Hill said he'd forgot about the track when he settled to use the new freight-house for church purposes; but he said he pulled himself together quick and told her the track was temp'ry--put in so building material could unload right on the ground. And then he took to talking about how obliging the railroad folks had been helping 'em--and kept a-talking that way till he got the coach to the deepo, and didn't need to hustle making things up any more. He said he never was so thankful in his life as he was when his stunt was done. He was just tired out, he said, lying straight ahead all day over thirty miles of bad road and not being able once to speak natural to his mules. * * * * * Hart was waiting at the deepo, on the chance his aunt would come in on the coach; and when she saw him she give a little squeal, she was so pleased, and hopped down in no time off the box--she was as brisk as a bee in her doings--and took to hugging him and half crying over him just like he was a little boy. "Oh, William," she said, "I am _so_ happy getting to you! And I'm happier'n I expected to be, finding out how quiet and respectable Palomitas is--not a bit what your letters made me think it was--and such real good people living in it, and everything but the queer country and the queer mud houses just like it is at home. Mr. Hill has been telling me all about it, coming over, and about this new church you're building that you gave the lot for. To think you've never told me! Oh, William, I am so glad and so thankful that out here in this wild region you've kept serious-minded and are turning out such a good man!" Hart looked so mixed up over the way his aunt was talking, and so sort of hopeless, that Hill cut in quick and give him a lift. "He's not much at blowing about himself, your nephew ain't, ma'am," Hill said. "Why, he not only give the land for the church over there"--and Hill pointed at the freight-house, so Hart could ketch on--"but it was him got the Company to lay them temp'ry tracks, so the building stuff could be took right in. He's going to give a melodeon, too." "Dear William!" Hart's aunt said. "It rejoices my heart you're doing all these good deeds--and all the others Mr. Hill's been telling me about. I must kiss you again." "Oh, what I've done ain't nothing," Hart said, pulling himself together while she was kissing him. "Land's cheap, cheap as it can be, out here; and I give the Company such a lot of freight they're more'n willing to oblige me; and as to the melodeon--"