doubt uv it--not a bit. Trouble with most young folks is they wan' to fly tew high, these days. If they'd only fly clus enough t'the ground so the could alwuss touch one foot, they'd be all right. Glad ye ain't thet kind. We were off early on the boat--as fine a summer morning as ever dawned. What with the grandeur of the scenery and the sublimity of our happiness it was a delightful journey we had that day. I felt the peace and beauty of the fields, the majesty of the mirrored cliffs and mountains, but the fair face of her I loved was enough for me. Most of the day Uncle Eb sat near us and I remember a woman evangelist came and took a seat beside him, awhile, talking volubly of the scene. 'My friend,' said she presently, 'are you a Christian? 'Fore I answer I'll hev to tell ye a story,' said Uncle Eb. 'I recollec' a man by the name o' Ranney over 'n Vermont--he was a pious man. Got into an argyment an' a feller slapped him in the face. Ranney turned t'other side an' then t'other an' the feller kep' a slappin' hot 'n heavy. It was jes' like strappin' a razor fer half a minnit. Then Ranney sailed in--gin him the wust lickin' he ever hed. '“I declare,” says another man, after 'twas all over, “I thought you was a Christian.” “Am up to a cert in p'int,” says he. “Can't go tew fur not 'n these parts--men are tew powerful. 'Twon't do 'less ye wan' to die sudden. When he begun poundin' uv me I see I wan't eggzac'ly prepared.” ''Fraid 's a good deal thet way with most uv us. We're Christians up to a cert'in p'int. Fer one thing, I think if a man'll stan' still an' see himself knocked into the nex' world he's a leetle tew good fer this.' The good lady began to preach and argue. For an hour Uncle Eb sat listening unable to get in a word. When, at last, she left him he came to us a look of relief in his face. 'I b'lieve,' said he, 'if Balaam's ass hed been rode by a woman he never 'd hev spoke.' 'Why not?' I enquired. 'Never'd hev hed a chance,' Uncle Eb added. We were two weeks at home with mother and father and Uncle Eb. It was a delightful season of rest in which Hope and I went over the sloping roads of Faraway and walked in the fields and saw the harvesting. She had appointed Christmas Day for our wedding and I was not to go again to the war, for now my first duty was to my own people. If God prospered me they were all to come to live with us in town and, though slow to promise, I could see it gave them comfort to know we were to be for them ever a staff and refuge. And the evening before we came back to town Jed Feary was with us and Uncle Eb played his flute and sang the songs that had been the delight of our childhood. The old poet read these lines written in memory of old times in Faraway and of Hope's girlhood.