butter won't come!'" Then they laughed a
little -- a strange laugh; and Annie thought
of a drinking-song she had once heard,
"Here's to the next who dies."

Ten days after this Jim got a letter from
her. "I am never coming back, Jim," it
said. "It is hopeless. I don't think I
would mind standing still to be shot down
if there was any good in it. But I'm not
going back there to work harder than any
slave for those money-loaners and the rail-
roads. I guess they can all get along with-
out me. And I am sure I can get along
without them. I do not think this will make
you feel very bad. You haven't seemed
to notice me very much lately when I've
been around, and I do not think you will
notice very much when I am gone. I know
what this means. I know I am breaking
my word when I leave you. But remember,
it is not you I leave, but the soil, Jim! I
will not be its slave any longer. If you
care to come for me here, and live another
life -- but no, there would be no use. Our
love, like our toil, has been eaten up by
those rapacious acres. Let us say good-
by."

Jim sat all night with this letter in his