Editha’s admired eyes, alight with all the fervors of retrospection, were fixed unseeing upon the majestic range of mountains, now turning from blue to amethyst with a cast of the westering sun. The fences had failed along the roadside, and for miles it had run between shadowy stretches of forest that, save for now and again a break of fields or pasture-lands, cut off the alluring view. A lovely stream had given the wayfarers its company, flowing beside the highway, clear as crystal, and when once more it expanded into shallows the road ran down to the margin to essay a ford. Here, as old Whitey paused to drink from the lustrous depths, the reflection of the deep-green, overhanging boughs, the beetling, gray rocks, and the blue sky painted a picture on the surface too refreshingly vivid and sweet for the senses to discriminate at once all its keen sources of joy. [Illustration: Drawn by George Wright. Half-tone plate engraved by R. Varley. “‘AN’ WILL YE TELL ME WHAT’S THE REASON I COULDN’T HEV HED RICHES--OLD TOM FOOL!’“] Old Whitey had seemed to drink her fill, but as Benjie was about to gather up the reins anew she bowed her pendulous lips once more to the shining surface. “Fust off,” resumed Mrs. Casey, with a touch of gravity, “I felt plumb mortified about them presents. I knowed all that stuff had cost ’Roy an onpleasing price of money. But, then, I reminded myself I hed no accountability. He done it of his own accord, an’ he could well afford it. I remembered when I war fust acquainted with ’Roy, when I war jes a young gal an’ he nuthin’ but a peart cockerel, he hed _then_ the name of bein’ one of the richest men in Shaftesvul. His dad bein’ dead, ’Roy owned what he hed his own self. An’ jedgin’ by his ‘stock,’ ez he called it, an’ his ‘palace,’ he must hev been makin’ money hand over hand ever sence. So I made up my mind ter enjoy the treat whenst he invited me an’ Sophy an’ her husband, Ned Jarney, ter go ter the pictur’-show last night an’ eat supper arterward. An’, Benjie, I never seen sech fine men-folks’s clothes ez ’Roy Tresmon’ stepped out in. He hed on a b’iled shirt stiff ez a board; he mought hev leaned up ag’in’ it ef he felt tired. His white collar war ekally stiff, an’ ez high ez a staked-an’-ridered fence. Whenst he looked over it he ’peared some similar ter a jumpin’ muel in a high paddock. He hed leetle, tiny, shiny buttons in his shirt-front,--Sophy said they war pure gold,--an’ his weskit war cut down jes so--lem me show ye how.” She had turned to take hold of Benjie’s humble jeans clothing to illustrate the fashion of the garb of the merchant prince of Shaftesville when her hand faltered on the lapel of his coat. “Why, Benjie,” she cried sharply, “what makes ye look so plumb pale an’ peaked? Air ye ailin’ anyways?” “Naw, naw.” Benjie testily repudiated the suggestion. “Tell on yer tale.” Then by way of excuse or explanation he added, “I ain’t sick, but settin’ on a jury is a wearin’ business.”