“She has sense enough to see, James, that she is interruptin' the honeymoon,” replied Aunt Jane, somewhat harshly. “On account of her mother havin' been a Hathaway before marriage, she knows things. Not but what you can come some other time, Ruth,” she added, with belated hospitality. “Thank you, Aunty, I will. I'll stay just a day or two longer, if you don't mind--just until Mr. Winfield comes back. I don't know just where to write to him.” “Mr.--who?” demanded Aunt Jane, looking at her narrowly. “Mr. Carl Winfield,” said Ruth, crimsoning--“the man I am going to marry.” The piercing eyes were still fixed upon her. “Now about the letters, Aunty,” she went on, in confusion, “you could help Uncle James with the book much better than I could. Of course it would have to be done under your supervision.” Mrs. Ball scrutinized her niece long and carefully. “You appear to be tellin' the truth,” she said. “Who would best print it?” “I think it would be better for you to handle it yourself, Aunty, and then you and Uncle James would have all the profits. If you let some one else publish it and sell it, you'd have only ten per cent, and even then, you might have to pay part of the expenses.” “How much does it cost to print a book?” “That depends on the book. Of course it costs more to print a large one than a small one.” “That needn't make no difference,” said Aunt Jane, after long deliberation. “James has two hundred dollars sewed up on the inside of the belt he insists on wearin', instead of Christian suspenders, ain't you, James?” “Yes'm, two hundred and four dollars in my belt and seventy-six cents in my pocket.” “It's from his store,” Mrs. Ball explained. “He sold it to a relative of one of them heathen women.” “It was worth more'n three hundred,” he said regretfully. “Now, James, you know a small store like that ain't worth no three hundred dollars. I wouldn't have let you took three hundred, 'cause it wouldn't be honest.” The arrival of a small and battered trunk created a welcome diversion. “Where's your trunk, Uncle James?” asked Ruth. “I ain't a needin' of no trunk,” he answered, “what clothes I've got is on me, and that there valise has more of my things in it. When my clothes wears out, I put on new ones and leave the others for some pore creeter what may need 'em worse'n me.” Aunt Jane followed Joe upstairs, issuing caution and direction at every step. “You can set outside now, Joe Pendleton,” she said, “and see that them hosses don't run away, and as soon as I get some of my things hung up so's they won't wrinkle no more, I'll come out and pay you.” Joe obeyed, casting longing eyes at a bit of blue gingham that was fluttering among the currant bushes in the garden. Mr. Ball, longing for conversation with his kind, went out to the gate and stood looking up at him, blinking in the bright sunlight. “Young feller,” he said, “I reckon that starboard hoss is my old mare. Where'd you get it?”