"And as those men would need horses for their own transport, they'd need hay. We'd pay you for hay. I don't see why we couldn't leave one wagon and a team at least up there, to get in supplies. That would help you in getting things started around on your place again, wouldn't it?" "Would it, Doc?" said Sim Gage, brightening immensely. "It would raise a _load_ offen me, that's what it would! Right now, especial." He cleared his throat. "That there brings me right around to what I come down here to talk about," said he with sudden resolution. "For instance, there was a letter come to her up there--from back where she lived--from Annie Squires. So her and me got to talking over that letter, you see." "What did Annie Squires say, if it's any of my business?" said the Doctor, looking at him steadily. "Well, I was just talking things over, that way, and we allowed that maybe Annie Squires could come out here--after--well, after the _wedding_, you see." It was out! Sim Gage wiped off his brow. "The wedding?" "Why, one thing and other, her and me got to talking things over. Things couldn't run on; so we--we fixed it up." "Gage," said Doctor Barnes suddenly, "I've got to talk to you." "Well, all right, all right, Doc. That'll be all right. I wish't you would." "See here, man. Don't you realize what that woman is? She's too good for men like you and me." "Yes, Doc. But I wouldn't never raise hand nor voice to her, the least way in the world. I allowed she could live along as my housekeeper, but seems not. You can shoot me, Doc, if you don't think I'm a-doing the right thing by her in every way, shape and manner." "She's too _good_--it's an impossible thing." Sim Gage's face was lifted, seriously. "Doc, you know mighty well that's true, and so do I--she's plumb too good for me. But it ain't me done all the thinking." "Didn't you ask her about it?" "It kind of come around." Doctor Barnes rose and paced rapidly up and down within the narrow confines of his office. "You _do_ love her, don't you?" Sim Gage for the first time in his life felt the secret quick of his simple, sensitive soul cut open and exposed to gaze. Not even the medical man before him could fail of sudden pity at witnessing what was written on his face---all the dignity, the simplicity, the reticence, all the bashfulness of a man brought up helplessly against the knife. He could not--or perhaps would not--answer such a question even from the man before him, whom he suddenly had come to trust and respect as a being superior to himself. But Allen Barnes was the pitiless surgeon now. "I don't care a damn about you, of course, Gage. You're not fit for her to wipe her shoes on, and you know it. But _she_ can't see it and doesn't know it. If she could see you--what do you suppose she'd think? Gage--_she mustn't ever know_!"