his eyes had a certain gleam that was not there five minutes before.
He swung along beside her till they reached the top of the hill, fell
behind without a word and mounted Glory.

When he overtook Miss Satterly, he lifted his hat to her nonchalantly,
touched up Glory with his spurs, and clattered away down the coulee,
leaving the schoolma'am in a haze of yellow dust and bewilderment far
in the rear.

The next morning Miss Satterly went very early to the school-house--for
what purpose she did not say. A meadow-lark on the doorstep greeted
her with his short, sweet ripple of sound and then flew to a nearby
sage bush and watched her curiously. She looked about her half
expectant, half disappointed.

A little, fresh mound marked the spot where the dead gopher had been,
and a narrow strip of shingle stood upright at the end. Someone had
scratched the words with a knife:

GONE BUT NOT FORGOT.

Probably the last word would have been given its full complement of
syllables, had the shingle been wider; as it was, the "forgot" was
cramped until it was barely intelligible.

Miss Satterly, observing the mark of high-heeled boots in the immediate
vicinity of the grave, caught herself wondering if the remains had been
laid away to the tune of "Bill Bailey," with the chorus of "Good Old
Summertime" shuffled in to make a full deck. She started to laugh and
found that laughter was quite impossible.