"What kind of laws are you going to make?" she demanded.

"I don't think I'll have much to do with making laws, Clare. All I can
do is listen and try to be on the right side when the voting comes."

"Can't you make a law to oblige old men to stop fighting each other,"
she demanded, petulantly--"fighting each other, and making all their
folks uncomfortable?"

"I think it would be a good law, especially in one case I know about.
But sometimes the best laws don't get passed."

"I'll come down and make a speech for it. You said I talked like old
folks the other evening."

"A speech from you would convert them all," he returned, indulging her
in this childish banter. "You see, you converted me with only a few
words, and I was a hard case just then."

"Then I'll come down to your legislature and we'll make it into a law,
and the punishment shall be, if they don't make up and allow their folks
to be comfortable and friends, they must have their old heads bumped
together--bumped harder and harder till they shake hands and make up and
live happy ever after. Old folks haven't any business to stay mad. They
won't get into heaven if they do."

She withdrew her hand, and went away into the black mouth of the bridge.

"That's all, Big Boy!" she cried. "It was some business, you see, that I
waited to talk over with you. And a grown-up young lady mustn't stay