outside on the platform came a slow voice: "Off to get married
AGAIN? Oh, don't!"

The voice was Southern and gentle and drawling; and a second
voice came in immediate answer, cracked and querulous. "It ain't
again. Who says it's again? Who told you, anyway?"

And the first voice responded caressingly: "Why, your Sunday
clothes told me, Uncle Hughey. They are speakin' mighty loud o'
nuptials."

"You don't worry me!" snapped Uncle Hughey, with shrill heat.

And the other gently continued, "Ain't them gloves the same yu'
wore to your last weddin'?"

"You don't worry me! You don't worry me!" now screamed Uncle
Hughey.

Already I had forgotten my trunk; care had left me; I was aware
of the sunset, and had no desire but for more of this
conversation. For it resembled none that I had heard in my life
so far. I stepped to the door and looked out upon the station
platform.

Lounging there at ease against the wall was a slim young giant,
more beautiful than pictures. His broad, soft hat was pushed
back; a loose-knotted, dull-scarlet handkerchief sagged from his
throat; and one casual thumb was hooked in the cartridge-belt
that slanted across his hips. He had plainly come many miles from