Cousin James as so serving his country.

"Carruthers left her to James--he'll have to take care of her. Henry
turned toes in good time. Piled rotten old business and big family on to
James's shoulders, and then died--good time--hey? Get a woman on your
hands, only thing to do is to marry or kill her. Poor James--hey?" He
peered at me with a twinkle in his eyes that demanded assent from me.

"Why, Uncle Peter, I don't know that Sallie has any such idea. She
grieves dreadfully over Mr. Carruthers, and I don't believe she would
think of marrying again," I answered, trying to put enough warmth in my
defense to convince myself.

"Most women are nothing but gourd-vines, grow all over a corn-stalk,
kill it, produce gourds until it frosts, and begin all over again in the
next generation. James has to do the hoeing around Sallie's roots, and
feed her. Might as well marry her--hey?"

"Does--does Cousin James have to support Sallie and the children, Uncle
Peter?" I asked, coming with reluctance down to the rock-bed of the
discussion.

"Thinks he does, and it serves him right--serves him right for starting
out to run a widow-ranch in the first place; it's like making a
collection of old shoes. He let Henry Carruthers persuade him to
mortgage everything and buy land on the river for the car-shops of the
new railroad, which just fooled the town out of a hundred thousand
dollars, and is going by on the other side of the river with the shops
up at Bolivar. If James didn't get all the lawing in Alton County they
would all starve to death--which would be hard on the constitution of