“It’s dreadful!” said Marion; “but I don’t see how you can help it. You were weak and foolish enough to marry him, and now you’ll have to suffer forever unless you can summon up the courage to rise above it.” “I’ll run away, that’s what I’ll do,” said Sallie, sullenly. “I’ll run away like Dollie did and go to the city.” “Hush!” said Marion, sharply. “You must not say that, Sallie! Dollie did not run away of her own free will. She was hypnotized and abducted by the fellow Lawson! Oh, you have no idea what a terrible experience she had; but I rescued her, and now she has a position. She is to be typewriter in a lawyer’s office.” Poor Sallie Johnson looked at her in perfect bewilderment. “Couldn’t I do that?” she asked, rather stupidly. “It requires a great deal of practice,” said Marion, kindly. “I am afraid you would not have time to learn, even if you had a machine; but I must hurry, Sallie, it is time I was at the station.” Sallie’s eyes were full of tears as Marion kissed her. “I’ll run away some day, you can be sure of it, Marion,” she repeated. “I jest hate Silas Johnson, and I won’t stand him much longer! I’ll either kill myself or run away to the city.” “Don’t! Don’t!” was all that Marion had time to say. “Try to bear it, Sallie. Perhaps things will get better.” There was a distant shriek of an engine whistle, and Marion fled down the street. It was the last train to the city, and she had to catch it or remain in Hickorytown until another day. Just as she reached the little station a burly form confronted her, and the coarse voice of Matt Jenkins, the keeper of the Hickorytown Poor Farm, growled a word of greeting. “Been up to visit the old folks, I s’pose,” he said, sneeringly. “Waal, it’s well you came now, fer they won’t be long at the homestead. They’ll be a boardin’ with me at the Poor Farm in a week or so.” “Are you sure?” asked Marion, coldly, as she turned away from him. “Waal, five hundred-dollar bills don’t grow on bushes,” he said, sneeringly, “an’ if Sile Johnson don’t get his money, he’ll turn ’em out the first day of Janooary.” “Silas Johnson is a brute!” said Marion, sharply. “’Tain’t sweetened his nature any tew marry Sal,” said Matt Jenkins, coarsely, “fer, with all her shortcomin’s, he’d ruther hev married Dollie.” Marion turned her back on him without a word. The train was approaching, she could see the headlight in the distance. “Bert Jackson got killed—s’pose yew heerd of it,” said Jenkins, in her ear. “I reckin he got tew smart with them cable cars—thet’s usually the end of country boys and gals thet think they’re smart enough tew git on in the city.” “Bert was the smartest boy that the Poor Farm ever held,” said Marion, suddenly, turning square around. “I helped him to run away from the Poor Farm that night, and I only wish that I could help them all to get away from your cruel treatment, Matt Jenkins.”