Francisco earthquake and lit in fifteen feet of water in an open cistern; Len says he was not one whit surprised, but for a very few minutes he was d—d badly startled. “About the best definition of a ‘surprise’ is that it’s the unexpected; now, if, to drop into the language of Old Wash, our hosts, Grant and Sherman wuz expectin’ Deacons Johnsing and Booragard to come over real airly on dat Sunday mornin’ bringin’ dar Hornet’s Nests and bloody anglers erlong wid em, why in de name ob common eruptions didn’t dey fix for em? Put de house in order, have de different parts layin’ on de music rack and put all de perrotecknix whar de performers could stick er match to ’em? Stid ob dat, we all was a-actin’ as if no visitors was gwine to call on us dat Sunday mornin’ sure enough! Kase Grant was trimmin’ his korns way down at Savannah and Sharmin had put on no biled shirt to welcome de visitors. Ebber since dat Shiloh reception de rank and file, de real workers, hab all s’posed dat dey was sartinly not fixed for de influx ob callers—and ’specially not so tarnal airly. But de leaders, dem as was not dar to hear de knockin’ on de front door, and usher in Brer Johnsing, hab all erlong said dat de kyards had been out and de punch hole a simmerin’ for jist sech a quiltin’ and we are willin’ to ’serverate de leaders ought to know.” TWO WOMEN AND A HORSE Dear Trotwood: Knowing your fondness for satirizing women who drive horses, I am sending you this little true bill. I was riding along the other week near a small city when a hard shower came up suddenly. Just before me I noticed two ladies driving a very spirited horse to a buggy. They were evidently just from the town. Instead of putting up the buggy top or drawing out the rain cloth when the shower came up, they each gave a little feminine shriek and both grabbed at once an umbrella, paying no attention whatever to the lines, and bent way over holding it over the rear end of the horse, the rain pouring down on them all the time. I followed them, looking on in amazement—there they were bending over the dashboard catching a hard rain on their graceful backs and well-fitting, new gowns and holding an umbrella half way over the southern half of a horse who was going along well enough and perfectly indifferent to the weather. For a mile they drove thus, and I followed, wondering. Finally, as I rode up to them, my curiosity was so great that I asked: “Ladies, pardon me, but will you tell me why you are holding that umbrella over your horse and not protecting yourselves?” “Why—yes,” one of them faltered, “we are scared nearly to death. You see, it is a hired horse, and we don’t know much about him, and when we hired him the liveryman told us to be very careful not to let him get the rain under his tail or he would kick us out and run away!” C. R. LITTLE MISS FIDDLE